‘I think we’ll call this one the quiet f**k.’ He brings the scarf to my mouth and slips it between my lips. ‘Keep your tongue relaxed.’ he instructs softly, taking it around the back of my head and tying it firmly but not tightly. ‘If you feel the need to scream, bite down. Understand?’
I nod, my eyes following him as he leans down and removes my knickers. It really doesn’t matter that I can’t talk because my mind has gone blank. I can think of nothing to say, my only thoughts being of anticipation. And maybe there’s a little bit of me wondering whether he’s gagged anyone else before. Possibly. Highly likely. It’s unwelcome, but my docile state is preventing me from chasing the thought—that and the hot tongue running up the inside of my leg. I don’t want to scream, but I bite down on the scarf anyway, my eyes closing, my drumming heart beating an even pulse in my chest. I feel surprisingly calm.
He makes a point of breathing heavily in my ear as he laces his fingers through mine and pushes my hands up to the wall behind me before kissing down the sensitive flesh of my inside arm, softly and painfully slow. I quickly fear that the only screaming I’ll be doing will be in impatience. He’s going to take his time with me.
‘I think we’ll do this lying down.’ His low, sure voice has me praying for control as he brings our hands down, fingers still laced, and then starts walking backwards, encouraging me to step with him. Not that I need any encouragement. I’ll follow this man wherever he goes, whether it’s to a bed or to the end of the earth.
He bends and takes a hold of me before straightening his legs and kneeling onto the small, double bed and crawling up, resting me down gently. The tip of my nose is kissed, my hair smoothed from my face, and then I’m turned onto my side slightly, my leg lifted and bent so he can straddle the one still flush with the bed. He edges forward, holding himself with one hand and keeping my leg up with the other, watching what he’s doing, getting closer until he skims my opening. If I could, I’d yelp, but I’m resorted to reaching behind me to grab the headboard. My back bows, even though he’s just holding himself there. It’s torturous.
‘Ava,’ He kisses my foot, ‘Nothing can beat this.’ He sinks slowly into me, his head falling back, and I have to look. I overcome the overwhelming need to close my eyes in utter bliss, just so I can watch his face. His jaw tenses, his grip of my ankle increases, his now free hand rests on my waist and his torso sharpens, the lines of every muscle defined and protruding. I so want to feel him there, but I’m immobilised by pleasure, rendering me incapable of moving. He’s right. Nothing can or ever will beat this. It’s agonisingly good, and I’m transfixed on him, completely captivated by him. So incredibly in love with him.
‘Do you like what you see?’ he asks as he withdraws slowly. I’m so fixated on the movement of his muscles, I’ve not noticed his head has now dropped and he’s studying me. He gags me, inflicts this pleasure on me, and then expects the impossible. He wants me to reply? I shouldn’t need to, he knows the answer very well, but I nod anyway. He doesn’t smile or show any approval of my answer. He just gradually works his way deep inside of me, as if rewarding me for my silent response. ‘I like what I see, too.’ I’m blessed with a precise grinding of his hips. I might not be able to cry out in pleasure, but I can moan. So I do.
Pulling out slowly, he plunges straight back in. He’s starting to work up a steady rhythm. It remains controlled, it remains exact and it remains profoundly powerful, but without the force I know he’s capable of. He’s determined to make his point—the point of unnecessary hardness, the hardness that I think I need, and the point that I’m not sure would need to be raised if I wasn’t pregnant. I’m being thoroughly indulged. I’m being doted upon. I can live with this for the next few months.
I’m moaning again as he grinds, and when I feel his teeth graze my ankle, my head flies back and I’m unexpectedly overcome with heated tingles, stabbing all over my skin, but more intensely between my thighs.
‘She’s losing control.’ he gasps quietly, lifting up higher on his knees, taking my lower body with him. I start shaking my head, tightening my grip of the headboard and twisting my body to try and get onto my back. I’m attempting in vain. I could never overpower him. He has a firm hold on my hip, keeping me where he wants me. ‘Don’t fight me, Ava.’ He strikes firmly but carefully It’s nowhere near the power that I know he’s capable of. But it’s still good.
I don’t need it. I crave it. Big difference, but my insatiable want has been fed good and proper, and now it’s expected. In he goes again, definitely and on a supressed hiss. I try to flip myself over again, but it’s useless. I’ll never win, only knacker myself out, and I want to store my energy for the building release that’s brewing. I bite down on the scarf and let out a muffled yell.
‘Am I making you crazy, baby?’ he asks, the tinge of smugness clear as he reverts back to a smooth, even pace.
I don’t look at him. I close my eyes and turn my attention to catching the booming beat at my core before he tells me to control it. He’s ruling me, and even though it’s slow and almost effortless, it’s still very deep and it’s still very pleasurable, and I’m still going to erupt.
‘You’re doing well, Ava.’ In he sinks, around he grinds, out he comes. ‘My temptress is getting stronger.’ Back in, back around, back out.