He parts my legs with the same thin, supple rod he struck me with, and I quickly move my legs apart. The edge of the rod glides against the silky triangle of fabric between my legs. He’s touching me there, and I might fly out of these shackles with the intensity of my need.
The friction he builds goes faster, and faster, until I’m whimpering with need and the pulsing between my legs is so intense, I can hardly breathe. He taps the rob, a quick swat between my legs. I gasp in pain.
Then he stops.
Stops.
I stifle a sob.
“Are you disappointed, lass?” he whispers in my ear. “You wish to come?”
I shake my head from side to side. I don’t know what he means.
“I… I don’t know,” I falter.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” he groans. “Christ Almighty, woman. You’re so fu—you’re so innocent it’s intoxicating.”
I don’t understand what he means, what he wishes from me. And why did he stop himself from cursing?
I hear a clink and whirr and see him unfastening his zipper. He holds my gaze with determination as he removes his jeans.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“I want to mark you, lass,” he whispers back. “I want to fuck that sweet, virgin cunt of yours until you scream my name.”
I’m shaking with fear and anticipation, wondering what he’ll possibly do next.
Seems he’s forgotten his momentary desire not to curse, and as he speaks, I feel my cheeks flame with heat. His words are wicked and dirty, but somehow, I feel more powerful, more attractive, as if the very words he speaks are an aphrodisiac.
I’ve never done this before. I have no idea what to expect, and it makes me a little nervous. No. It makes me a lot nervous.
What will he do to me? Why do I want this man to do anything he wants?
“I want to be the first to make you feel everything,” he whispers in my ear, his breath pungent with the sweet heat of liquor. Is he drunk?
Do I care?
I feel something both hard and soft at my back, and when I look down, I see him hard and erect, pressed up to my back. It doesn’t scare me, though. I’m more curious than anything. I’ve been hidden away so long, I managed to convince myself I wasn’t wanted by anyone. That I was an insignificant little creature, a forgotten soul that had no impact in the world in the least. But the way he’s looking at me now, as if he owns me, the way he wants to own my body as well… I like it. It makes me feel special. Attractive. I’d even go so far as to say… sexy.
“Keenan…” my voice trails off when he wraps his hand around my throat and squeezes. I can’t breathe, but it doesn’t frighten me. He’s in control. He wants to control this, too. He breathes warm air on my neck, rustling the tendrils of hair and making me shiver, and still, he holds his hand on my neck. I feel a little dizzy and lightheaded when he releases me, and as I gasp for breath, he sinks his teeth into the bare, tender skin at my shoulder, but like all things he does, this pain tempered with the promise of pleasure, my fear quickly dissipates.
“How did you learn such bravery, sweet Caitlin?” he whispers in my ear, then he mumbles in a foreign language, one that sounds so ancient it’s as if he’s drawn it straight from the past. I want to know this language that he speaks, to understand the hidden depths.
I don’t respond. I don’t know how to. It isn’t that I’m intrinsically brave, or anything like that, really.
It’s easy to be brave when I’m with him.
He slides a key to the cuffs at my wrists, but leaves the collar on my neck, then he moves at my back, stroking his hard length with one hand while holding my gaze with the other. My mouth goes dry, for I don’t know how to handle this, what I should do. I’m holding my breath while he strokes harder and faster, his breathing becoming labored, and he manages to whisper, “Touch yourself.”
I don’t need to ask him to repeat himself, or what he means, my need for pleasure between my legs is all-consuming. With a trembling hand, I push down the silky edge of my undergarments, and slide my fingers to the slick, swollen folds. I gasp when I stroke up once.
“Work yourself,” he whispers in my ear, closing his eyes as rubs his length on my bare back, and I know he’s going to mark me, just like this. I marvel at how little I need to know and how natural this all feels.
It feels exquisite, putting pressure right there, building to something better than even this.