“Take off your clothes.” What? I waited a second. “Take. Off. Your. Clothes.” He set the briefcase down and took one step for every word. He wasn’t messing around. Lucah was commanding. And it was fucking HOT.
I started unbuttoning my shirt, and slipped my arms from the sleeves. My undershirt and bra followed and his eyes ate up every inch of skin that I revealed, as if it was the first time he was seeing it. Seeing me.
My skirt and panties joined my other clothes and I stepped out of my shoes until I was standing there. Naked. Waiting.
Lucah walked around me, as if he was admiring a work of art. The room was warm, but my skin kept puckering, waiting for his touch. Begging. Wanting.
He moved away from me and picked up his briefcase. I couldn’t imagine what he had in there, but he popped it open and pulled something out. Sticky notes. And a pen. He held them up so I could clearly see what they were. Then he came back over.
He leaned his head down and wrote something on one of the notes. He held it up for me to see. MINE, written in bold, slashing lines. He pulled the note from the rest of the stack and put it on my forehead.
“Mine,” he said, and wrote another note, and held that one up too. “Mine,” he said as he put it on my shoulder. “Mine.” The other shoulder. “Mine.” One breast. “Mine.” The other. Mine, mine, mine. Both hands, my belly. He repeated the routine until nearly every inch of me was covered in the notes, but it wasn’t like the last time.
“Have I made myself clear?” he said, dropping the pen and the leftover notes in the briefcase. I had to nod because I had a few on my mouth. Oh yes. He’d been clear.
“Good.” He stood in front of me and then removed the note on my forehead. “Mine,” he said, kissing the spot the note exposed. Like last time, but not. He removed each and every one, kissing each place. My shoulders, my hands, my nipples, my toes.
When he was done there were little yellow notes scattered everywhere, I could barely stand and his pants could barely contain his hard-on any longer. I reached for him, but he stopped me.
“No.” I almost pouted, but I was too turned on. He removed his own clothes and then we were both naked, and his intentions were clear.
“Go lie on your back on the bed.” I backed up toward the bedroom, through the door and lay back on the bed. He followed me, stalking me. I waited.
“Who am I here with?” he asked, standing at the edge of the bed.
“Me,” I said.
“Who do I love more than I’ve loved anyone or anything?”
“Me.”
“Who makes me feel like this?” His hands trailed up from my feet to my calves, thighs, hips, belly, breasts and to my face. “Who makes me feel like this?”
“Me,” I said, and he propped himself above me. I was so tight with need that I didn’t know if him touching me would make it better or worse.
“Never forget that, Sunshine. Never.” He pulled my legs up and got into position. “Never,” he said with one thrust that made stars explode behind my eyes and my entire body convulse.
“Do you feel that?”
“Yes.”
“Remember this.” And he pulled back and slammed into me again. And again. And again.
“I’m going to fuck you hard so you remember that this is what you do to me.” And he did. I knew I was going to have bruises from his hips, but I didn’t care as I wrapped my legs around him and begged him. For more, for everything. I came so hard that it triggered him as well.
“Never. Forget.” He thrust two more times and spent himself. I now understood the term “having your brains fucked out” because mine definitely were. I couldn’t come up with the alphabet at the moment.
“Do you feel me?” He rocked his hips, still inside me. “I’m going to fuck you again, but this time you’re going to be on top.” He thrust again, and I could feel him getting hard. He leaned down and kissed me, plunging his tongue in my mouth.
“Put your arms around my neck.” I did so and he rolled us until I was on top of him. “Now take my hands.” I did that as well and started to move. Slow, because I was still recovering.
“I could do this all night. Because you make me feel this way. You, above me, riding me, and making those sounds that I love. You’re the only person I’ve ever let go with, the only woman who knows the real me.”
The combination of the words, and the spots I was hitting with every movement had me screaming his name and gripping his hands so hard I thought he would lose circulation. But he just kept talking and urging me on, telling me how beautiful I was, and I came again, almost harder than the first time. I kept going until he came with me, his back arching off the bed.
I fell on top of him, breathless.
“We’re not done yet,” he said, panting. “As soon as I’m ready, I’m going to fuck you from behind over the arm of the couch. And then I’m going to fuck you in the shower, and maybe on the kitchen counter. I really want the message to sink in.” Oh it wasn’t going to sink in. He was going to fuck it into me. Hard.