Bound To

by Sionna Fox

  “Thank you for telling me.” He kissed me between the eyes. His voice was gentle, and I breathed a sigh of relief. “We’ll go slow.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered right before he fit his mouth over mine and kissed me as he began to slowly, slowly push into me. When he was fully seated, he stilled, giving my body time to stretch and adjust to the unaccustomed fullness.

  “Jesus, you are tight,” he groaned and pressed his forehead to mine.

  “Sorry?”

  “Don’t be, sweet girl.” His body tensed as he struggled to stay still. “Fuck, you feel good.”

  I wrapped my legs around his waist and raised my hips, silently giving him the okay. He rocked into me, barely moving at first. He teased and tormented me with every slide of his cock, making me writhe and wriggle and beg for more, harder, faster.

  He grabbed my hips and rolled us so I was on top, though he ceded only the bare minimum of control. He kept a tight grip on me and snapped his hips up to meet mine while I leaned over his chest and steadied myself with one hand on his shoulder and the other on the headboard. A litany of incomprehensible babble and cursing flooded from my mouth when he shifted a hand to run the pad of his thumb over my clit.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, so close. Please, please, please.” My voice sounded strained, needy, and foreign to my own ears.

  Matthew sat up under me, lifted me up, and flipped me onto my back with my head hanging off the foot of the bed without missing a stroke. All semblance of gentleness and restraint flew out the window as he knelt up between my legs and thrust hard into me.

  I propped my feet on the mattress and met him, skin slapping, his hip bones bruising against the softer swell of my flesh. Every nerve ending in my body was on fire, making a trail to where our bodies joined, building steadily and inexorably.

  “Is this what you wanted, Jolene?” he panted.

  Hearing his heavy, erratic breath, knowing he was close to losing it only brought me that much closer. “Fuck. Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Come for me. Now, Jolene.”

  He reached between us and strummed my clit again, kicking me over that ledge and I came harder than I could ever remember. It shuddered through me all the way down to my toes, my eyes rolled back into my head, and I’m fairly certain I screamed.

  I was so lost, I barely noticed when Matthew thrust hard, groaned, and collapsed on top of me. We lay there, panting, skin to skin, while aftershocks made me clench and whimper. The weight of him on my chest steadied me while I slowly came down to earth, and I resisted when he started to pull out of me.

  “Let go, sweet girl. I’ll be right back,” he whispered and kissed my forehead before he got up and padded to the bathroom.

  Watching him walk away was admittedly a fair trade for losing the weight of him against me, and I grinned like an idiot to myself. I stretched out on his bed, my body limp, spent, sore, and sated in a way I hadn’t ever felt. My only thoughts were blessedly focused on the sensations still rippling through me, the faint throb and sting where he’d sucked and bit my skin, the warmth at my hips from his hands, the stretch between my legs.

  My head lolled to the side to watch Matthew stride back into the room. I was flooded with a sudden fierce possessiveness of the beautiful, naked man who climbed back into his bed with me. He eased me up to the head of the bed and into his arms, tucked me into that perfect nook between his neck and his shoulder, and wrapped the covers around us.

  My limbs were still boneless and rubbery, but my brain started retreating from my body, coming awake, poking at me. Not content to bask in the afterglow of, let’s face it, the best sex I’d ever had, the hamster wheel tried to whir to life. To categorize, to process, and probably to ruin the experience. My mind had been almost entirely, blissfully quiet from the moment he slapped my breast and ordered me to tell him what felt good. Now that it was over, my brain struggled to take back the control I’d given up.

  Matthew squeezed me and kissed the top of my head. “What’s wrong, Jolene?”

  “Hmm? Nothing,” I lied. No need for him to get to know the anxiety hamsters. Not yet.

  “You’re thinking so hard it’s practically audible, sweet girl. Tell me.” A moment ago, his voice had been soft, sleepy, and coaxing. That I could resist.

  When he turned commanding on me, I was apparently powerless not to obey. I wanted to answer, needed to answer him. The problem was I hadn’t begun to wrap my brain around what I was feeling, let alone find the words for it. And I didn’t want to. I wanted a few more hours of this quiet before I ruined it. He stroked my hair, his touch gentle and reassuring, waiting for me to find my voice.

