He was unravelling, beginning to moan, even before I’d really begun to please him, just at the feel of my fingers sliding into him, so I lifted my head from his cock to watch his face.
He had his head tipped back, biting his lip, presumably to keep himself silent, and his hands were held up against his chest, the surgical tape digging into his skin. I pushed my fingers in slowly, pulled them back out, pushed in again.
Sweat beaded his brow now, and when he opened his eyes there was so much in them. I’d never had a submissive like him before, not one who was so honest with himself about what he wanted. He didn’t want leather and studs and theatrics, there was no ‘Yes, master,’ from him. This was unscripted, a simple transaction between two humans in which he gave himself to me.
I curled my fingers and he gave a stifled cry through clenched lips.
He was leaking when I took his cock back into my mouth, slippery and strong, so I took as much of him in as I could and just held his cock steady while I finger-fucked him slowly.
He held back, moaning quietly, my hand and mouth working him slowly, making him tremble, but I would have kept going for as long as it took.
He clutched at my head ineffectually with his bound hands and thrust up into my mouth, groaning loudly as he came.
It was all I could do to swallow his come, swallowing for as long as he kept thrusting, his body clamped hard around my fingers, until he slumped back on the pillows bonelessly.
His cock slid out of my mouth as he softened and I crawled up the bed and stretched out beside him, my face pressed against his neck, his taste filling my mouth.
Chapter Thirty Four
When I opened my eyes, Matthew was propped up on one elbow, watching me, a secretive smile on his face.
“Hello,” he said.
“Was I gone long?” I tried to rub my face and remembered my hands were bound together.
“Not long.” His fingers stroked my cheek gently. “You ready for me?”
“Yeah,” I said, and my voice came out as a whisper.
I rolled onto my side and Matthew moved pillows so I could lie down more easily. He pulled a sheet and some blankets over me, too, settling the bedding around me, his body warm and lean and so alive pressed against mine.
I closed my eyes and listened to the rustle of the condom packet, breathing slowly and deeply, letting the rhythm wash through me.
The head of Matthew’s cock nudged against my ass, and I moved a little, lifting one leg, rolling a little, making sure I was in the right position for him.
He breached me slowly and carefully and we both sighed.
His breath was warm and flickered across my neck, his hand stroked down my arm to where I was holding my bound hands against my chest.
I wanted to tell him that I loved him, but words were superfluous when he was easing into me. There were tiny stings of pain, glittering sharp pinpoints inside me, and he eased them away, stroking my hands, kissing my shoulder, whispering little flitters of sounds that I couldn’t understand.
He was fully inside me, holding still. We were breathing in tandem and I could feel my pulse speeding up, making me push my bound hands down against my belly so I could curl my fingers around my own cock.
His hand covered mine and I went to pull my own hands back. I should have asked, should have apologised for not asking, but he shushed me and moved my hands back where they had been.
He began to rock into me, slow and sweet and deep, each thrust pushing my cock into my hands, making me shiver and moan and move, too, rocking back against him.
We fucked like that, slowly and carefully, moving together until my skin began to slip away from me, my life, my thoughts, leaving me open and vulnerable, so full of him. I couldn’t still my tongue, so I whispered, streams of words, falling and stumbling out of my mouth.
He didn’t silence me or try to stop the flow and his mouth was moving against my shoulder, whispering, too, words that slipped through my mind without me being able to hear them.
It seemed to me I could hear the river gliding past and it made me want to go home, wherever home might be; Los Angeles, New York, my house, my office … I wasn’t sure where, but I wanted to be there with Matthew, just so we could be quiet and still, and he could slide into me like this every night, rocking my troubles away.
He guided my hands off my cock, replaced them with one of his own, slick with lube, so cool and smooth and wet, and that was his gift to me. He was going to let me come again.
The noise from the next room ebbed and flowed around me as Matthew stroked into me differently, shallow strokes, pressing forward, making me moan more loudly now.
I would have slipped away if his arms weren’t wrapped around me, shed my skin completely without his certainty and strength.
My face was wet and I was beginning to tremble. There was too much feeling inside me, too much sensation, too much hunger, to belong to just one place and one time.
“Let go,” he whispered against my shoulder. “I’ll hold you, just let go.”
My pulse was a roar in my ears. Matthew held his cock still inside me, half way in, half way out, so I was poised on the edge…
I went over quietly, not resisting, not holding back, letting go just like Matthew had told me to, leaving me weak, slack-mouthed and pliant, my face pressed into the pillow.
Matthew began to thrust again, deep and hard, driving himself in further each time, then he came, groaning and twisting against my back.
He slid out of me far too soon, and I would have felt abandoned except that his arms were holding me, firm and secure around my chest.
He rolled me onto my back and through half-open eyes I could see that he was smiling.
Gentle hands cut and peeled the tape from my wrists, and I closed my eyes completely when Matthew kissed my wrists carefully.
“I’m just going to turn the light off,” he whispered and I nodded.
His arms left me for a moment, then the room was dark and he was back beside me. “Go to sleep, sweetheart,” he said as he pulled the covers over both of us and settled my head on his shoulder.
I fell asleep with the feeling of him stroking my hair gently.
Chapter Thirty Five
It was the sound of a horn on a barge that woke me, I think, and I yawned and stretched. Andrew’s arm was draped across my chest.
He was deeply asleep when I turned my head to look at him, jaw slack, breathing slow and peaceful. He was going to be asleep for hours.
I needed to piss and was damn sure I couldn’t wait hours, so I eased his arm off me and slid out of the bed.
I found my underwear and trousers and pulled them on, then pushed the cardboard carton blocking the door out of the way as quietly as I could. Andrew didn’t even stir.
I pissed, which was an enormous relief, and washed my hands, and helped myself to more lube sachets, then decided I needed to rehydrate in a major way. And if I was thirsty, it was an indication that Andrew was going to have the hangover from hell when he eventually woke up.
There was a woman in a bathrobe in the kitchen, surrounded by vast quantities of used plates and glasses
