“I thought about you every day we didn’t speak,” he mumbles into my skin. My eyes flutter closed as shivers claw their way down my spine. I arch my back, pressing my ass into him. “And not just like this, though my god, there were so many times I imaginedthis,” he whispers.
He undoes the button on my jeans, sliding them down my legs. My uneven breathing sounds fragmented, and my lips part automatically. For the second time in twenty-four hours, I step out of my boots and then out of my pants, leaving only my cardigan and camisole. Except this time, he’s not gentle—and I don’t want him to be. I want him to unleash himself upon me. I want him to respect me in public, and then I want him to shatter me in private—all while continuing to worship me for eternity.
I want him—all of him. The good, the bad, the ugly. I want to taste it all. So, when he places a wet thumb against the area we didn’t explore yesterday—when he inserts it, just slightly, I push against him, gasping. All of this was so ugly with strangers. So humiliating, so patronizing. But with Benedict, it’s like fire and ice combines, heating me with something I’ve never felt—some kind of vulnerability mixed with desire. But there is also control.Because he knows.And I know that Benedict wouldneverhurt me. It’s my pleasure he’s after, giving me complete control. He removes his thumb and then I hear him unzip his pants. I spread my legs in anticipation as his hands come up to my breasts, squeezing them. When he moans, I rock into him, waiting for him to be inside of me.
He thrusts his cock inside of me, his right thumb now back on my ass, and the motion pushes me flat against the window. I’m so exposed for anyone to see. But unlike before, I want this. And for the first time in a long time, I don’t picture what it would be like to fall through this window. I don’t picture the possible death, or toy with the idea of sitting on the ledge. I want to be here, with him. I don’t want to jeopardize it. Benedict grips my hair and pulls my head back, bending down and kissing my jaw. My back is arched, and he’s not slow—he pounds into me, his need evident.
“You feel so fucking good,” he whispers, his voice unsteady. He enunciatesfucking, and the way it drops off his tongue like that—like some kind of lovely, vulgar thing—sends my hips backwards, meeting his every move.
“So do you,” I answer, placing my palms on the window.
“Do you like this?” he asks, and I know he means the street below.
“God, yes.”
“Because you have control,” he adds, his voice deep.
“Yes,” I whisper. “Because I’m choosing it. Choosing you.”
He groans, and his shaft hardens further, filling me completely. “Say it again.”
“I choose you, Benedict Martin.”
He slows his rhythm, placing his hands on my ass and moving me along his shaft slowly.
“Ride me,” he commands. “I want to see you come on top me.”
I pull away and turn to face him. “Then get down on the floor.”
He smiles, and I swear I’ve never seen anyone so eager to lie down on the carpet of their hotel room. I straddle him and tug my cardigan and camisole off, getting completely naked. I hadn’t bothered with a bra today. He reaches up and grabs my arm as I direct him into me, lowering myself slowly.
“My god, have mercy,” he hisses, throwing his head back so that his neck is completely exposed, his Adam’s apple prominent.
He’s almost fully clothed—his jeans are tugged down a bit, but he’s still in his boots and thermal. I love that I have this kind of effect on him. And I love that even though I am naked, I don’t feel powerless.
I’m his queen.
I quicken my tempo, and every movement is met with a bucking of his hips against mine—finding depth where there was none previously. The motion makes me cry out every time, bringing my climax dangerously close, teetering on the precipice.
“I’m going to come soon,” I say, moving my hips forward and back now, using myself as a guide.
He grunts and grabs my hips. “I’ve been holding out for you.”
We fall over the edge together, my body spasming on top of him as he slams me against him, using me so effectively and easily, sliding me against himself and bringing us both into the dark, deep utopia together. The last of it leaves my body and I fully collapse onto him. I don’t move—not that I could. In these moments after an orgasm, the lull of sleep, the desire to rest is so great. I almost never have energy to move for at least a few minutes. He doesn’t move out of me—just keeps himself inside of me, content.
Benedict’s hand finds my spine and strokes a finger down each vertebra. My eyes close, my breathing slows, and I realize with a start that this, here with him, is the safest I’ve ever felt.
And the most wanted—loved—I’ll ever feel.
Like a Phoenix
Evelyn Snow
Edinburgh,Present
“There is no way you’re going to eat that entire burger,” I joke, taking a French fry and shoving it into my mouth.
“Is that a challenge?” Benedict asks, grinning as he takes a large bite. He looks like a fucking God even while shoveling food into his mouth.