  “I don’t know,” I whispered into his chest. “I feel like my brain dribbled out of my ears somewhere back there.”

  He snorted softly into my hair. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” He slid out from under me and turned to face me. “I know it’s a lot to take in. Give yourself some time and we can talk through it, but right now, we both should get some sleep. Can you do that?” I nodded, and he tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear and gently kissed me. “Good girl.”

  He turned me over and gathered me to his chest, spooning me while he stroked my arm and pressed kisses to the nape of my neck, lulling me. “Sleep now, sweet girl.” A gentle command and the one I needed the most. I drifted off feeling safe and calm wrapped up with this man I barely knew.

  Chapter Five

  I woke up alone the next morning, the siren song of a coffeemaker drifting in from the kitchen. I was staring at the ceiling, getting my bearings before braving Matthew by daylight when he beat me to it.

  “She wakes.” He grinned, poking his head through the door. Clad in a T-shirt and boxers, hair askew, he looked rumpled and horribly, unfairly sexy. “Coffee?”

  “Yes,” I answered, perhaps a touch too emphatically.

  He snorted. “Cream? Sugar?”

  “Black is fine, thanks.” I raked my gaze over the floor, scouting around for my clothes.

  “Borrow a shirt, top drawer.”

  He turned down the hallway, and I scrambled out of bed. I pulled on my underwear, considered putting on my bra, then decided against it. It was Sunday morning, and he already knew my boobs didn’t defy gravity on their own.

  I riffled through his drawer and pulled out one of his white undershirts, hoping it wouldn’t be comically small once I pulled it over my curvy frame. It skimmed the tops of my thighs and stretched taut over my breasts, tight enough to feel a bit sexy, but not so tight I felt like a sausage.

  I checked myself out in the bathroom mirror. My hair was a rat’s nest, but overall, the effect wasn’t too bad. My mouth, however, was as dry as if I’d been chewing on cardboard with a gravel chaser after all the panting and screaming.

  “Hey, can I borrow your toothbrush?” I called down the hall. I loaded it with toothpaste and ran it under the faucet without waiting for an answer. Rude, yes, but I was desperate. And I figured we were beyond the point of no return on germ sharing. His cock had been in my mouth less than twelve hours ago; his toothbrush was a hell of a lot less intimate.

  “Sure,” he replied as he rounded the corner with a steaming mug of black coffee in hand. He stopped dead. “You should always be in my T-shirt and panties with no bra when you’re here. New rule.”

  “Are you serious?” I mumbled through a mouthful of foam and toothbrush.

  “I could be.” He leaned against the doorframe and watched me while I blushed right up to the roots of my hair.

  I finished brushing and rinsed the sink before I took the mug from his hands. It smelled like heaven. I rose up on my toes to kiss his cheek. “Thank you,” I whispered into his stubbly skin.

  I was curiously comfortable with our domestic scene, stealing his toothbrush, sashaying into the living room with my coffee, wearing nothing but his T-shirt and my underwear. In my years of semi-self-imposed celibacy, I had forced myself to forget how good this part could be, these simple intimacies. I curled u
p into a corner of his couch. Matthew sat at the opposite end, stretching his long legs my way and brushing my calf with his toes.

  “Sleep okay?”

  “Mm-hmm,” I murmured between sips. The coffee was blessedly good.

  “C’mere.” He reached toward me and unfurled my legs, placing my feet in his lap. He gently stroked and massaged my calves, careful not to tickle my feet. I arched my back and slumped down the armrest to give him more of my leg, resting my mug in the gulf between my unsupported breasts. If humans could purr, I would have.

  “How are you feeling this morning?” His tone was light, but we both knew it meant much more than that.

  I sighed. “I don’t even know how to answer that.” His eyebrows creased with concern and his hands stopped rubbing my legs. “It’s okay though, I promise.” I poked his chest with my toes. “Keep doing that.”

