by Elia Winters
“Stay there for a minute. Don’t come.”
She loved and hated this, sitting on the precipice. Floating on the knife-edge of orgasm was a dangerous game. Too much pressure, and she might not be able to pull back in time; too little, and she craved more.
“Hands away.”
Abby froze, opening her eyes to look at him. Really? She dragged her hands away from her soaking pussy, her clit pulsing with her heartbeat. Already, the orgasm ebbed away, fading from her senses, and she could have cried.
“How does that feel?” He picked up her hand by the wrist and held it, her fingers glistening with her wetness.
“Frustrating,” she answered, then paused, because there was more. “Hot.”
Sam slid her fingers into his mouth, his tongue sucking her juices away. Her pussy clenched around nothing. If only that tongue were between her legs.
He released her wrist. “Get to the edge again. Tell me when you’re there.”
She began to rub her clit once more, the arousal beginning to build.
“Do you like being told no?” he asked.
With the hormones surging through her blood, she would admit anything, but it still made her blush. “Yes. I like…oh, God…I like not knowing when you’re going to let me come.”
“Or if.”
Shit. Normally she could read him so well, but he looked blank. Either he had been practicing this dominant act, or she’d just never seen this side of him. Whatever expression was on her face, it made him smile. “Took you by surprise there, hmm?” Reaching out, he rolled one nipple between his fingers, pinching it, sending another jolt into her body before he switched sides and did the same to the other. “I might decide to keep you like this, all strung out and needy.”
“I’m there,” she gasped, the delayed orgasm holding her whole body taut.
“Hands away.”
Pulling away was torture, but she didn’t want it to be easy, did she? That was the worst, and the best, knowing that she wanted to be tortured and he was doing it.
“Again.”
He had her edge three more times, each one coming quicker than the last, and by the last one, she almost went too far and had to consciously relax all her muscles to keep from coming. This was insane. Her whole pussy was slick, her thighs, everything a mess.
Sam smiled thinly. This wasn’t his normal smile. Something dark, something wicked looked out at her, an expression that turned her on and also scared the shit out of her. This man could be a total stranger. Was this all an act? Was he really getting off on this, or was he just putting it on for her benefit, because this was her fantasy?
“Tell me.” He shifted on the bed. “Would you like more of this, or would you like something else?”
What the fuck would something else be? But if he kept edging her, she might go mad, or slip over the edge. “I don’t know.”
He got up and disappeared into the walk-in closet, returning after a moment with a coil of rope. Uncertainty and excitement bubbled up inside Abby, and she started to giggle, trembling on the bed. Sam smiled. “You like this?” He held it up.
Abby nodded, the giggles bordering on the edge of hysterics, and she tried to tamp them down. She’d never reacted like this before. Sam sat beside her again, smoothing her hair back, and leaned in to kiss her. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I mean, yes, Sir.” She was more than okay. Her body was a continuous nerve, sensitive and needy.
“Okay. Good.” He pinned both of her arms over her head and began to tie her wrists together. He’d been a Boy Scout; he tied quickly and efficiently, securing her wrists to each other and then to the headboard in a matter of moments. “Try to get away.”
She couldn’t. Pulling against the ropes, she lost her breath in a moment of panic, that sheer animal fear of being trapped. It passed, leaving her gasping and—how was it possible?—more turned on than before.
Sam stepped back from the bed and smiled at her bound form. Then he began to undress, methodical, quick, with businesslike precision. He folded his clothes and left them on the armchair in the corner, the one where he sometimes sat to read, the place where she’d also left her pile of clothes. Then, naked, he climbed into the space between her legs, carefully bending both knees back. Abby sucked in deep breaths, trying to steady herself, rubbing her wrists against the rope because it felt so good not to be able to get away.
Sam kept her knees pushed back and, slowly, nudged her slick entrance with his cock. Please, more, she wanted to beg, but couldn’t find the words, and all the air left her lungs in a single moan as he thrust fully inside her.
