The Enigma (Unlawful Men)

I moan in response, and let my body go lax.

“Your hearing’s hypersensitive.” He blows a warm stream of air across my ear, and a wicked shiver glides down my spine. “Anything that touches you”—he pinches a nipple as he bites down on my earlobe, and a muffled cry escapes—“feels like fire.” I buck, screaming in my head for him to stop. To give me more. “And when I ram my cock inside you, Beau, it’ll feel like it could break you in the best possible way.”

Do it!

His voice alone could bring me to climax. Add touch, add smell, add the taste of his tongue still lingering on mine, I’m a slave to his kink. I’m trapped. But the freest I’ve felt in too long. There’s no pressure to pretend. Nothing is strained. I’m not being forced to lie about how I feel. I don’t see pity. I don’t see worry. I’m invisible because I can’t see how he sees me. In this moment, this illicit, erotic, overwhelming moment, I can be whoever I want to be, and I want to be his slave. I want to submit. I want to hand over every ounce of power and feel no pressure to be strong. This is everything I have been waiting for. Not him, but what he’s doing. How he’s making me feel. It’s freedom within a cage. Safety in darkness, something I haven’t known for too long.

I exhale and let my arms take my weight, hanging there lifelessly, zoning out more, walking the lightest path of darkness. I feel him grab me under my thighs and lift, and the undeniable scratch of his scruff brushes the inside of my thighs. Oh God. The nerves in my clitoris start to spasm in anticipation. My heart vibrates. My skin burns. “So fucking juicy,” he rumbles, and then his mouth encases me, and I’m sent into orbit, screaming around my gag. I’m given no time to adjust. No time to settle. No time to get hold of my violently bending body. He goes at me like a famished animal, thrusting his tongue deep, lapping greedily, biting at my flesh. The pound of my climax building is fast, far faster than I want it to be, but not at all surprising given the gift of his mouth. “Make it last, Beau,” he growls, plunging his fingers deep and high. “Make it fucking last.”

Another muffled scream, my orgasm not listening, steaming forward relentlessly.

James!

I’m screaming his name over and over in my head, not for him to stop, but because I wish I could see him. See his eyes, his face, his mouth coated in me. My body temperature shoots up, the burn of my skin bordering unsafe. The pressure in my head is becoming too much, my body rigid.

And his mouth is suddenly gone, my feet are on the floor, and I moan my ruin. “Too fast, Beau.”

No.

“Let’s try again.”

God, no!

He blows air across my clitoris, and I feel the thrums slow to a manageable level, just for him to build them back up to explosion. Except he won’t let me explode. How many times will he do this?

A light dash of wet, warm contact.

His tongue.

A lick.

Fuck me, save me from this addictive torture.

Heat stretches across the insides of my thighs.

His hands.

Spreading me.

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

More air drenching my sodden flesh.

His breath.

Cooling me.

I mumble his name behind my gag, wrestling with my restraints, as he drapes my legs over his shoulders again.

“Shall we try one more time?” he asks, his voice groggy with lust. “Can you take it, Beau? Can you stand it?” He doesn’t give me a chance to answer, slamming his mouth down on my pussy, his tongue frantic, his kisses deep, his licks hard. I scream, by body bowing brutally, my thighs squeezing his face. The ropes cut into my skin, and unexpected emotion creeps up on me. The material covering my eyes becomes damp. I’m crying. Why the fuck am I crying when this is the best thing to happen to me in a long time?

Because it’s good. A relief. And because I know it can’t be sustained.

Fuck off!

I swallow hard, grit my teeth, and concentrate on keeping my relentless orgasm at bay. It’s a pointless endeavor. Nothing could stop it.

Only James.

He pulls away again, and I go limp, exhausted. I can’t take anymore. I mumble my pleas, praying he deciphers them.

He doesn’t. Or if he does, he ignores them.

More air.

A little flick of his tongue.

A few kisses on the insides of my thighs.

I brace myself.

“And again,” he whispers, licking from my thigh to my throbbing, swollen lips. Latching on to my clit, he sucks hard, rolls his tongue, sucks, bites, licks, bites, sucks. I choke, flinging my head back as the blood gathers again and rushes forward, my orgasm regaining momentum. I try to stop it. With everything I have, I try to stop it. But all I feel right now is uncontrollable need. It brews, brims, very nearly bursts.