by Chloe Cox
She’d begged.
“Oh my God, Chance. Please say something.”
He stood there, only steps in front of her, but so far away. He had an unreadable expression, like he was having trouble processing what she’d said. Or like he was weighing the pros and cons. She couldn’t bear it if he said no. It would just be the final straw.
Had she been wrong? Every time she got near him there was this crackling fire, this unheard of static in the air that made her feel…she didn’t have words for it. She’d been sure he’d felt it, too.
And then she saw him. The jaw, pulsing. The shoulders squared. Those eyes, flashing. Staring straight at her.
His voice was low and rough. “I’ll help you,” he said.
Lena might have been embarrassed by how relieved she was to hear that if she hadn’t been overwhelmed by the immediate thought of what came next.
With the sight of Chance, a solid column of sculpted muscle, advancing toward her.
“Ok,” she said, feeling nervous again, so nervous, light and skittish and fluttery. Now it was happening. Really, really happening. She wasn’t some inexperienced virgin, and she would never have described herself as shy—ever—so what the hell was this? Her eyes strayed downward, unable to meet that blue stare, and she was captivated by a light dusting of fine hair running down his chest, his abs, all the way to his belt…
She licked her lips. “Ok, so, how do we, you know…I mean, I’m on birth control, and I have test results, and I’ve heard that you guys are super strict about that, which, obviously, is awesome. And I mean, I don’t, like…have equipment…”
Stop babbling, dummy!
Her voice faded as his much larger body crowded hers and she gave in to the sheer physical presence of the man. It was beyond words. Her ability to articulate evaporated before the expansion and contraction of his chest, his ribcage, his abs, with every breath, with the male scent of him, now so close, overwhelming her senses. Some part of her that clung to a sense of control flailed and panicked. Would she know what to do? Can you fail at being a submissive?
“I don’t know what to do. I mean, do I call you ‘sir?’ Do you tie me up? Do—”
“Later,” he said, his voice curt and strong.
He didn’t want to talk anymore.
The muscles in his neck twisted and turned as he looked her over. She could feel the heat of his eyes on her, like he was devouring her with that gaze, inch by slow inch. She swore she could actually, for real, feel it, her skin sparking alive in the wake of that, whatever it was he was doing to her without even touching her. She was aching and swollen, already, beginning to burn hot.
Suddenly his hand was in her hair, her head pulled back, his eyes on hers. She couldn’t move if she wanted to, held in place by his grip, and as he touched his rough fingers to her cheek she actually felt her eyelids flutter. He ran his hand down her neck, her breasts, around her waist, never taking his eyes off of her, and by the time he’d stopped she was breathing hard, panting, fucking panting, and her panties were soaked.
Chance kissed her. No, he claimed her. Rough, hungry, hard. She melted. Her arms around his neck, desperate already to have him on her, in her, whatever he was going to do to her. He moved down, nipping at her neck, and, with a satisfied growl, reached his long arms down to grab the hem of her dress.
And removed it.
Pulled it up, over. For a moment she clung to his neck instinctively, but he unwrapped her arms, held them high above her head, and the dress was gone. Gone.
This was insane. She felt safe with a man she barely knew, safe enough to do this? And yet she wanted it. She needed it.
Her chest shuddered with ragged, uneven breaths as he bent down again, his eyes on her still, the look of raw, determined need on his face bringing her even higher. His hands roamed everywhere. Like he was mapping out his territory. He fell to his knees, his hands moving faster and faster, his mouth on her breasts, her belly, and then he bit her hip. A low sound tore from his throat and he thrust his hand between her legs and pulled her thong down to her ankles. Lena felt her legs buckle and somehow he caught her, folded her in his arms, and spread her on the grass.
He stood up only long enough to take his clothes off.
Oh God. Every inch of him, hard, chiseled. Muscles sliding under his skin as he moved, the telltale ripple of abs leading her eye down to the most unbelievably perfect cock she’d ever seen, standing hard and erect.
