Hard

by Donna Alam

  He pulls my hair to tilt my head, allowing him access to my neck and collarbone. Each press of his lips, each swipe of his tongue unravels me a little further until my whole body is shaking, and I know that he’s aware.

  ‘Kiss me,’ he whispers, his mouth hovering just over mine. I try, but it’s hard to do with his grip on my hair. ‘What are you waiting for?’ he whispers, his mouth just a breath from mine.

  I wet my lips and, struck by a sudden thought, run my palm down the front of his jeans—along the hard outline of him. He lets out a sharp hiss but doesn’t release me. Instead, he brings his mouth to my ear to whisper, ‘Cheat.’

  ‘I’d nod my head in agreement if I could.’ I smile as his lips and tongue trail their way across my neck

  ‘And I’d tie you up if I could. How do you think your boundaries would feel about that?’

  ‘Oh.’ That one breathy sound isn’t an adequate response. My real response to being tied up isn’t happening in the vicinity of my mouth but much farther down. I’d be embarrassed to admit that if he cupped between my legs, he might find what he’s looking for in more ways than one.

  ‘Well, trouble, do we have a definitive answer?’

  ‘We could try,’ I suggest.

  ‘You’ll put yourself in my hands.’ I nod as best as I can. ‘Trust me with your body,’ he whispers, kissing the soft skin at the base of my neck.

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘Let me tie and tether you.’ I nod again. His mouth at my shoulder now, he sucks hard, pulling the purple of his previous sucking bites farther to the surface, no doubt. Probably deepening them. My knees almost give out, my insides pulsing with each suck—throbbing as he pulls his mouth away. ‘Let me eat you out until you’re squirming all over my face.’

  ‘Yes.’ God, yes.

  ‘Fuck you so hard you won’t remember your name.’

  My eyes flutter open as his free hand lands on the curve of my hip and he says my name.

  ‘W-what?’

  ‘I asked if you’re down for that.’

  Was my melting, throbbing response not enough for him? Can’t he see I’ve almost turned to a puddle of need?

  ‘I’ve got all night.’ There’s an edge of warning in his voice but also something else. Despite the ferocity of his gaze, I think I get what he’s saying. He’s not going to fuck me, then run off. He’s got time, and he wants my permission to take it.

  ‘Yes.’ My voice sounds thick when I eventually speak. ‘Yes, please. Take your time.’ Do whatever to me.

  Keir’s gaze never moves from mine. My hair still in his fist, he watches me intently as though weighing my sincerity. Or looking for cracks in my resolve. But I like how he holds me—like the strength of his gaze. Like the feel of his fingers against my hip. Relish the tethering hold of my hair in his hand. I delight in how he takes up the whole of my vision, revel in how consumed my thoughts are with what he might do.

  What he will do.

  He kisses me then, each press of his lips against mine is a little deeper, a little more desperate, until he’s feeding me his tongue and I’m moaning for him. But just as quickly as it starts, he pulls away, his hands falling from my hair, the base of my skull pulsing in beats as blood flow returns.

  He feeds his hand into his jacket pocket, pulling out a navy coloured neck tie.

  ‘One you prepared earlier?’ I aim for a little tease but end up sounding sultry.

  ‘More like a pleasant coincidence,’ he answers, wrapping the blue silk around his fist. I can’t help but watch him, thinking about my hair in his fist and what it felt like to be vulnerable to him. How wet it made me. How wet I feel now.

  In the still of the room, Keir slides his jacket from his shoulders, dropping it onto a chrome and wood suitcase stand. Then he returns to the window; though, this time, he sits on one of a pair of silver-coloured velvet armless chairs.

  ‘Take off your clothes.’ He’s not even looking at me as he speaks, but rather unfolding his tie and spreading it across his thigh. ‘Leave your underwear on.’ His head rises, and this time, his eyes do find mine. His deep voice and attention like a sudden shot of hard liquor straight to the vein. ‘Well?’

  My clothes. I cross my arms at the edge of my sweater and pull it over my head as the cloud of my hair settles around my shoulders and back, an added layer of sensation I really don’t need. I slip off my shoes as he watches, then unzip my jeans and push the tight denim over my thighs, then off my feet.