He stayed buried all the way inside her, holding her hips, and his eyes fell half closed. “You feel…so tight, on the edge like this. Fuck.” The swear sounded reverent on his lips, his expression a mixture of pleasure and restraint. Finally, he opened his eyes, more composed, and began to thrust.
Abby couldn’t do much but lie there, each thrust opening her up to him. He pressed against her G-spot every time, sending little sparks through her body. He was using her, taking her body for his pleasure, moving harder and faster than she would normally want. Ah, damn, she loved it. She hadn’t expected Sam to love it, too, but his face was a mask of bliss, lips parted, his hips moving like a man possessed. His steady, low exhales shifted to words, absolute filth tumbling out of his mouth.
“Damn, yes, look at you.” He punctuated his words with hard thrusts. “So helpless. You just have to take it. Take what I give you. You can’t get away.”
Abby moaned, shifting as much as she could in this position. Sam was right. She couldn’t get away, and that was the appeal of this, her own helplessness to whatever he wanted to do.
“Maybe I’ll just have someone else come in, huh? Leave you here to get fucked by somebody else. Watch someone else enjoy your tight, sweet pussy. Would you like that?”
“Fuck,” Abby cried, clenching reflexively around him. She’d had those fantasies, the ones she didn’t admit to herself, fantasies of being taken by someone else. Sam might be just talking dirty, but she’d thought about that very thing, thought about it but would never say it out loud.
“Such a good girl,” he groaned, and his fingers went to her clit, rubbing hard and pushing her right to that edge before she could fight it. “Ask me. Ask me to come.”
She wanted it so bad, wanted that mind-melting pleasure, denied for so long. “Please,” she gasped. “Please, may I come?”
“No.” He pulled his hand away from her clit and grabbed her hips again. She could have cried, but she also loved it, loved this feeling of helplessness. Dual needs warred within her, the need to come and the need to please him. She couldn’t stop clenching with every movement he made inside her, every thrust.
“So tight. You’re such a good fuck. You’re so hot, so wet, so perfect.” His hips were moving erratically now, and he let go of her hips to lean forward, propping himself up above her, driving into her over and over again. “Anybody would be lucky, getting to come in this sweet cunt.”
That right there almost pushed Abby over the edge. Sam so seldom swore, mostly during sex, never that crude, and somehow that mix of composed Sam talking filthy and fucking her without mercy had Abby shivering at the edge of orgasm, frantic to hold it off. She didn’t even need his hand on her clit, now.
“Please, Sir, may I come?” Her voice had gotten higher, more desperate.
“I don’t know.” He leaned down and sucked one nipple into his mouth, and the contact raced through her like a straight line to her clit. “Do you like this? Tell me. Tell me the truth.”
“Oh,” she moaned, wincing, her breath coming shallow to her lungs. “Yes. I like…being helpless. And I like…you fucking me like this. And I like…shit, I like thinking about…about you watching someone else fuck me.” The words tumbled out, confessions, desire so hot and thick in her blood that she was burning up from the inside out. “Please, Sir, please, may I come?”
Sam locked eyes with her, his expr
ession feral and sharp, animal-like. “When I come, you can come.”
She didn’t know how much longer she could bear it, and she pulled against the ropes, thrashing, anything to distract herself from the deep, primal pull of her own release bearing down on her. Sam was merciless, hitting every tender spot in her pussy with brutal precision. Finally, he drove all the way inside her and held, coming hot and thick inside her, and Abby let herself fall over that impossible cliff into a climax that washed away all reality from her mind. Words dissolved and she was left gasping, crying, riding out this wave. He held steady, his cock still twitching inside her, until she sagged to the bed, everything fading away.
Abby came back to reality with Sam’s weight heavy on top of her, the slickness of their combined wetness between her legs, a wash of discomfort and guilt settling all over her. Sam lifted off her, carefully, avoiding eye contact, and then moving up to untie her wrists with unsteady hands. Finally released, Abby flexed her fingers, touching the rawness where she’d rubbed her wrists red. She was cold. She curled up onto her side, drenched with sweat that was now cooling, and tried to wrangle her thoughts into something normal.
