Fahrenheit

by Alex Rosa

  I feel Nate climbing off my body. I can sense him shifting, and as he moves down, his soft, wet lips touch my chest, licking and sucking at each hard bud. However, his mouth is quick and teasing as he continues a trail of kisses down my torso to my belly button before fully lifting himself off. I squirm, wishing he’d go lower.

  My disappointed senses tell me he’s climbed off the bed. I clench my thighs together, feeling more vulnerable than I have ever felt. I want to cover myself, but I can’t.

  I hear the ruffling of clothing, and I attempt to differentiate the sound. I think Nate took off his pants. I try not to think of the throb that occurs between my legs at the thought. I clench my thighs tighter.

  I hear his soft groan. My shoulders tense, and my breath quickens.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, needing to feel grounded in some way, because right now, I feel like I’m floating and having an out-of-body experience as I try to piece the scene together without sight.

  “I’m touching myself as I look at you naked, tied up in that bed.”

  I swear you’d think he’s just given me the directions to the public library by his tone.

  My mouth falls slack, going speechless. I give in to my reflexive need to pull on the restraints, the metal of the cuffs against the ring clank loudly.

  “How are you feeling, Lauren?” he says through another groan, and I picture Nate touching himself in front of me, his hands riding up and down his hard shaft.

  My teeth come down on my bottom lip to restrain a mew of neediness.

  “Lauren?”

  “Hm?”

  “A little hot and bothered?” he questions.

  My lips twitch as I reply with a breathy, “Maybe.”

  “Are you wet thinking about me touching myself?”

  I chew my lips, knowing I should answer, but embarrassment wins. I can’t form words. He doesn’t seem to mind, and if I could guess, I’d say he’s probably smirking over it.

  “Tell me, Lauren, what do you want? You’re going to have to tell me, or that wet pussy of yours is going to be disappointed.”

  “I want you,” I breathe out. “Right now.” I’m shocked that I’m able to speak. My neediness seems to override my pride.

  “How do you want me?” he asks. “Where do you want me?”

  This is the game.

  I wish the answer, “I want you everywhere and all at once” is acceptable, but it probably won’t make sense. Instead, I try to wrack my brain over this lesson.

  “I thought I wasn’t the one in control?” I reply, knowing this is when my pride gets the best of me, though it really needs to catch up. I’m already naked and tied up. There isn’t much to save.

  He hums, as if to mock me. “It’s an interesting dynamic, isn’t it? You may get to say what you want, but I’m still the one telling you to do it. I’m still technically in control. Will or will I not give it to you? That is the question. Don’t worry. You’ll see.”

  I gulp hard, the lump in my throat plunging between my legs.

  “I’m waiting,” he scolds.

  “I want your mouth,” comes out shaky and slow. I gasp when I sense him climbing onto the bed.

  “Where?” he asks. A shocking kiss lands between my breasts. “Here?”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  He takes my hard bud in his slick, humid mouth, kissing and suckling at the nipple before he says, “Or here?” He moves to my other breast, repeating the same action. “Or over here?”

  My breathing sounds like a gale-force wind inside my head as my body bows. His hands curve over each side of my ribs to steady me.

  “No,” barely makes it between my lips, and it’s only when I inhale I’m able to add, “Lower.”

  His tight, maniacal chuckles skim over my skin in approval, and I suck hard on my bottom lip, fighting a smile and enjoying the slow drag of his lips down my stomach. He stops at my belly button again.

  Before he can ask me another question, my arms pull on my restraints as I shake my head. “Lower,” I whine.

  His kisses fall lower and lower, almost to where I desperately want him. His hands slide down my body to my thighs, pushing them apart.

  A quiet hiss releases from him. “So perfect,” he breathes against my pussy.

  A soft whimper escapes me, my body arching for him, needing him.

  “Is this what you want?” he asks. His hand drags up my inner thigh until his fingers rub up and down the folds of my body, teasing the entrance to my sex.