  He relaxed and lifted my foot to plant a small kiss on my big toe before returning to his lazy massage of my legs. I giggled at the still-strange sensation of his lips on my foot, but it didn’t tickle and I didn’t reflexively mule kick him in the nose, so I considered it a win.

  He looked like he was in the mood to talk, but I wasn’t ready to process my own feelings. I’d gotten as far as orgasms are awesome, and I didn’t want to ruin the lazy Sunday glow with my ridiculousness. I opted to grill him instead.

  “How did you start doing”—I waved my arm—“you know, all this? How did you figure out this was what you’re into?”

  He blushed slightly and my heart might have turned to jelly. “It’s amazing what a horny teenage boy can learn with unrestricted internet access and premium cable.”

  “What, so you were watching kinky porn and thought, ‘Huh, I want to do this’?”

  “Yes and no. I was always a bossy kid who wanted to control the rules of everyone’s games. I think I would have gotten here even without the porn. Porn just helped me figure it out sooner.”

  “I still don’t get how you go from porn to ‘I want to tie you up and spank you’ in real life.” I couldn’t imagine initiating that conversation for the first time.

  “I got lucky in my never-ending quest for kinky porn.” I snorted and he shook his head. “Teenage boy, okay? Skinny, awkward, nerdy teenage boy, I was not exactly fighting off girls. I found websites for groups that did workshops and hosted social events. Once I was in college, I ended up meeting people that way.”

  “Wait, am I the first person you’ve been with who didn’t already know you were into this?”

  “The first in a long, long time.”

  “Oh.” I paused to absorb that one for a minute. “Why were you surprised when I said I’d never done this before?”

  He smiled. “You picked up on so many of the hints I dropped, I thought you were playing along. I had no idea you really were so innocent and you didn’t just look it.”

  “Hey.” I poked his chest with my foot again. “It’s not like I didn’t know BDSM exists. I’m sheltered, but I’m not that sheltered. It’s…I never thought about it for me before. I haven’t thought about anything to do with sex in relation to myself in a long time.” I cringed and bit my tongue. There was no way he was going to leave that morsel of information alone.

  “What do you mean?” He furrowed his eyebrows at me. “Last night you said it had been a while. How long has it been? Months?” I shook my head. “Years?” I nodded. “How many years, Jolene?”

  “It’s not a big deal.”

  “How long, Jolene?” he asked me in that voice with a quirk of one dark eyebrow. Jerk.

  “Six years, okay?” I glared at him. “And no using that voice for evil.” That earned me a smack on the thigh and I squeaked.

  “There’s a saying about smart-ass masochists; do you want to know what it is?”

  I lifted an eyebrow. Two could play that game.

  “They get an ass that smarts.” He popped me on the thigh again. “Remember that.”

  It wasn’t that funny, but the whole situation was so weird I cracked up anyway. I would never in a million years have imagined having a conversation about porn and BDSM over coffee after spending the night with a guy. Yet there I was, having one of the stranger mornings of my life, but still with an odd sense of comfort and safety being with Matthew. I was probably clutching at every shred of intimacy that came my way after having gone without for so long.

  “Is there a reason you went six years without sex?”

  I sighed. I’d hoped I was off the hook for the rest of this conversation. “Lack of opportunity. Lack of inclination. It’s kind of a chicken and egg thing.”

  Matthew nodded at me to continue.

  “There’s no big reason. My last boyfriend and I broke up right before graduation and the dating pool back home is shallower than a puddle in the desert in July. After a while I stopped caring. It’s not like I swore off sex intentionally.” I shrugged. The last thing I needed was to kill the mood by dredging up ghosts of boyfriends past. “Can we stop talking about this now?”

  “Okay. I ask because if you have triggers or past trauma, I don’t want to trip over it in the middle of a scene. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes. But I promise you, it’s not anything traumatic, just a plain old epically dry spell. Which is now broken, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He grinned sheepishly and squeezed my leg.

  “So we got kind of, um, distracted last night. How does this actually work now?”

