Page 136 of Regal Feather
“Green.” He fought for air, but there was no hesitation in his stance. Just lust. So much fucking lust. “Do your worst.”
I chuckled, breathily. He wasn’t the only one fighting to sound like he was in control, like he wasn’t just a receptacle for his most bodily desires.
“My worst is I wanna grab one of those gloves in the wardrobe, and fist you while I squeeze the fuck out of your balls.”
Ever licked his lips. He met my gaze head-on, in that way he had proved he could do while he held himself up today.
“Green.”
It was a simple word, one he kept repeating, but there was gravity to it. The sort of gravity that guided my steps, that led meas if hypnotized to make good on my promise, to grab the single-use latex glove and the bottle of lube I’d discarded. That brought me back to him to find out he hadn’t kept his eyes off me once.
“I love you so fucking much.”
The room was drenched in the smell of us, in the muskiness and the heated air that came with what we were doing by now. It spurred me on and made me dizzy, and I was sure he had lots to say about that dizziness, but the only thing it was doing was making me sway forward, closer to him. I needed him. I needed to bind his ankles to the other set of cuffs, and I needed to memorize the way his lips parted when he had no way to escape or do anything other than writhe on his back.
I never thought the sound of chains rattling would be intoxicating, but even when I’d just come and tremors still ran through me as my body recovered, I had no doubt that I could very easily become one more successful Pavlovian experiment if he kept adjusting his weight and causing the metallic sound to keep reverberating.
“Love you,” he whispered.
I smiled.
Ever had changed in so many ways, but he was the same in all the ones that mattered. The same guy who ran to my dorm and hugged me tight when he knew I’d had a phone call with my mother. The same one who stuck around when the other track runners wanted me to show how much like them I was, but I wasn’t. The one who would always hug and kiss me back and force compliments out even though he’d always been ten times shier with words than I’d been, all because I’d showered him with them first.
Hangups while I worked through shit were a bitch, but I was…glad to have these moments of clarity, these moments when I could feel hope that I’d be back to my usual self, and everything between us would go back to normal once more.
“Did you prep today?”
“Before coming here.”
I quirked an eyebrow. “You were sure I was going to do this?”
For someone who had no problem holding my gaze while I told him I was about to fist him, and someone who had stood with his back straight in front of a room with people displaying his cock cage and talking about the more logistical issues that came with it, he had the cutest blush when I pointed out what an eager, little thing he could be.
“N-not fisting, but I…I like the idea of being ready for you at all times.”
“Is that the free use slut in you?”
More fierce blushing ensued. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?” I pressed my finger against his ass as I asked. I knew he wouldn’t be able to give a full answer, that his breath would hitch, and he’d try to lean closer even though he didn’t have a lot of room to do it. I was calling the shots, and as soon as he realized, he whimpered, fingers curling around the rattling chain above him. “I was so fucking desperate to ravish you before walking in here, but now I think I’m going to take my time with you.”
I was going to tease him, to toy with every single part of him, to get him drunk on need and all those cries he made because the cock cage stopped being a comfort and became a torture device when he just wanted to come. To have a full orgasm and not the diluted thing that happened with it on and left him sore and sated but not in a lasting way.
“Please.”
He didn’t have to beg to get anything out of me, but I didn’t have to tell him that. I just had to do well on my word and put my fingers to good use. To fight the sway of the swing and kiss every inch of skin I could reach while I did it. To caress his inner thigh with my free hand and let my knuckles run across his ballsbecause I just knew he remembered the second part of that plan, but someone wise had once told me mind games were everything here. Having him waiting for the first strike, not knowing when it would come. Losing his mind because I kept toying with his prostate, with his inner lining, and he’d never been too good at multitasking.
“Have you taken a fist before, babes?”
In hindsight, I should’ve asked sooner and not when I was three fingers deep inside of him. Not when sweat had started building across his hairline and when his face had started to take a permanent rosy hue.
“Yeah.” He moaned when I crooked my fingers. He did it again when my thumb pressed against the wrinkled skin I was stretching. “It’s been a while, though.”
I didn’t know if he said that because he thought I cared; I didn’t. I still rewarded him with a kiss, with my tongue sliding over his shiny lips and getting a taste of that gloss he insisted on using, even if it never lasted more than a couple of hours intact. “That’s all right.”
I didn’t tell him that I’d be gentle. He knew. The softening of his brow told me he knew, even when I was adding a fourth finger, and adding more pressure, and shaping my hand into a cone just as I’d seen in porn. Even when I was adding more lube and crossing fingers that I wasn’t fucking up, and then taking a deep breath when I remembered that Ever would tell me. That he had power here.
Maybe I needed the control, but my need for it didn’t take away his ownership of it. It didn’t take away from how it fucking did it for me when he took it, when he asked for what he wanted, and when he made it happen.