  “I want your mouth,” springs out of me, and although my natural inclination is to be embarrassed by it, my need to have him cure my wanton state surges forward. It’s the only thing I care about now.

  Rewarding my candor, I feel his tongue stroke against my clit before teasing that sensitive, pulsing point on my body, while two fingers slide into me, curling inside.

  I don’t attempt to fight back the moan that sounds from my mouth. The unrestrained sound cathartic. His tongue flicking over the throb, drawing out the pleasure as his fingers begin an in and out rhythm.

  I hear the chains above my head clank before realizing I’m pulling against them, my body writhing in the overwhelming sensations igniting all over my body, starting at the sparking pleasure he’s inflicting on my core

  I’m on the brink. I can feel it with every lapping stroke of his tongue as my knees start to tremble.

  He pulls away, as if sensing it, blowing a soft breath over my dripping sex.

  I whine in protest, the desperate orgasm plummeting, and I’m back to that dull, needy throb.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, but it’s code for my begging.

  “See? I’m doing what villains do best. Torture their victims, and toy with the heroes who like to think that good prevails. Not this time.”

  A loud giggle erupts from me. Superhero foreplay has nothing on whips and chains, I decided.

  “I could be a damsel in distress instead?” I whine, my needy state evident with my pout. While still being blindfolded, I love that I’m able to hear the deep timber of his laughter, and that it skims between my legs.

  “I need rescuing, really,” I add. “The damsel secretly prefers the bad guy. This I know.”

  I feel him shift, and my legs involuntary wrap around him as he climbs up my body.

  He lifts the blindfold from my eyes. It takes a moment for me to focus, but soon, Nate is in perfect HD, crisp and beautiful, with that wicked smile.

  “I much prefer you as the hero of this story,” he says.

  “Why?” I smirk, basking in the sight of him naked above me, feeling like it’s a gift as much as my returning vision.

  “Because, it means I still get to keep you tied up. However, I think I prefer having your eyes on me rather than covered up. Keeps me clued in. I like to look at you.”

  I notice his lips glisten with my arousal. He wipes it away with the back of his hand before tearing into a condom wrapper, setting my blood on fire in burning anticipation.

  “What comes next?” I goad.

  He sits up, smirking. “The climactic conclusion.” He slips on the condom over his hard and ready dick. I lick my lips at the sight, thinking I doubt I’d ever get bored of the sight.

  He shifts his body between my legs, the tip of his erection rubbing up and down my sex.

  “How bad do you want my cock in your pussy?”

  “Bad,” I groan, fidgeting.

  He shakes his head. “Keep still, and tell me how much your juicy cunt wants my fucking cock, Lauren? How bad?” He presses the head inside me before pulling it out.

  Nate bends over my body, hovering above me, putting us nose to nose as he demands, “Say it.”

  With his eyes anchoring me to the spot, you’d think under their gold, intense gleam that I’d be intimidated more than when I had the blindfold on, but on the contrary. I see the fire in his eyes reflect the same need my body is raging with, and I’m in love with the intimate connection that combusts between our connect
ed line of vision.

  “I want you inside me so fucking bad, and so fucking hard, and right fucking now.”

  He closes his eyes, and releases a tight exhale as if I recited a prayer as he says, “Thank God,” before slamming inside of me. His lips crash against mine, absorbing my moan as I yank on the restraints.

  I’m at Nate's mercy. He’s all around me. One hand curved over my waist, his other cradling my face as his hips drive into me repeatedly, and it feels so good. All-encompassing perfection.

  Maybe I wish I could hold him, too, to touch him, to drag my fingers over his stubble, or dig into the flesh of his ass, pushing him harder inside me, but there’s something liberating about being this way. I don’t have to think about what to do when I’m tied up, and his for the taking.

  Nate pulls away, burying his face in the crook of my neck. His breaths are shallow and sharp against me, but he still manages to pepper kisses over my skin. My favorite is when he drags his tongue over my collarbone. His hips are ruthless as they plow harder and harder, driving my orgasm back to the surface. Soon our moans twist around each other in unison as we climb higher together.