A beat. A moment when their eyes locked. And Lena knew, as if she didn’t already, that this time wasn’t about abstract power games or rules or scenes. Just dominance, in the most primal, feral way. The two of them wanting each other beyond all thought or reason. This was just…animal.
He was an animal.
He fell on her like a hunter, his mouth searching out her nipples, her neck, her lips, but he held back what she wanted most; hovered over her, just out of reach, as she wrapped her legs around him. She mewled, pulled at him, scrabbled at his back and shoulders, working herself into a frenzy of driving, primitive need, her hips rising off the soft grass, feeling nothing but the dull ache that was the absence of where he should be.
Chance reared back and slipped his hands under her ass, picking her up off the ground. She arched at just the anticipation, clawing at the grass under her fingers while he pinned her with those eyes.
He never looked away.
His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hips as he pulled her onto him while he pushed forward, impaling her slowly on his full length, eyes boring into her while he filled her completely. He was big. Big enough that it hurt a little, even with how slick, how wet, how ready she was, and holy shit, she liked that, too.
“Look at me,” he demanded. As if she could do anything else. She felt herself clench around him, her core bearing down on him as what promised to be a massively strong orgasm built inside her, and the ripples flowed up through her abs, her chest, down her arms and legs, into her fingers and toes.
“Oh God,” she heard herself moan. “Please…”
He slid in and out of her with deliberate slowness, prolonging the delicious feeling of tension growing inside of her. Torture. Pure torture. She reached forward for him again, just wanting more, not even thinking coherently, but he caught her hands.
Chance leaned forward, pushing farther inside her, and pinning her hands to the ground.
“I am in control of this,” he said. “Always. That is how this works. You are mine. Your body,” he said, pulling out and then pounding into her, “is mine.”
His eyes seemed to glow, staring into hers, and his words filled her with satisfaction as he drove into her again and again. Her whole body seemed to sing.
“Yes,” she said, wide-eyed and frankly amazed. She’d agreed to this, she’d asked for this, but still she couldn’t help but think, What the hell is happening?
“Mine to fuck,” he said, thrusting into her again, “mine to punish, mine to make come. Fucking say it.”
“Yours,” she panted, almost delirious now, “Yours.”
She meant it. Whatever the hell this was, Chance holding her down and fucking her mercilessly, owning her, wanting her to know he had total dominion over her—yes to all of it. This was what she wanted, what she hadn’t had with anyone else. Nobody else made her feel safe enough to let go. She was helpless to resist.
“Mine,” he rasped.
He dragged the head of his cock over her g-spot and picked up the tempo, driving her higher and higher, every thrust punctuating his point, his ownership. Just thinking the word sent a shot of pleasure through her and it put her over the top. She clenched around him so hard she heard him grunt, her back arching so high off the ground that she felt possessed, her legs pumping, every fiber of her being gathering together for one moment before she evaporated into a million points of light.
She let out a wild, ongoing scream, and he never, never stopped. One hand holding her hands above her head now, the other free to fondle, tease, torment.<
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“Look at me,” he said, and she could hear it in his voice, strained, tight. He was close. That thought sent her spinning upwards again, and the look on his face while he watched her made her feel like nothing else. Beautiful. Wanted. Safe. Helpless. His. This man who she’d just met, who seemed to know her body better than she did, who she’d begged to submit to. The man was an artist with his hips, his strokes hitting her most sensitive nerves, his thumb teasing a nipple, his eyes, his eyes, seeing right through her, all the time.
“Come,” he said, driving into her hard, and she did, again, her muscles finding some way to flood her with pleasure, with him. Like her body already knew obedience, like she was meant for this, with him.
He came with her, watching her, his thick, heavy cock twitching inside her, his huge body shuddering, his thick fingers digging deep into the turf. The feeling of his orgasm on her, in her, shattered her. When she came up for air she felt warm and languid, relaxed and full.
Chance.