  “That’s as much up to you as it is to me. At its most basic, I want to play the active role, and I want you to be receptive. Beyond that, whatever we actually do together, it’s in your power to say no, or slow down, or I thought this might be fun, but it isn’t so stop it right the fuck now.” He half smiled like he was recalling a specific incident.

  “I don’t even know what I might like, though.”

  “That’s where trust comes in. I have to trust you to be honest about how you’re feeling, whether we’re talking about an idea for a scene or something you’d like to try, or we’re in the middle of it. You have to trust me to respect your limits and listen when you say no, but also to push you a bit. If you reject something, I might ask why, but the point is never to judge or coerce. Everyone is allowed to have boundaries, and those can shift and change as time goes on.”

  “Am I allowed to question you the same way?”

  “Always. We can talk things out as much as you need to.”

  “What if I try something and I hate it?”

  “Then you use a safeword, and I’ll be grateful you did. I hope you won’t have to, but it can be difficult to predict how you’ll react to new stimuli. We’ll take things slowly and see how it goes. I would much rather come to the end of a scene and have you tell me you could have taken more, than to take you too far, too fast, and harm you.” He gave my foot a reassuring squeeze as he said the words, his tone deadly serious, like he was making a pledge to me.

  “Okay.” It came out as a whisper. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Okay.” The word came out a bit stronger. Matthew grinned like a kid in a candy store. I could almost see him rubbing his hands together with glee. What am I getting myself into? “What now?”

  “I think last night proved you’re probably not averse to spankings, having your tits slapped, and maybe a bit of bastinado.”

  “Bastinado?” The unfamiliar word rolled around in my mouth.

  “Foot torture.” He grinned like a comic book villain. “But no tickling, I promise.”

  “I won’t be held responsible for anything that happens to body parts in the path of my foot or leg if you tickle me, so you know.” I still caught shit at family gatherings for breaking my cousin’s nose when I was nine.

  “Noted.” He chuckled and squeezed my foot again. “I have no interest in forcing you to do anything you hate, Jolene. Some people get off on having their partners suffer for their submission, some subs want it too, but it’s not my kink. At the end of the day, I want you to feel good,
and I’ll always want you to come eventually. I’m not going to waste my time making you truly miserable, that’s the exact opposite of what I want.”

  He leaned across the couch, took the mug out of my hands, and set it on the coffee table, then he pulled me down by the hips until I was on my back underneath him.

  “Oh.” My cheeks flushed. “What do you want right now?”

  “Do you have anywhere to be today?”

  “Nope.” I grinned.

  “Good girl.” He slid his hands over my skin under his T-shirt and kissed the sweet spot where my neck and shoulder met. “I want to fuck you on this couch, then we’ll have breakfast.” He punctuated his words with nips of my flesh from my shoulder to my jaw. “Then I might fuck you again before I take you home.” The last he whispered in my ear, sending shivers racing up and down my spine.

  “I think that sounds like an excellent plan, sir.”

  He laughed into my neck. “I’m glad you agree.” He abruptly lifted himself off me and stood. “Stay put,” he ordered and jogged down the hall.

  I giggled at his retreating back. When he returned, he was completely naked but for a wolfish smile, and carrying a strip of condoms. Ambitious.

  “Don’t think I didn’t hear that, Jolene,” he growled and flipped me onto my stomach.

  He tore open the packet and I heard the crinkle of latex as he rolled the condom down over his cock. He leaned over me and the heat of his chest radiated over my back through the thin cotton of his T-shirt. He pulled away and pushed the shirt over my head, then gripped my panties in both hands and roughly pulled them down over my legs before pressing a hand to my throbbing, needy pussy.

  He slipped two long fingers inside me and hummed. “So responsive. Do you like this? Giving yourself over to me?”

  With his clever fingers dancing on my nerve endings, I couldn’t find the words to agree. I mustered an inarticulate moan. He removed his fingers and gave me a sharp slap on the ass. “Answer me.” He returned his fingers to my sex, working in slow, firm circles around my clit.

  “Yes, sir,” I huffed before being reduced again to wordless babble. He teased me until I was quivering right on the verge of coming, then took his hand away and positioned himself to enter me.