Wretched Love

“Need to inform you of the safeword before we go any further,” he said against my mouth. Our lips brushed. Just barely. Electric shocks hurtled through my body from the singular touch.

“Safe-w-word?” I stuttered, amazed that my knees were still able to hold me up.

His eyes were burning as they met mine. “Yeah,” he rasped. “By the sounds of it, you only know vanilla.”

His finger trailed down my cheek. I shivered.

“And, baby, I’m everything but vanilla,” he said.

My inner thighs tightened together in response to his words.

“I don’t have limits when it comes to fucking,” he told me, hand moving down my neck to massage it gently.

Like an expert, he found a spot to press his thumb into, and everything I had been carrying just fell away. There was nothing else in this world but this room.

There was nothing else but him.

“I’ll take you to your limits, baby,” he continued. “But I want to be sure I don’t take you past them. And when I get in the zone, I tend to get… focused.”

My heart was thundering in my chest. I was in over my head. Way over my head.

“So I need the word if any of this gets to be too much for you,” he explained, voice throaty and so smooth, I wished there was a way to bottle it and drink it.

“This isn’t going to be too much for me,” I blurted. Somehow I was bold enough to maintain eye contact with him. “I have a feeling this is going to be just enough. That you’re just enough.” I said the last part on a whisper because something in Swiss’s eyes changed. There was no longer just pure sexual hunger in there, a mahogany inferno. As I spoke, they softened.

“Fuck,” he whispered, the cuss caressing my skin like poetry. He rested his forehead against mine in a gesture more intimate than what strangers should share. Then again, I was planning on having sex with him.

“I have a feeling you might be too fuckin’ much,” he breathed.

My insides melted.

Melted.

He didn’t kiss me as I expected, as I craved. Didn’t tear my clothes off like an animal, the way his hungry stare communicated. He didn’t do anything. He just stared at me.

I could barely breathe. I swear, my heart paused beathing for the length of that stare. Could’ve sworn that stare lasted a lifetime.

“The safeword,” I whispered.

He blinked, as if I had jerked him out of some kind of reverie. “What?”

“You told me there was a safeword, but you haven’t said it,” I replied. “And I’m really going to need you inside me in the next five minutes, so you better say it.”

The inferno came back into Swiss’s eyes.

“Coconut,” he said. “That’s the safeword. But you’re not gonna use it.” He lifted me up, and my legs instinctively went around his waist.

He was walking us toward the bed. Not that I cared. I was happy to stay wrapped around his waist for the rest of my life.

But then he threw me on the bed, and I stared at him standing there in his leather vest with his rippling muscles, the structure of his jaw, and I decided that lying on this bed looking up at him was pretty darn wonderful too.

“Fair warnin’, baby. I’m not gonna be inside you for a long time yet,” he said, his voice thick. “I plan on you coming at least three times before my dick enters you.”

If humans could spontaneously combust, I was pretty sure that I would’ve done so at that very moment.

As it was, I stayed intact, though impossibly hot.

I moved to take my shirt off because I guessed that was what I was supposed to do in that situation, and because even the cheap, thin fabric was too heavy on my skin.