This wasn’t normal, though. Something had shifted.
Sam had always been so gentle, so approachable, so nonthreatening. He hadn’t been the kind of guy to shake her up. They’d rode this pattern for ten years now, but he wasn’t that guy she’d expected. He’d acted like someone totally different. If this side of him was present all along, maybe she didn’t know him at all.
…
Sam probably shouldn’t leave Abby alone on the bed, not after what they’d just done, but he stood in the bathroom way longer than it took to use it, staring at himself in the mirror. Shit, what had he just said? He’d had a sense of how he wanted tonight to go. He’d planned on teasing her, bringing her to the edge of orgasm a few times, tying her up, and making her come. He hadn’t planned on spilling out all this dirty, filthy confessional stuff, ideas he hadn’t even really thought through. And now, there they were, out in the open.
Abby was curled up on the bed, and he put a hand on her back. Her skin felt cold and clammy. “Hey. Why don’t we take a shower together?”
Abby pushed herself up onto one elbow and looked up at him, hesitant. “Sure,” she said at last. “Sure.”
Showering together was this baseline kind of connection that always made Sam feel close to Abby. Even though their shower wasn’t big enough to make this sort of thing comfortable, it wasn’t really about getting clean. He steered her under the water and began to rinse her hair. She tipped her head back and closed her eyes.
He needed to say something. “I hope that was okay.”
Abby picked her head up, raising her eyebrows. “Okay?” She started to laugh. “Yeah, clearly I was enjoying myself.”
“I didn’t want to go too far. I hope I didn’t go too far. I got a little carried away there.” He poured some of her shampoo into his hand and began to lather up the thick red locks. She smiled, leaning into his touch, already visibly relaxing.
“It’s fine. I got a little carried away, too. It’s normal.” She was comforting him, here, and he should really be comforting her.
“You were so incredible tonight.”
Abby wrinkled her nose, bashful, and closed her eyes as Sam began to rinse her hair with the warm water. “Thanks?” She sounded hesitant. “I didn’t do much but just lie there.”
He waited to say anything else while the water was running over her head. How could he even put into words the way he’d felt about her responses? She came out from under the water, and he picked up the conditioner. “I know this was your fantasy,” he said, “but I feel more like you were tapping into one of mine.”
“Oh?” She tipped her head to the side as he added conditioner to her long locks. “I guess that’s good, right? Like the sex club. It’s good when we both enjoy ourselves.”
“So you enjoyed yourself, too.” He needed to confirm.
“Yeah, I already said that.” She laughed. “You were a little surprising, though.”
It would probably seem that way to her, for sure. “I don’t know what I was saying, there.” The words were all coming back to him in waves, memories that embarrassed him even as much as they still turned him on. “I don’t…like to use language like that.”
Abby reached for the body wash, but he took it from her, squirting it onto her mesh sponge so he could wash her. Running his hands over her body like this, touching her tenderly, seemed to offset some of the cognitive dissonance about his previous actions. “What language?” she asked. When he hesitated, she guessed. “Cunt?”
“Yeah.” He never used that word, knew how offensive it could be. “I’m sorry.”
Now, she outright laughed, and he wasn’t expecting that. “Don’t apologize. It was hot. Dirty talk is hot.”
“Right. Okay.” Good, so she wasn’t offended. He should apologize for the rest of it, too, the parts about seeing her fucking other guys, play all that off to fantasy. Even as he went to open his mouth and say it, though, something stopped him. He couldn’t blame that on getting carried away. He had been fantasizing about that, and more than just tonight. His mind had been turning it over and over ever since the reunion, when he’d first found out some details from her past.
He closed his mouth, kept washing her, turning away from eye contact. Guilt simmered in his stomach. He couldn’t deny that tonight was hot. He didn’t want to undo anything that had happened. But it was all said, now; everything was out in the open, for better or worse. She might pretend none of it mattered, but that didn’t undo it.
