Own Me

I don't bother to hide my desire as I ogle his body–those perfectly defined muscles, highlighted here

and there by the tattoos that scrawl across his body. They're all blackline tattoos, tasteful, geometric shapes and abstract pieces mingling with a couple symbols, like the thorns across his chest and the sailor anchor on his shoulder.

I may or may not be drooling by the time my gaze reaches his waistline and the perfect V-cut of muscle that points straight to his groin like an arrow guiding me home.

While I'm ogling, he's busy undressing. He whips his belt off with a loud snap, the leather cracking like a whip. I jump, and he steps closer to the bed, the belt still in his hand.

"Tell me your rules," he says, a challenge in his gaze. "If you're experienced, then you know what you are and are not willing to do."

My mouth feels dry all of a sudden. Should I have told him the truth? That this is my first time? But what if he wants someone experienced; what if he gets mad I didn't mention that in my profile? I swallow hard. I've gone this far with it.

Rules, though. What does he mean...?

"Tell me yours first," I reply, raising my chin. "What kind of an experience are you looking for, exactly?"

He laughs softly. There's something dangerous about that laugh. Something that pushes me to the edge between desire and nerves once more. “My rules are simple, Lilly. You do whatever I say.” He leans over me, reaches out to let his fingertips graze my shoulder, gently, almost reverently. But his eyes, still locked on mine, are all fire. “I enjoy being in control.”

If I wasn’t wet before, I definitely am now, my whole body trembling in anticipation. I’ve messed around with toys in the bedroom before, even had a couple of exes who tied me up, but they were jokey about it, goofing around. It was hot, but not… like this. He’s dead serious right now–he wants to be in control.

And I am getting turned on as hell by the thought.

“Your turn.” He tightens his hand on my shoulder. Uses it to spin me around until I’m facing the bed. Then he bends me over, slowly, until I’m kneeling in front of him on all fours. I feel the bed shift as he climbs onto it behind me, his hand trailing from my shoulder to the back of my neck, making every hair rise as he trails his fingertip over my skin.

Unable to help it, a soft moan escapes me, as he traces the ridges of my spine down my back to the edge of my lacey top.

“Tell me your rules, Lilly.” His voice is low, almost a purr, but still commanding.

My belly clenches. I can’t think straight with him touching me. All I want to do right now is surrender to him. But I have to focus–I need to seem like I know what I’m doing right now. “I…” I swallow thickly. “I don’t have any,” I finally whisper.

His hand curls, nails digging into my back. I can feel his thighs against mine, his muscles clenching, and I hear him sigh softly. “God, you are perfect,” he murmurs. It startles me because I didn’t realize how close he was. Bending over me so his breath tickles my ear. Yet he’s still being gentle. I didn’t expect this. His soft touches, light caresses.

“If I go too far, Lilly, just say ‘when.’ Do you understand?”

Numbly, I can feel myself nodding. Whatever he says. I just want him to fuck me already. I’ve never been this turned on before.

Without warning, he clenches my jaw hard and turns my face to the side, until I’m staring straight into his eyes. I tense, startled. He looks angry now. Glaring at me. “Not good enough,” he says. “I need to know that you understand. What do you say if I go too far, if you need me to stop?”

I blink, trying to think through the fog of the ache between my thighs. “When?” I ask, tentative.

He releases my jaw but doesn’t stop staring. “That’s right. I need you to remember that, Lilly. Because I’m going to push you to your limits. I’m going to lead you right up to your breaking point, and I need you to know that you can stop this at any time, if–no, when we get there.”

I swallow again but it’s dry. My whole mouth has gone dry, and my arms have started trembling. I can’t tell if it’s nerves or just how hot and bothered he’s making me. Probably both. “I’ll remember,” I promise him.

He smiles, and some of the anger leaves his gaze now. “Good.” He sits up, and rests a hand between my shoulder blades. Pushes. “Now lay down.”

Obediently, I slide down onto my stomach. His hands travel down my back, exploring my skin. He slides them under the babydoll top, works his thick, rough fingertips over every inch of me, as if he’s memorizing me. He starts to press harder, massaging, but roughly, enough that I gasp when he hits a sore spot. He grins and works at that spot for a moment, forcing the tension out of my body, physically forcing me to relax.

And I do. I sink into the bed, sighing, half in relief and half in surprise. I didn’t expect this. Any of this.

I didn’t expect him.

Will it always be this good? Or did I just get lucky with my first client?