  “Nate,” I groan, about to fall over the edge.

  It takes three more thrusts to have us both shouting each other’s names in orgasmic satisfaction. His fingers on my hip dig into my skin, yanking me against him, forcing him deeper inside. He nibbles on the nape of my neck, riding the wave of our release as his hips buck into mine. My moaning goes on and on until I can’t breathe while I enjoy this sinfully perfect ride.

  The room falls silent, holding the barely-there whispers of our slowing breaths.

  My eyes are closed, basking in Nate’s weight against me, collapsed in victory over mine. His body gives off the tiniest tremble when he lifts himself enough to release the buckles on each of my wrists.

  My body slides against his once I’m free. I lift my chin up to place a blind kiss against his lips, not willing to open my eyes yet.

  He returns it with a hard press against my mouth, exhaling as he says, “See, sometimes the bad guy wins.”

  I chuckle, nuzzling into Nate’s chest, loving that I can feel and hear the beating of his heart. “I’d like to call this a mutual partnership between good and evil.”

  “Fair enough,” he chides, and I swear I might be making it up, because it’s possible I nodded off for the briefest of moments when I think I feel him place a kiss atop my head. “Lesson Three might be my favorite so far.”

  “Mine too,” I whisper.

  I tell myself to take lots of notes when I get home, but I can barely feel my limbs, let alone remember what I should take notes on.

  All I can think is, Nate couldn’t be the villain if he tried.

  It wasn’t difficult for Garrett to convince me to go to the beach today. I need the break.

  Work, although moving along swimmingly, I now have this looming pressure to prove myself. Especially since I’m getting the story, and Rebecca is giddy over it.

  Cue mental freak out.

  There are expectations that come with these things, and I hope I don’t fall flat.

  Now, cue waterfall of anxiety.

  So, when Garrett asked me to head to the beach, I didn’t bat an eye. Some sunshine on my skin will do me good. A distraction is ideal. I can relax on the beach with a dirty romance novel while I get a tan, or more predictably, Garrett and I can rate girls in bikinis on a scale of 1 to 10 hotness. The game originally annoyed me, but now gives us a common ground based in his innate shallowness.

  I’d normally roll my eyes at the hilarious, ridiculousness of that, but the day isn’t going as planned so far.

  “You’re being distant,” he comments after I keep deflecting his questions about my evening trysts with Batman.

  Admittedly, I’m unsure about divulging the intimate details of handcuffs and spankings. A part of me thinks that I normally would, because we’ve never been shy in that department, but lately, Garrett has an edge that has me leery. It’s usually him shelling out sex stories, not the other way around. It’s different to see the tables turned, and it looks like it’s taking some getting used to on his end. I try not to be smug about it, and he should thank me for it.

  “I am not,” I lie, knowing that it’s been taking me twice the normal time to answer his texts, and how most nights I make a run for my room rather than face his interrogations, because I’m sure my flushed skin and wobbly knees would give away my post-orgasmic bliss.

  I turn over on my side, and push my sunglasses to the top of my head. When I catch Garrett’s eyes glide over the length of my body in my bathing suit, I’m taken off guard. My eyes widen when I realize what happened. Did I enter the twilight zone, or did Garrett just eye-fuck me? When was the last time he looked at me as a woman with functioning reproductive organs?

  It causes my body to thrum with unexpected nerves and annoyance, dissolving my smugness and morphing it into dismay.

  This is so like him. Jealousy does stupid things to stupid men.

  I run my hand through my hair, grab for my sunglasses, and toss them on the towel in front of me.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I ask. “You’re being the weird one. You weren’t like this when I got together with Brian.”

  “Oh, you mean your then-boyfriend, who makes perfect sense to be committed to? Because you’re not exactly in a relationship.”

  I shove at him. When my fingers touch his hard, shirtless chest, my body doesn’t get in a tizzy like it used to. I consider this progress while at the same time making me feel a little sad. “Are you trying to spew your morality on me? I can’t tell if you’re jealous—which I don’t know why—or if you’re being an overprotective brother.”