He lay on top of her, muscles uncoiling, coming back down. The scent of him was overwhelmingly sexy, and it was all over her. His weight on her—in her, still—felt just as right while he breathed hard into her neck. She could feel him relax, muscle by muscle, and she ran her hands over every part of him she could reach, just checking, over and over again: mine. Whatever conversations they would have, whatever rules there were, however this actually worked, right now, in a rooftop garden surrounded by countless tiny lights, she was certain she had made the right decision. His body was hers, too, for however long this lasted.
She wanted him again. She wanted as much as she could get. She couldn’t imagine being sated.
How? How was that possible?
“Chance,” she said.
He didn’t speak, but pushed himself up on strong arms, impossibly thick in the dull light, leaning back on his knees to look at her. She actually mourned a little as he pulled out, but man, she loved watching him. The muscular planes of his torso were slick with sweat, shining in the light of the garden. And she loved the way he was looking at her, like he couldn’t believe what he had in front of him, like he was thinking already of all the things he was going to do to her.
“Beautiful,” he said.
He slipped an arm under her and scooped her up just as easily as if she were weightless. A new amazing sensation hit her: she was being carried by Chance. She buried her face in his neck, drunk on his scent, and ran her hands over his buzzed head.
“Where are we going?” she asked. Her voice was almost starting to sound normal again.
“More,” he said.
She felt a smile spread across her face and nuzzled deeper into his neck as he carried her to…wherever, she didn’t even care. Knowing he wanted her as much as she’d wanted him, as she still wanted him, was intoxicating.
Feeling his erection press into her again, already, was something else.
He kicked open a door and carried her into a dark room. It took a moment for eyes to begin to adjust, and she realized she was thrilled at the idea of not being able to see, not panicked. That was new.
That, apparently, was Chance.
He navigated the room in the dark, from memory—his suite? He’d mentioned a suite. Her suspicions were confirmed when he lowered her onto cool, soft sheets, and then dragged her back towards him, so that her bottom was balanced just on the edge of the bed.
“Lie back,” he said. “Hands at your sides. Grab hold of the sheets.”
She did as he told her, surprised at how free she felt while following orders. It shouldn’t make sense, but somehow…
She felt his hands around her ankles, and then he was lifting and spreading her legs again, positioning himself between them. She smiled and gave a satisfied little murmur. She was going to get expertly fucked again.
“Stay still, Lena,” he said, now a huge shadow that loomed over her. She was enjoying this element of the unknown so much that she almost didn’t want her eyes to adjust—except that she was missing out on seeing that beautiful man. “Whatever I do, you keep your hands where they are, you understand?”
A small shiver raced down her spine. His voice was different. Fuller. Deeper. It didn’t even occur to her to argue or disagree.
“Yes,” she said. “Sir.”
She was rewarded for that with a little growl, and a hand on her breast, fondling her nipple. “I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you, Lena. I’m gonna be at this for a while.”
“I have no problem with that,” she breathed.
“You might, later,” he said, leaning over her. God, she loved the feel of him on top of her. “I have an appetite for you like you wouldn’t believe.”
Oh, she would. She could see herself becoming a Chance addict. Just one time, and…
Her thoughts were interrupted by his finger sliding inside her, curling around to coax a moan from her.
“That’s better,” he said, much closer to her now, hovering right over her. His finger kept dipping in and out, lightly caressing her inside and out. Teasing her.
“Please,” she said, and her hips said the rest.
She heard him laugh. “You think that’s begging?” he said.
She might have come back with some smart ass remark—and part of her lingered on what he might have done about that, his words “mine to punish” still fresh in her mind—but he covered her lips with his. The kiss started gently, though his finger never let up, keeping the pressure inside her building steadily. He parted her lips with his tongue and, good God, was there anything the man couldn’t do well? His tongue was just the right amount of pressure, just the right amount of moisture. And when he bit her bottom lip, she found herself clenching.
“Interesting,” he murmured.