  Standing in only my cream lace underwear, I watch as his eyes roam over me, taking in the triangle of my panties and the slight ruffle at the edge of my strapless bra.

  ‘No polka dots tonight?’ He half smiles, pushing his long legs out in front with a sigh. ‘Do you know how lovely you are,’ he asks, beckoning me over.

  Tiny shivers of anticipation run down my spine at his words. But I don’t move. Not yet. I give myself this moment to revel a little. To appreciate the size of him. The breadth of him. My desire for him.

  But it would be counterproductive to wait too long. In several steps, he’s taking my hand to pull me to straddle his legs. My hands fall naturally to his shoulders, his own finding my hips where he settles me against him. Against the hardness of his lap. Closer now, I can smell the minty freshness of toothpaste over the scent of his aftershave as I run my fingers through his hair. ‘So lovely,’ he repeats. ‘And I know you taste as good as you look.’

  ‘You’re a sweet-talking man.’ Sweet talking and deceptively devilish.

  ‘Am I now?’ I nod. ‘Let’s see if you still think so when you’re begging me to let you come.’ I fold my lips together so as not to react to his words. All in vain as he speaks again. ‘When you’re begging me to make it stop.’

  I groan a whispered yes, rocking my centre against him, desperate for some kind of relief. ‘That’s right. You work that pussy. That’s where your only power lies tonight.’

  He takes my hands in his, pressing them together, prayer like, before wrapping the navy blue silk twice around my wrists. Then, feeding one end under the wrapping, he ties the loose ends in a knot. And all the while I watch. Who knew a necktie and a little anticipation could make you feel like this?

  ‘I get the feeling you’ve done this before.’

  ‘Surely, you wouldn’t allow someone with no experience to tie you. I only wish I had something a little longer,’ he says, almost as though to himself. ‘Something with a few more options. Maybe next time,’ he adds, his fiery gaze meeting mine.

  ‘Maybe,’ I demure, biting back an excited grin, but whether at the mention of a next time or the rabbit hole he’s suggesting hop down, it’s hard to tell.

  Finally, he lifts my hands between us, feeding them over my head. Sitting on his lap with my legs over his and my breasts pushed out? It feels kind of thrilling. Kind of exposing. Even though I’m technically covered by my underwear. Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at me. The way he’s devouring without touching.

  Keir presses his large hand to my breastbone, dragging it down and gripping the middle of my bra. When I think he might pull, he instead slides his fingers into one cup, lifting the weight of my breast out to balance it against the fabric and underwiring. One then the other. My nipples, already pebbled, ache for his touch.

  He runs a calloused finger in a small circle around my nipple, tightening the flesh farther still. ‘Do you like this?’

  Does he mean being tied or his touch? Before I can form an answer, he pinches the tight bud.

  ‘Yes!’ I hiss out in answer—to his words and his touch.

  My chest heaves between us as he bends his head to lap and soothe with his tongue. I moan a helpless and hungered sound.

  ‘I can’t wait to have you squirming all over me, desperate for my cock.’

  ‘Please,’ I whisper, rocking against him, my insides clenching emptily. ‘I already am.’

  ‘No, trouble. Not yet. You only think you are.’

  It takes him a million years to loosen the
buttons of his shirt and a million more to take off my bra. To take my breasts fully in his hands and to love them a little more. To cup them. To thumb my nipples. To pass swipes of teasing tongue and the threat of teeth.

  ‘Oh, God.’ I throw back my head, pushing myself farther into him.

  ‘That’s it, darlin’,’ he growls. ‘You ride me. You’ve got me so hard for you. So fuckin’ wild.’

  ‘Show me,’ I beg. ‘Show me what I do to you. I need you, Keir, please.’

  With a smile wicked enough for the devil, Keir slides his hands under my bottom. Picking me up as he stands, he deposits me on the bed so that my knees are bent over the edge.

  ‘Still on the pill?’ he asks as he loosens the button fly of his jeans. I nod, words unavailable to my parched throat as he slides his jeans down the strong muscles of his thighs. Boxers follow, then he takes himself in his hand, the ladder of his abdominals rippling.

  ‘You want this.’