  He flinches. “It’s none of those things. I want you safe. You don’t know this guy, yet you skip off for these rendezvouses, and I don’t even get the deets … and I’m not acting like an overprotective brother.”

  Am I to assume he’s admitting to jealousy, then?

  How did we get here again, and where is this coming from?

  “Garrett, you’re not making sense.” I rub at my temples. “Tell me what’s really wrong. I’m fine. I’m safe. I’m getting my story for the magazine.”

  He snorts, turning away. His foot at the end of the towel starts tapping out a fast beat of nerves.

  “All of this for a promotion? Doesn’t this compromise your journalistic integrity, or ethics, or some shit?”

  “There you go, being an asshole, and trying to make me feel bad for having sex out of wedlock or something, all because it’s unprofessional. Maybe it is! So what? My body, my decision! Did you not sleep with the last production assistant you had? Did you also, way back in the day, finger-bang the director of your first job to get the lead camera gig while on set?”

  He blushes for the first time in years. “Yeah, but I didn’t get that lead job.”

  I tut and lift a careless shoulder. “Well, then your hands aren’t as good as you think.”

  He laughs, and finally, I laugh. The mood calms between us a smidge, but it’s not enough, not for me anyway.

  “Why didn’t we ever work out, Lo?”

  And we’re back to Def-Con Level Two. Laughter vanishes.

  “I uh we …” Words fail me. We’ve never really talked about this, and up to this point, there’s no use in lying. “Garrett, there was never anything to work out. You never let it get that far. We’re better off friends, don’t you think?”

  “We’ll always be friends,” he states, but his eyes tell me it’s a question.

  “Of course we will be. Just quit being a shithead, and we’ll be fine. Plus …” I chew my cheek, knowing I shouldn’t say it, but I can’t help myself. Maybe candor has a time and place, but when do I ever get to be honest about the one thing that has caused me so much pain? “I got exhausted with it—with us. A girl can only take so much, ya know?”

  He sighs, but it teeters on a grunt. The appropriate reaction would be for him t
o own up to it, but like me, Garrett’s pride is one of his biggest character flaws.

  “It wasn’t like that. Bad timing—”

  “Yeah, bad timing?” I chide, losing my patience like a rubber band that just snapped. “Like, in college, when you kissed me in the hallway of the library, and then I heard you were fucking Lisa, our T.A., that same night? Bad timing, right? Or how about that one time you told me we’d go on a real date, and instead, you brought Johanna, who you then proceeded to make out with in the movie theater? Or…” Because I’m totally on a roll, and venting makes me feel better even if it’s not right, I continue, “Or that time you crawled into my dorm room and slept curled around me like a baby, kissing me like your life depended on it before falling asleep, to then leave the next morning pretending like it never happened? While all along, it was me having to be okay with it because our friends needed me to be okay with it to keep the dynamics level.” I tilt my head, babbling and frustrated as I plaster on a patronizing tone to recite the level of my sacrifice. “Just let Lauren swallow the embarrassing agony, then everyone else is saved, and no one has to suffer the awkwardness except Lauren. Take one for the team, Lauren.” I even pretend to give myself an imaginative, championing, chin-nudge with my own hand to emphasis the ridiculousness.

  Heavy silence hangs between us. I’m looking at him, but he isn’t looking at me. His vision is off in the distance, staring at the water, processing my words, or at least I hope he is.

  “I wanted to, Lo, all those times, but it just … it just never—”

  “Never worked out? Bad timing. Not interested. Didn’t want to ruin a good thing?” I rattle off. “No, I got it! Those are also all things I told myself at the time. I’m over it, so much so that I’ve literally become numb to your sexual conquests. It’s cool. There’s nothing to save, so let’s drop it. We are just bringing up old wounds.”

  My old wounds.

  “I never wanted to hurt you,” he says, and I wish he’d look me in the eye when he says it, but he’s being a coward about it, which puts me over the edge. He still hasn’t apologized or taken ownership of any of it.