And then his mouth was gone. He moved to her neck, her earlobe, her collarbone, her shoulder. Her nipples ached for his attention, hard, fierce little points, but he took his time with that tongue.
God, that tongue.
What else could he do with it?
“Chance,” she said.
He answered by taking one nipple in his mouth, and pushing another finger inside her. His hot, wet tongue toyed with her nipple while his fingers pressed upwards, inside her, right on her g-spot. Her body wound tighter, coiling in a knot around that very spot, and her desire to have his cock inside her again turned into a very pressing need.
“Chance,” she said again, and his teeth closed around her peaked nipple. It hurt.
And she liked it.
“Oh God,” she said again, this time to no one in particular. The universe, maybe? Her hands twisted the sheets around her as she stared up into the dark and his tongue trailed down her stomach.
Three fingers inside her now. Getting fucked by Chance’s hand was better than anyone else she’d had.
“So wet,” he said. “So beautiful.”
“Chance, please…”
“You should see what you look like when you come,” he said, ignoring her. She could feel his breath on her thighs. “Fucking amazing.”
“Chance…”
“Don’t move those hands,” he warned her.
A fourth finger. Oh God, now she felt stretched so wide, and the pressure was too much…
She felt his lips close around her clit and groaned. His tongue started slow, laving wet circles around her clit while his fingers—his hand—started to fuck her in earnest, curling up to her g-spot with every stroke. She was certain she was going to lose her mind. Another cry tore from her throat, and it didn’t sound human, even to her, and then he put his lips around her clit and sucked.
She didn’t know what tore through her. Crashed into her. For one horrible moment she thought she was going to pee, out of nowhere, and then she came with such violence that it actually hurt. It swept over her like a giant, overwhelming wave, drowning her in nothing but that white, incandescent sensation, obliterating everything in its path. The contractions whipped her about the bed, sheets tangled, legs cramping around
his shoulders.
She was flooded with it, and it took a while—she had no idea how long—for it to recede. She felt Chance lick her thigh and kiss her stomach, murmuring something. He sounded fevered, urgent. She lifted her head, barely, still somehow weak, and shifted her bottom.
It was wet.
Oh God. She hadn’t imagined that. She had really…
She met his eyes, humiliated and embarrassed, not quite sure what she had done, expecting to find him—what, grossed out? Or worse, pretending to be fine with it?
“You are fucking amazing,” he said.
“I’m so sorry—”
He rose to cup her face with his hands, forcing her to look directly at him. He didn’t look disgusted, or annoyed. He looked hungry. Ravenous. Like he’d only just started.
“Don’t ever apologize for an orgasm like that,” he said. He was actually breathing hard. She could feel his dick pressed against her, and he was rock hard.
“I’m so embarrassed. It felt like I had to pee, but I don’t…”
He smiled, laughed, kissed her. “No, you didn’t pee. That was female ejaculation. That was the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”
He really…he was really smiling. Like she’d given him a gift. Softly, she said, “I’ve never done that before.”
His grin now was wolfish. “How’d it feel?”
Her turn to smile.
“Are you sore?”
“No, I’m ok.”
“Good,” he said, lifting her leg. “I’m not done.”
By the time he was, she was too tired to get up. Too tired to talk. Too tired to do anything but sink into sleep, lying peacefully on Chance’s chest, feeling like she’d been thoroughly, irrevocably marked.
chapter 8
Chance woke up in the exact same position in which he’d fallen asleep: with a peaceful Lena sleeping on his chest, like a kitten.
Good God, Lena.
His brain, his body, on fire with Lena.
Better than he’d imagined. Than any man alive had a right to hope.
He tried to rein himself in and think about the fact that he’d made a promise, meaning he had an actual obligation. This wasn’t just empty fucking. She trusted him to help her. In the back of his mind, as he was advancing on her, scouting her body, taking in everything he could, he’d wondered if he’d feel the same way the next day, that this was his only choice, given what she’d said. Or if he’d wake up knowing he’d made a promise he couldn’t keep to someone who needed help.
