They’d always been combustible together, but this was… Neither one of them seemed capable of holding back. She’d had no idea it could get better. Not with him.
“It can’t be mine until I claim it,” he muttered almost incoherently against her skin. “I need all of you.”
He released her, pulling out abruptly and Tasha moaned in dismay. “No, please, Stephen. Don’t stop.”
“Unless you use that safe word, I believe you said something about whatever I wanted.” His voice was gritty with lust. “This is what I want.”
To stop? To leave her hanging on the edge of climax? He slid a pillow under her hips and then she felt cool liquid dripping between the cheeks of her ass. Oh God. Oh God, Stephen was going to…
“Yes.” The sound she made was loud and full of desperation. “Yes, Stephen. Please, sir.”
His laugh was rough as he rubbed the thick lubricant into her skin. “Jesus, if I knew a pair of handcuffs and lube could make you this compliant, I would have used them years ago.”
She was drowning in need, pressed against the bed bound and helpless while Stephen prepared her. His finger pushed through the tight ring of muscles and she gasped at the pressure before remembering to breathe.
“So tight,” he murmured. “But you’ve done this before?”
Tasha nodded, too aroused to do anything else. Stephen stretched her until he could slip in a second finger to join the first, and she shouted in shock and pleasure at the painful pinch. “Yes, I’ve—”
“No details,” he growled harshly. “I just wanted to make sure I wouldn’t hurt you.”
His fingers thrust slowly inside her, making her pant and shake.
“You won’t,” she whimpered. “You won’t hurt me.”
“Oh, I might,” Stephen replied, something dark in his voice that made her shudder beneath him. “If I did what I wanted to I might hurt you.”
“What do you want?”
“To fuck you through this mattress and make you forget anyone who came before me. To mark you. I don’t like feeling like this, but you want it, don’t you, Natasha? You told me you could take more than I thought. That you want me to give you more.”
Stephen didn’t say things like this. Not when she was awake. “I can take it, Stephen. I need it.”
His pleased growl sent sparks of electricity through her body. When she felt the head of his cock push inside her, she cried out his name. “Stephen!”
“Angel,” he groaned, his hips pressing forward, his hands clenched in a bruising grip. “Natasha, angel, that’s… Fuck, you’re so tight.”
She couldn’t catch her breath. Her vision was blurred with tears as she struggled to take him. He was thick and hard, and stretching her so wide she couldn’t decide whether it was too much or not enough.
It was Stephen. It would never be enough.
“Damn it, I don’t think I can last this time. It’s been too long.” He slipped a hand beneath her body, his fingers sliding through her dripping arousal. “I need you to come for me.”
She wanted to. She needed to. She was so close. “Oh God, please.”
Two fingers thrust inside her, matching the rhythm of his cock in her ass. “Give it to me. Give me what’s mine. Scream my name and come for me.”
His teeth scraped her shoulder and he bit down in warning, and that was all it took. Supernovas exploded behind her closed eyelids and set off a chain reaction in every cell of her body. Her sex clenched around his fingers, her ass around his erection, and every muscle in her body seized, arching off the bed as she found her release.
“Stephen!” She screamed over and over again as he thrust deeper inside her once, twice, before joining her with an agonized shout.
She couldn’t stop trembling. Not when he kissed her back, pulling out of her slowly. Not when he came back to release the handcuffs and clean her used body with a warm, wet washcloth.
He climbed onto the bed and leaned against the headboard, dragging her into his arms and kissing her hair, her forehead, anywhere he could reach. “Natasha? Talk to me. Was I too rough?”
She almost laughed, but she was afraid she’d start crying. “Did I use the safe word?” She didn’t wait for him to respond. “You were good.”
“I should have taken lessons from you years ago,” he said softly.
“You didn’t need them until now,” she responded. “I always knew you were a quick study, but I underestimated your skills. I don’t think this party will be a problem.”
He’d been more than good. Natasha had once been strapped to a St. Andrew’s Cross and whipped until she’d collapsed. She’d cried for an hour with a release that had been more healing than two years of therapy, but that paled in comparison to Stephen Finn’s experimental bedroom play.
His first lesson had nearly shattered her beyond repair. It was taking everything she had not to ugly sob all over his lean, beautiful chest and scare him away with her rollercoaster emotions. Either he wasn’t telling her something or he was a born Dominant. A fucking savant with definite primal leanings. One conversation, a few simple directions and he’d made her come harder than she ever had in her sexually liberated, open-minded life.