Say My Name (Stark International Trilogy 1)

When he is finished, my legs are bound such that I am forced to kneel with my arms behind me, almost like a penitent.

“You look amazing.” His eyes echo the words, as does his erection. “Next time, we’ll do more. A cord around your breasts to heighten their sensitivity. Or between your legs so that every movement teases your clit. So many sweet possibilities.”

I lick my lips, already intrigued, and close to an orgasm simply from being positioned like this, my legs wide and my sex exposed.

“Do you know why I want to bind you?”

I shake my head, wanting only to hear his answer.

“Because I want you to fully feel everything I give you. No struggling against sensation. No pulling away from pleasure because it is so heightened that it borders on pain. Bound, you have no choice but to take it in. Bound, you have no choice but to feel.”

He slides his hand between my legs and slowly strokes me. I tremble, lost in the overwhelming awareness of every brush of skin against skin. “And do you know why this position is so popular?”

Again, I simply shake my head.

“Because you are completely open. I can take you any way. Your cunt. Your ass. Your mouth.” He brushes his finger over me with each word, and I shiver at the thought of being so thoroughly fucked. “I will, too, one day. I want all of you, Sylvia. But right now, I want to feel you on me. I want you close. I want to hold you and control every movement. And I want to be close enough to see your eyes and claim your mouth when you come.”

“Yes,” I whisper, so wet I can feel the slickness on my thighs. “Please, yes.”

He spreads my legs, then kneels between them, lifting my hips as he uses one hand to ease me onto my back before thrusting into me with one quick, powerful stroke. I am wet—so desperately wet—and there is no hesitation, no need for gentle coaxing, and I cry out with the pleasure of being so thoroughly and deliciously filled.

I’m on my back, and the sensation of arching up as he fucks me is wonderful. My skin feels tight and awake, my breasts teased by even the motion of the air. But he soon changes that. He reaches down and slides his hands under me, then lifts me up so that I am straddling him.

I have no hands to use, and no legs for balance, so though I am on top of him, he is doing all the work. He holds me at the waist, lifting me up and down so that I am pumping him, and he is filling me.

It is insanely erotic, this sensation of fucking and being fucked at the same time, and I do the only thing I can do and that is squeeze my muscles tight around him with each thrust, trying to milk him so that he comes hard and fast, even though I do not want this glorious sensation to end.

“Yes,” he says, urging me on. “That’s it, baby.” With each word, he moves me harder. Faster. And I can feel the pressure building in him, the explosion coming.

Mine as well, because in this position he is so deep that with each thrust he pushes me closer, and at the same time the rocking motion against my clit is making me spiral up, reaching for climax.

“Please,” I moan as we get close, so close, and he’s moving me tighter and faster until finally his hands grab my back so that I sit straighter upon him and I meet his eyes and see that we are both on this same collision course.

And when it comes, it is almost nuclear, and the only thing that keeps me grounded is Jackson’s mouth, hard and deep against mine, his tongue seeking and claiming, as if this kiss holds a secret that only the two of us can share.

We stay like that until our bodies quit shaking and then he pulls me limp against him.

He strokes me, and the feel of his hands against my skin is like warm comfort.

Slowly, he unties me, then gently rubs my arms where the cord has cut into my skin. “How do you feel?”

I grin up at him, tired and wrung out and absolutely thoroughly satisfied. “Amazing,” I say sleepily. Then murmur, “Can we do it again?”

I feel his chuckle reverberate through me as he pulls me close. “I think that can be arranged. Sleep now, sweetheart.”

His words seem to float over me, and by the time I realize that I am already half there, the world goes dark and I lose myself in the safety of Jackson’s arms.

It turns out that Jackson is a typical bachelor in that he has absolutely nothing in his refrigerator except cheese, and nothing to drink other than wine, scotch, and beer.

Since I’m not keen on defrosting frozen pastries or waiting an hour for a delivery, we decide to go with popcorn and a movie, and just call it a date night.

Now, I am stretched out on the sofa in Jackson’s office space, my feet on his lap and my computer balanced on my stomach. Across the room, the television plays The Big Sleep, an old Humphrey Bogart movie that Jackson found when he was doing that annoying thing that guys do with the remote, and said we absolutely had to watch.