I’m lost in thought, wondering about that, fantasizing about what Giovanni has in store for me next. His hands are pulling me out of the real world, forcing me into the fantasy he’s creating.

That’s why I don’t notice what he’s doing, when he lifts my right arm above my head, working my bicep, my forearm, kneading my wrist. He leaves my hand there, pulls my left arm up too, still massaging, distracting me.

Until I feel hard leather slide around my wrists.

I look up, startled, but he’s a pro at this. He’s already tightening the belt, binding my wrists together. Before I can react, he tosses the other end of the belt around the bedpost and cinches that tight, too.

I’m trapped now. Completely at his mercy.

My belly does that strange flutter again, like the kind of nerves you feel at the top of a roller coaster. Fear and adrenaline, but also… excitement.

His lips brush the back of my neck. Soft, light. He kisses his way down my back, his lips touching each ridge of my spine. When he reaches the edge of my shirt, he pauses to slide his hands under my stomach. Eager for his touch, for him to really touch me, take me however he pleases, I arch my hips toward him. But he only clutches the fabric of the lace top and yanks it up over my head. He leaves it tangled around my bound wrists, but I’m still flat against the bed, naked except for my panties now, my breasts heaving against the comforter.

Fucking hell, he hasn’t even touched me anywhere except my back and I’m already drenched. I can feel the heavy weight of my clit between my legs, hard and aching with want for him.

He leans over me again, his mouth at the small of my back. His tongue flicks over my skin, tasting, teasing. I moan again, not bothering to hide my desire. He chuckles softly, and even his hot breath along my back makes me shiver and wriggle against the restraints.

“Perfect,” he whispers. He flattens his palms along my back, runs them up my sides, touching my hips, my waist, grazing the very edges of my breasts with his fingertips. I can feel my nipples getting hard, even though he hasn’t so much as touched them yet. “You are such a perfect little whore, aren’t you, Lilly? God, the things I’m going to do to you…”

I sigh with longing. “Yes, please.”

A sudden, sharp sting rockets through me as he slaps my ass. Just one hit, not hard enough to leave a mark, but unexpected enough that I jump, tensing. “Yes please, sir,” he corrects, his voice sounding deeper, thicker now.

He’s turned on, too. I know it. So why won’t he fuck me?

I spread my legs and arch my back to point my ass toward him. “Yes, sir,” I reply, keeping my voice low and throaty.

“That’s better.” He rubs my ass, caressing the spot he just slapped, squeezing gently, and I groan with desire. “You’re getting turned on, aren’t you, my lovely slut?”

“Yes, sir,” I repeat, squirming under him.

“Good.” I swear I hear a grin in his voice when he says that. “Tell me, slut, do you want me to fuck you?”

“Yes, please, sir.”

“That’s unfortunate. Because I don’t fuck sluts until I know who they are.”

I tense, th

at flutter of nerves in the pit of my stomach erupting again. “Sir?” I ask, hesitant, trying to turn to see him. I don’t know what he wants.

But his hands are sliding around my body now, underneath me, spreading across my stomach, finally, finally, and I can’t think straight anymore. One hand slips up between my breasts, tracing the ridge of my breastbone, circling right under my heart, before he reaches around to cup my breast in his hand, squeezing, kneading. My nipple is already rock hard against his palm, and he lets out a sigh as he straddles me, resting his hips on my ass. He’s still wearing his jeans, dammit, but I can feel the hard straight line of his cock through them. Teasing me.

I arch my hips to push them harder against his cock, and he tightens his hand on my breast in response, pinching my nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. I cry out, half in pain and half in pleasure.

“You don’t move until I tell you to, understand, slut? Otherwise, I’ll stop giving you any pain or pleasure.” He draws his other hand out from under me to shove my hips back against the bed, flat. “I said, do you understand?”

I’m too distracted, there’s so many new sensations flooding my body. Pain, which I never knew I was into. Pleasure, from his warm hand around my breast, his hot body against mine. “I understand, sir,” I manage to gasp.

He lets go of my breast, presses his fingers into the ridge of my sternum and trails them down, over my stomach, circling my belly, tracing the arc of my hipbones, and finally going lower, lower…

I groan and fight the urge to push my hips forward with every ounce of self-control I possess, since I know by now that if I disobey his order, if I move without his permission, he’ll stop touching me.

I’ll do whatever he wants as long as he doesn’t stop touching me.