Page 79 of First Touch

“Good. Because I think you deserve this.” Without warning, he clasped his palm over my mouth and nose. Hard. Letting no air through.

And I knew – I knew – that he was doing it for me, that this was his way of saying he was sorry. Men had done this to me before, usually by choking, but it was the same idea. Breath play. Denying oxygen to the brain, increasing the sense of pleasure.

But I only mostly knew that was what Reeve was doing to me now. Especially after his punishment that afternoon. And the little part of me that didn’t know, it was small. Tiny. Barely even worth considering except that, tiny as it was, it was stark enough in contrast to the rest of me that it was noticeable. It was magnified. Like a single drop of blood on a large white sheet that can’t help but stand out, can’t help but scream for attention. And this tiny part of me that wasn’t sure that Reeve was doing this for pleasure, this part that feared he was doing something malicious instead, it was a spot of red in my otherwise white composure.

I should have learned from earlier, but natural instinct was strong and I panicked. I shook my head back and forth, but he didn’t let go. Didn’t loosen his grip. I struggled and thrashed, wasting my oxygen but unable to stay calm. I brought my hands to his shoulders and dug into him, clawing with my fingernails.

Still, he held me, his eyes locked with mine, and I could see how turned on he was.

Now, I thought, as the fight began to leave me. Now I should be scared. This could be my end. There were certainly reasons that Reeve might want that. Because of what I knew. Because I’d snooped and told lies and had him investigated. Because of Amber. Because he could.

My vision glazed. Black crept in at the edges. My arms twitched and my hands fell from their perch.

All the while, Reeve pounded into me. And my body, not seeming to understand that it was dying, reacted. My core tightened with pressure and my skin tingled with electricity and my pussy clenched around his cock and then I was there. At the pinnacle. At the edge. Out of breath. Ready to burst.

Then Reeve removed his hand. And I did burst.

My orgasm broke from me with a tsunamic force as I frantically tried to draw in air, desperately tried to pull it inside. The needs conflicted – need for release, need for oxygen – my climax winning out, too powerful to be restrained any longer. It crashed over me, demolishing me with plunging waves of rapture, waves that broke every part of me then pulled me under again with a powerful backwash, only to gather me again on another crest of euphoria. My body convulsed with each surge. Spots formed in front of my vision. Tears spilled from my eyes. My head felt like it was falling down, through the bed, like I’d lost all sense of gravity and awareness.

Still I couldn’t catch a breath. I chased it, gasping in between each swell, never quite getting anything in my lungs before the next rush.

And I wondered if I’d die like this. Die flying, soaring, rocketing to heights higher than I’d ever been. Would this be the eternity I’d be allowed to dwell in? In this overwhelming pleasure, so abundant, so consuming, so amplified that there wasn’t room for anything else. No room for fear or doubt or worry or shame or grief. Just this.

If this was where Amber existed now, then it was home.

But then my vision cleared, and I saw Reeve above me, his eyes intense as he watched me, and he was riveted. Consumed as I was. Consumed with me.

And I no longer wanted to be anywhere but with him. Even if there was worry and doubt and fear and grief. Even if it wasn’t at all what he wanted. Even if it couldn’t last, I would fight to be with him.

The epiphany settled over me and I realized I had air now. Realized I was breathing fine. Realized I was the sickest kind of fuck. Because I wanted to live, if for no other reason than to be with the person who possibly wanted me dead. Who probably sent my friend to her death.

The realization brought another orgasm, much quieter, but just as intense. It wracked through me, wrenching a guttural keening sound from my being. A sound that was both foreign and familiar. Both primal and complex. Both gratification and mourning.

Reeve followed with his own release, his body convulsing inside of me as he let out a low groan that strangely, beautifully harmonized with my own cry. He finished, collapsing beside me.

It took everything in me not to turn and slap the shit out of him.

Or punch him. Pound him with my fists until he told me why the fuck he’d done what he’d just done. Pummel him until he understood just how angry and jealous and confused and frightened he made me. Thrash and pelt until he promised never to do it again.

But I managed to hold myself. Because I didn’t really want him to promise that. I’d asked for him to give me who he was. And I’d liked it, despite being scared, or maybe even because of it. For that, I was ashamed.

Emotion hit me then like a bowling ball scoring a strike, and I felt the threat of another crying jag. Not the sobs that had torn through me earlier when I was alone. Not even sadness, really. It was unidentifiable, something new, something that was pieces of a whole bunch of things all trying to get out of me at once. It was overwhelming.

And, a little bit, it was just that I hadn’t ever been at peace with myself, and here, with this awful man, after I thought he was trying to kill me, on the day I’d lost my best friend, I felt the seeds of it burrowing inside of me. Maybe it was the product of a really good orgasm.

But it was probably more about where I was now with Reeve.

He jerked up, as if he’d sensed what I was thinking. He startled me with his sudden movement, then startled me again when, after he turned toward me, he reached out to stroke my face, as he sometimes did, with the back of his hand. My pulse, which had just begun to beat at a normal tempo, spiked again. He wasn’t usually affectionate after sex and rarely touched me intimately like this. It made me wary and paranoid and I had to force myself not to cower.

But his eyes were warm when I met them, and I realized he was checking on me. Making sure I was okay. He kissed my forehead, and it was an apology, soft and genuine.

When he pulled back again, his expression was tinged with regret, and I felt a strange desire to comfort him. To tell him that things were fine and then scold him for showing any remorse about giving me exactly what I needed – fear of harm without actually hurting me.

But I was confused and fucked up, and all I could do was show him in my eyes that I was okay with what he’d done, even if I wasn’t okay over all.

He seemed to understand something. His features relaxed and a smile teased on his lips. “Do you know what part I liked best?”

It took a minute to register what he was talking about. It hadn’t been more than a few minutes since he’d been asking me what were my favorite parts of our earlier encounter yet it felt like a lifetime had passed.