Off Limits / Ruled. Anne Marsh
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I said?’
He is insistent. What did he say? ‘Not to wear underpants again?’
He laughs, and then his teeth clamp down on my nipple and I cry out. The pleasure radiates through my body, slick in my abdomen.
‘That, too.’
He rubs his stubble over my nipple and it’s so sensitive from his mouth that I make a soft sound of surprise.
‘I said I am going to fuck you until you can’t remember your own name. Okay?’
I nod. I am lost, and I need him to see that. ‘What’s happening to us?’
His smile is haunted as he slides a condom over himself once more. ‘What’s happening? I think I’ve finally found my cure—that’s what’s happening.’
And he thrusts into me, so deep and hard and fast that the peculiar statement is lost. I am lost. I jerk my wrists so that the belt pulls against my skin, and I cry out in frustration that I can’t touch him like I want to.
He is so big, and his dick reaches places inside me that I didn’t know existed. He moves his mouth to my other breast and lashes his tongue against me as he pounds me hard. My hands jerk above my head. I am his prisoner, but even without the belt at my wrists I would be.
‘Are you on the pill?’ he demands, and I nod.
I am incoherent with pleasure, saying his name over and over again. My body is on fire. He is its master. His hands are rough on my smooth skin. He touches me everywhere as he moves inside me, thrusting deep, and still I want more.
‘Please!’ I cry out, not even sure what I’m begging for now.
But he knows what I need. Somehow he has mastered my body already, even though we are so new to one another. He pushes inside me and rolls his hips. I lift mine to meet him and I’m exploding, falling apart and flying at the same time, dropping through the earth’s core as my body tries to cope with these sensations.
I groan loudly, wrapping my legs around his waist, holding him right where he is. But before the waves of my pleasure have begun to subside he guides my legs over his shoulders, so that I am bent over myself and he is so deep I see stars. Pleasure is tingling through me and he blows through it, rocking me in rhythm with his needs, kissing the sensitive flesh behind my knees before running his fingers lower to cup my arse.
I am shuddering with the strength of what he’s doing to me. Then he pulls out, and I almost sob with the emptiness that threatens to cut me in half.
His laugh is dark. An acknowledgement that he understands.
His hands on my hips are strong; he flips me easily onto my stomach and my arms are crisscrossed, my dress tangled around my breasts and my neck.
I don’t have time to tell him this, or to shift and adjust myself. He spreads my legs wide, puts an arm under my belly and lifts me higher. And then he drives into me from behind. He brushes against new nerves, makes me feel new things, and I gather from the muttered string of dark curses that fill the room that this is different for him, too.
His fingers dig into my hips as he holds me steady, thrusting into me and making me different, somehow. He drops forward, kissing my shoulder, dragging his mouth down my back before biting me on the arse—gently, but enough to make me groan. And then he’s sucking the flesh at the small of my back, and I wonder if I’m going to have a mark there afterwards.
His finger between my arse cheeks surprises me. It is not somewhere I’ve been touched before, but it’s only the lightest suggestion of a touch. A finger lightly pressing against my butt. A curious flash of wonder flies through me. But instinctively I shy away from it and he understands, laughing and moving his hand to my clit.
He strums me as though I am a guitar, and it’s so intense that I almost cannot bear the pleasure. But I don’t dare ask him to stop because perhaps he would and I couldn’t bear that. It is like being prodded by a hot iron, though: I am burning up.
I explode angrily, loudly, my body shaking from head to toe, glistening with sweat.
He holds me tight, waiting for the waves to slow, to recede a little, and then runs his hands over my flat stomach to my neat breasts. He rolls my nipples between his finger and thumb, plucking them in time with his dick as he takes me again and again.
‘It’s not fair...’ I moan, resting my head on the pillow, trying to catch my breath. ‘I want you to feel this.’
He makes a noise. It could be agreement or amusement; I’m not sure. ‘Do you think I’m not enjoying myself?’
No. I know he’s having a good time. But that’s not enough. I don’t want to think I’m like all those other women, just being ‘had’ by him. I want to rock his goddamned world.
‘Do I get to tie you up?’ My words are as fevered as my sex-stormed soul.
He laughs and shakes his head, his chin gravelly against my back. ‘No.’
‘Why not? What’s good for the goose isn’t good for the gander?’
‘Not in this case.’
‘Isn’t that a bit sexist?’
‘You don’t like it?’
My cheeks flame and I’m glad I’m facing away from him.
He brings the flat of his hand down on my arse, just lightly, but enough to spark the fire back into me, to make me forget what I want to do to him momentarily and enjoy what he’s doing to me instead.
I push my arse higher and he massages me with his fingers, digging hard into the muscles there. I moan, low in my throat, and then he pushes inside me. I’m so wet. I drop my head lower and now he reaches up, unclipping the belt and freeing my wrists.
He pulls out of me. ‘Turn around.’
A command. I obey, even though a part of me wants to tell him to stuff it purely as a point of pride.
Flat on my back, I stare up at him, my breath rushed, my lower lip sucked between my teeth.
‘I want you to see what you do to me.’ The admission is hoarse; as though drawn from deep in his throat.
He pushes my legs up again, lifting them over his shoulders as he drops into me, and I welcome him as though he’s been absent for months, not moments. He laces his fingers through mine, pinning my arms either side of me, and he stares down at me as he takes me once more.
I sweep my eyes closed as another wave begins to build, but he drops his mouth to mine and pulls my lower lip between his teeth, pressing into it just enough to startle me into looking at him.
‘I want to see you. And I want you to see me.’
Mesmerised, I can’t look away. I watch as his face contorts with pleasure and he rocks inside me, and my own pleasure rides high with his until we are climaxing together, my body flaming to his, leaping with his, burning like his. It is him and me, and no one else in the world exists or matters.
He explodes inside me—a powerful release that makes him cry out loudly...a guttural sound that rips through the room. And I echo it deep within my soul. I am as overwhelmed as he.
He stays above me, his breath uneven, his eyes almost accusing as my own climax recedes, and I am left weak and confused by what the hell just happened to us.
I stare up at my boss, at the man who’s just given me—I don’t know...four orgasms? Five orgasms? I’ve lost count. It’s still the afternoon and my body is covered in goose bumps.
Holy shit. Is this what it’s like with his other women?
They are like ghosts, immediately hovering on my subconscious. I hate it that they’re there, but my brain clearly needs me to remember them. To remember what Jack’s like.
‘So I suppose you don’t get complaints after all,’ I murmur, running my fingertips