Page 75 of From This Moment (After We Fall 4)
He slipped the tie through his hands again as he met my eyes in the mirror. The possibilities enticed me. My eyes? My hands? My mouth? I was utterly seduced by being powerless, for once. Go on, I thought. Do it. For a moment I thought he might ask for permission and ruin the entire fantasy.
But he didn’t.
He slipped the tie between my lips and worked it between my teeth, tying it at the back of my head. Immediately my heart rate accelerated, and I began to panic, but Wes’s warm hands running down my arms and his soft voice in my ear were soothing. “Shhhh,” he said. “It’s just to remind you to stay quiet. I don’t want to hear any sound from you, no matter what.” One hand moved around my stomach and down between my legs, rubbing my clit in a steady, gentle circular motion.
I whimpered and he took his hand away. Both arms caged me tightly to his body. “Hush,” his whispered in my ear, his eyes pinning mine in the mirror. “I said no sound.”
I nodded and reached behind me, feeling his erection through the material of his dress pants. He stepped back and unbuckled his belt, pulling it from the loops. I thought he’d toss it to the floor and undo his pants, but instead, he caught my wrists and wound the strip of leather around them. I sucked in my breath.
Our eyes stayed locked in our reflection, which gave me the odd sense of watching two people that weren’t us. This couldn’t be us, this shadowy fantasy unfolding in the mirror. His eyebrows rose in question and I gave a tiny nod.
A moment later my wrists were bound.
“Now,” he said, his voice quiet but burning with need, “I’m going to make you come twice, first with my fingers and then with my cock, and you’re not going to make a sound. Understand?”
I nodded, but I had zero confidence in my ability to remain silent.
Turns out I was right—I gasped and moaned so much as his fingers worked their magic that he brought his other hand to my mouth, clamping it over my lips. And he kept it there as he fucked me hard from behind with deep, punishing thrusts, muffling my strangled cries.
But as he brought me to the brink that second time, as I felt my insides tighten and my knees go weak, my wrists straining at their bonds, I felt one more piece of me return to myself. The part that enjoyed being a sexual object when the objectification brought me to such heights. When I was choosing to be the instrument of someone else’s pleasure. When I felt empowered by the strength of his desire. By the heat of his breath against my ear as he whispered to me—Open your eyes. I want you to see this. You’re so fucking beautiful when you come—and by his orgasm, which thickened and throbbed achingly deep inside me, shaking me to the bone.
When it was over, he wrapped both arms around my waist and held me close. A moment later he untied his tie and I moved my jaw, licked my lips.
“You okay?”
I nodded.
He pulled out, and a second later I felt his hands working at his belt around my wrists. When it came loose, I took one wrist in the other hand and cradled it as I turned to face him. I was almost surprised to see he was still fully clothed. Somehow I’d forgotten. But it added another layer to the power play, and I liked it. It felt so good to choose vulnerability and helplessness, rather than to be an unwilling, unwitting victim of fate.
He reached for me. “Come here.”
I let him take me in his arms, press me to his chest. I could smell the starch on his shirt collar and a lingering trace of this morning’s aftershave or hair product. Masculine smells I’d missed. I wrapped my arms around his waist. “I wish you could hold me like this all the time.”
He kissed my head. “Me too.”
“Do you think the time will ever come when you can?”
“I want that more than anything.”
It wasn’t exactly the answer I’d hoped for and cast a little shadow over my post-sex glow. I released him and reached for my clothes while he removed the condom I hadn’t even realized he wore. Thank God, I thought. We really couldn’t afford to be careless in our situation.
“Want some water?”
“Sure, thanks. Should I—” He glanced at the small trash can under the sink.
“Oh. Yes, that’s fine. I’ll take the bag out later.” I left him alone for a moment and went to the kitchen, turning on the light before filling two glasses with cool water from the tap. I was chugging mine when he came into the room, all put together again.
He picked up his glass and took a few swallows. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” I leaned back against the sink.
He set the glass down and stared at it like it hadn’t tasted right. Immediately I was on high alert.
Something is off. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Wes. What is it?”