  I don’t answer but squirm against the bed like a cat in her first heat. I think I might also make the same sounds as I lift my tied hands above my head.

  ‘Fuck, that is sexy,’ he growls, watching as I spread my legs and arch upwards.

  I’ve never touched myself in front of a man. Never gotten myself off while a boyfriend—a man—watched, but I know I’d be doing so now if my hands weren’t tied. But then, maybe that’s the point. Maybe restriction of movement heightens everything.

  Whatever the reason, and I suspect the reason is purely Keir, my skin feels tight enough to burst. Like with one touch from him, I’ll detonate.

  One minute, he’s holding himself, and the next, he’s crawling over me, bending his head to my chest and licking my nipples until they’re taut and wet and shining in the lamplight. Heavy and aching.

  ‘Please, Keir,’ I whisper, sliding my hands over his head to pull him to me. ‘I need you.’

  With a chuckle, he straddles my body, admiring the sight of me before he slides down, pulling my panties down my legs. His nostrils flare as though he can smell me—smell my need—his eyes darkening, anticipating the taste of me.

  Placing one hand on my inner thigh, he spreads my legs wider.

  ‘You’re so wet, and I haven’t even touched you.’

  I don’t have any reply beyond a soft sigh as his breath blows between my legs. I feed my tethered hands under my head now, raising my vantage point to watch his wicked gaze, to watch as he bows his sandy head.

  My body tingles with anticipation of his touch which comes unexpectedly at the soft inside of my thigh. But he did say he’d bite me there next. What he didn’t say was how hard.

  ‘Oh! Ow . . . ’ My cry draws off as his teeth stop pressing quite so hard, releasing the flesh to a dark and delicious kind of sting. ‘Oh, fuck.’ I attempt to squirm away from him as he lowers his head again, this time placing his tongue against the bite mark. The position oddly soothes, more so as he begins alternating sweet kisses and short licks until my body relaxes, no longer tense against the bed . . . when he spreads me wider still and bites my other thigh.

  This time, I can feel the line of his teeth against my skin, the sensation resonating at the apex of my legs where my pussy begins to throb with need. Each bite deepens the sensation, each kiss and lick—each brush of his stubbled cheek—pushing me closer to a feeling of delirium—each set of indentations drawing closer to where I need him the most.

  When it’s clear there’s no place else to go, my whole body quivers in anticipation. Quivers in need and in fear. I want the wet slide of his tongue and the threat of his teeth, but is that what he has planned? My mind is awash with questions, each one turning anticipation into a pleasurable yet angsty stew.

  Will he bite me there?

  Will I survive it?

  Will it hurt as I come between his teeth?

  What about when he fucks me?

  ‘Please, I want this,’ I pant hoarsely, not sure exactly what experience it is I think I’m asking for. ‘I just want it,’ I plead. ‘Please.’

  ‘Look at you,’ Keir growls, his desire coupled with the deep timbre of his voice tightening my insides. ‘Just fucking look at you,’ he says again, right before he pushes his mouth into my very centre.

  With one swipe of his tongue, I’m crying out. His hands push my thighs impossibly wide, his thumbs pressuring the crisscross of bites until they throb. It’s the best kind of torture. A wicked kind of divine. My insides pulse and heat, the bites throbbing alongside the feeling and twisting my orgasm into something else. Something hot and frantic. Something wet and wild.

  He said he’d make me scream last time, and I thought I did, but that experience has nothing on this. Not as he spears me with his fingers, not as his mouth envelops my clit. I am dead. Officially spent. And if I had a voice, I might tell him so as he climbs my body, pressing kisses against my skin, before rolling onto his back and taking me with him.

  ‘I can’t,’ I moan, even as I push against him. ‘Please.’

  ‘Of course, you can. You’re the Amazing Paisley. You can do anything.’

  Propped against the mountain of pillows, he pulls me over to where he holds himself in his hand. It seems to take forever to feel him ease into me—too long. I want to slam myself down, fill myself with him, but at the first push, he grabs my hips to better position me.

  ‘Look,’ he whispers, his fingers tightening on my hips. ‘Look at how you take me so beautifully.’

  I glance down at where we join. At where my skin parts, at where my wetness spreads around him. At where I envelop him.