And he didn’t want to undo it. He’d loved every minute of this, even when she was desperate and begging him. She came undone, and he reveled in it.
“I feel like I should be washing you,” Abby said, her voice loud after the silence that had fallen between them.
“Huh?” He rinsed the sponge off under the water.
“You know. Serving you and all that.” She gestured toward the bedroom. He followed her gesture, even though that direction was only shower curtain.
“Oh. That’s…over. That’s not…that was just…”
“I know.” She smiled. “It wasn’t real. It was just a fantasy.” She stepped under the stream of water and began to rinse the suds from her body. He couldn’t even argue with her, because she was giving him the benefit of the doubt. She’d taken this to just be him, enjoying himself while fulfilling her fantasy. She had no way of knowing how turned on he’d been all week, thinking about this type of control. He’d gotten hard every night, seeing her shift in her sleep, her hips moving in sleepy arousal. A few times, he’d jerked off in the shower, so turned on by her frustration and this heady sense of power over her. He couldn’t get this needy, desperate Abby out of his head, and shit, he didn’t want to.
What kind of a man was he, if he loved taking control of her this much? She’d yielded so beautifully and had apparently enjoyed herself immensely in the process. Sure, she was smiling now, rinsing the conditioner from her hair, sated and content. But they couldn’t take back what had been said and done. Things were different between them, and they couldn’t go back to the way they’d been together before this all began.
Abby opened her eyes and pulled him close, oblivious to the turmoil inside him. “Come on. It’s my turn to wash you.”
…
Sam let the kettlebell hit the ground with a lot more force than normal, the jolt vibrating up his arms, and he shook them out and unclenched his hands. His muscles were doing that trembly, Jell-O-like thing when he’d been working out too much, but at some point, working out this hard was going to make the unsettled, anxious feelings go away. It always worked. He could come here to CrossFit, bust his ass, and end up feeling way better than when he went in. Tonight, though, all he was getting was sore.
He hadn’t seen Mitchell come up next to him, but suddenly the guy was there, doing effortless pull-ups on the pull-up bar. Mitchell m
oved quietly, too quietly for his size, and had a propensity for sneaking up on people. He was also watching Sam. That was weird. Mitchell kept to himself a lot of the time, chatting with the guys when they went out for drinks, but not usually opening up very much and definitely not usually staring down Sam like he was a project that needed solving.
“Hey,” Mitchell said. He paused, hanging from the pull-up bar, and then dropped down to the ground. “You okay?”
So apparently it was that obvious. Sam flushed. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just got a lot on my mind.”
Mitchell made a soft “hmm” noise. “Want to get a drink after the workout?”
Sam didn’t exactly want to go and talk about his feelings, but it would be nice to have some company, since Abby was at pottery tonight. When he hesitated, Mitchell added, “I’m trying to avoid doing some kitchen prep work for the week, and it would be nice to have an excuse.”
So Sam rolled into the Night Owl after his workout to see Mitchell already there, sitting at the bar, empty chairs on either side of him and a glass of Scotch whisky in front.
Sam pulled up the chair next to him and leaned on the bar. His hair was still wet from the gym shower, and tiny curls of ice clung to its ends from the freezing walk in from his parking spot. “Whisky again?”
Mitchell nodded, giving a little half smile. “It felt like a nice indulgence on a cold night like this.” He looked out at the night, the dark windows with the lights of Main Street beyond. “We’ve been lucky for snow so far.”
Sam ordered an Old Fashioned from the bartender when she came over. “I don’t mind the snow. Abby and I try to go skiing as often as we can, but lately, the skiing season’s been getting shorter and shorter.” He sighed, folding his arms on the bar.
Mitchell tipped back his whisky, the amber liquid rushing past the ice cubes into his mouth. He grimaced and swallowed. “You an Old Fashioned kind of guy?” At Sam’s blank stare, he gestured to the bartender. “The drink.”
