Off Limits

My heart squeezes at his gentle admission. My voice is soft when I speak. ‘I told you, it doesn’t hurt.’

‘The bruising would say otherwise.’

I shrug, but the way his mouth is moving over me is making thought difficult. ‘I’m fine. I would have told you if I didn’t like it, believe me.’

‘I do.’

He brings my thumb to his mouth and sucks on it. I shudder; the pleasure rips through me.

‘So? What do you like? Usually?’

‘With other men?’ I clarify, and there is a strange darkening of his features before he wipes them clear and nods.

‘Yes.’

I tilt my head to the side. ‘Oh, you know—kinky shit.’

‘Such as...?’

It’s a calm, measured response beyond what I expect.

‘I’ll show you soon.’

He clears his throat. ‘You bet your sweet arse, you will.’ He grins and sips his drink once more.

‘Anyway,’ I ask throatily, ‘what do you like? With other women? Or is the only prerequisite that they submit to your wham-bam, thank you, ma’am form of sex?’

He shakes his head. ‘Not the only prerequisite, but it’s an important one.’

‘Why?’ I push, taking another sip.

He presses his finger under my chin, tilting my face towards his. ‘Because that’s what I want.’

‘One-night stands.’

‘Two-night stands, in your case,’ he says, pulling me forward.

At the same time I reach for his towel and push it down his body. He lifts me easily, settling me on a bar stool, his eyes holding mine as he slides on a condom, and then he takes me totally, driving deep inside me and winding my legs around his waist. Even as the bliss of his possession moves through me I feel a strange distaste for his statement.

A two-night stand on its second night means it’s the end.

But don’t I want that?

Aren’t boundaries a good thing?

I bite down on my lip, unable to process it any more. He holds me tight, gripping me against him.

‘I like being able to be inside you like this. Whenever I want.’

His fingers grab my dress and lift it up my body, over my head, so that I’m wearing only my heels and a lace bra. He disposes of the latter easily and then, true to his word, grabs his daiquiri glass and trickles ice-cold liquid across my breasts.

His mouth on my nipple is warm and I arch my back, giving him greater access. He chases it down my body as he thrusts into me again, his ownership of me both thrilling and frightening at the same time. His chin is stubbled and rough against my neck. He takes an earlobe into his mouth, wobbling it between his teeth, and I groan, desperate for him to move faster, deeper.

‘What do you want?’ he asks softly.

‘More!’ I call the word out loudly, an incantation or an invocation, scoring my nails across his back, marking him as mine even when I know he isn’t.

‘Like this?’