  ‘Look at my marks,’ he whispers, rubbing his thumb over the indents in my skin. My insides begin to pulse again, the sound of his deep groan almost hypnotic. ‘You’re gonna make me come so hard.’ The pulse in his throat throbs deeply as he tips back his head.

  ‘Yes. I want that.’ I want all of that—all of him inside me, hard and wild. And I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything as bad. ‘Please, let me,’ I whine, trying to lower myself, trying to take a little more of him inside.

  ‘All in good time,’ Keir whispers, holding me wide and pushing up a little farther into me. And that’s how it goes with each slide. Glacial. Slow. Excruciating. Until he’s seated deep inside me. ‘Put your hands behind your head.’

  I do so, flushed and shaking, every inch of my body screaming with the need of this release. But he barely moves, just whispering to me—words of how good I am. How he can feel every inch of me. How he can’t wait to see his cum dripping from me.

  My thighs sting from the strain of keeping upright and from the rigidity in his pose. My arms ache as sweat trickles down my spine and between my breasts. But it all changes as Keir feeds his hand up my back to grab my shoulders, pulling me farther onto him.

  I slide my legs wider than I ever thought possible, almost as though my body would envelop the whole of his. I’m hungered, so wet and filled, but it’s still not enough. Each time he pushes up into me, my clit brushes his skin, and it’s torturous. His movements make me beg and chant for release.

  Please. Please. Please. Let me come.

  The bite marks on my legs ache from the abrasion of the coarse hairs on his legs and the brush of his skin—the friction he sits higher, starting to buck and fuck up into me. His hands pull on the tie tethering my wrists, bowing my back and offering my breasts to his mouth.

  My whole body jerks as his lips find my nipple. He hisses out a half curse as I pulse deeply around him. Pinned, he works me with his hips, spearing me again and again until I’m bucking and thrashing and losing my goddamned mind.

  ‘Yes!’ he hisses out. ‘I can feel you coming—oh, fuck! That’s . . . that’s . . .’

  If he says anything else, I don’t hear it. I think I might go blind as well as deaf. I don’t see stars. There’s no white noise. There is nothing but his hands holding me down and the explosion of pleasure between my legs.

  Chapter 16

  KEIR

  Collapsed against me with
her tethered arms now around my neck, Paisley’s tears wet my skin. I know I didn’t hurt her—no more than she wanted me to. No more than she could stand, at least. But fuck me, I don’t remember it ever being this intense.

  ‘Sweetheart, are you okay?’ I gather her dark hair, pushing it across her shoulders. ‘Say something.’

  She shakes her head, nuzzling closer when I really need to see her face. I’m officially beginning to panic when she kisses my jawline, then presses her lips against my pulse point.

  ‘I thought I’d lost you for a moment there.’

  ‘I thought I’d lost my mind.’ Her voice is a hoarse—kind of twenty-a-day hoarse—her body moving against my deep chuckle.

  ‘Come on. Give me your hands.’

  ‘I don’t want be cut loose,’ she half whines, though cooperative as I lift her hands from behind my head.

  Truthfully, I don’t really feel like moving her. Bareback fucking is sublime. My dick has softened inside her and the results of our fucking is dripping from between her legs. Part of me wants to look—to lay her down against the comforter and spread her legs. Part of me. The dirty part who doesn’t get out much these days.

  Her hands between us, I begin to wish I’d thought to bring scissors, but even I’m not that fucking clever. The fact that the tie was in my pocket was surprise enough.

  ‘It’s a nice tie,’ Paisley mumbles, attempting to use her shoulder to move her hair. I brush it from her face, running my fingers along the dark silky strands and her back. This woman. She’s . . . stunning.

  ‘Even with the racoon eyes I must be sporting.’

  I huff out a laugh, surprised I’d spoken my thoughts. ‘Especially because of your panda eyes. Pandas are cute.’

  ‘I like the way you say cute.’

  ‘How do I say it?’ I ask, returning to the tightened knot. I’m going to look like a proper tool if I can’t get it loose.

  ‘Like it has a Q. And an extra syllable.’

  ‘You’re somethin’ else.’

  ‘Trouble, you said. About this tie. How attached to it are you?’