Control.
I want more.
“Let me see you, Caleb.” I say it, out loud, and I am amazed at my own daring.
The presence within me vanishes, and I am hauled upright by a sharp tug on my hair. Hands turn me. Eyes fiery, blazing, burning, dark and unknowable. “You want to see me?”
God, that body is dizzyingly perfect. All hard angles and huge muscles. Carved, cut, and perfect. I reach, and for a split second I am allowed to touch firm flesh, but only for a moment.
Hands strip the dress off me, make short work of the strapless bra, and then I’m naked.
I am pushed backward, and I trip over something.
So focused on the man in front of me, am I, that I’ve noticed nothing of the space around me. That does not change now. A couch, I think. I fall backward over the arm of a couch, and male heat and hardness follows me over. On my back, my legs dangle over the edge, hang into space. A broad wedge of male flesh and muscle fills that space, parting my legs. Hands grip my thighs, pull me, and then grip my hips and lift me. I can see the sharp angles and dark stubble, wild, angry eyes, thin slash of a mouth. I have a moment of breath, a moment to look, to see slablike pectorals and grooved abdomen, and then one sharp thrust drives the thick shaft into me.
I let out a gasp of surprise. It scrapes within me, fills me in a strange angle, fullness but different. Hands gripping my hips, I am lifted and pulled backward into the next thrust, which is hard and rough.
“Oh—oh God.” It hurts, these hard thrusts, but they feel good as well.
“You’remine, X. You fuckingbelongtome.”
Hips slam in between my thighs, and I am rocked forward, but strong hands keep me hauled taut for the next powerful drive.
Dark eyes do not leave mine. I cannot look away, not even to close my eyes as orgasmic tremors blow through me. Cannot look away, do not.
“Mine.” A rocking thrust, sending me over the edge. “Say it, X. Fucking say it! Say you’re mine.”
I need the next thrust, need it to stay here on the far side of bliss, where everything is nothing, and nothing matters but the heat and fullness and the slight ache and burn and twinge and the grip of hands on my hips and the slam of body against body. Right now, that’s all that matters. I am conditioned to need that, this moment, this now. It’s all I am.
“I’m yours, Caleb.” I say on a whimper, a sob.
As soon as those three words leave my lips, I feel the hot wet rush of release within me, feel that heavy body collapse forward, and I accept the weight, feel hard muscle under my hands. Stubble on my face, cheek against cheek. A moment of mutual breathing, harsh and ragged.
“X.” My name, said thus, with such... not vulnerability, but something like it—I want to believe everything I’ve heard over the last few minutes.
I should say something, but what?
Abruptly, the weight is gone, and the cold statue-blank expression is in place. “I have to go.”
I lie on the couch, naked and sated, confused, emotionally demolished. I watch the naked body as it is covered inch by inch with expensive clothes. Shoes, last, slipped on, tied quickly.
“Stay.” I say it, hoping.
A pause. Hesitation. All I can see is a broad back, trim waist, strong legs. I cannot see the expression on that handsome, too-beautiful face. “I can’t. I’ll be back, though. You stay here. Don’t put on clothes.” A rumble, deep-chested, of some deep emotion too thick and male and tumultuous to express in mere words. “Just... stay. I’ll be back. And X?”
“Yes, Caleb?”
“You are special to me.”
I feel something in me twist and expand and bloom with hope.
Silver key, twisted. Elevators doors open, easy strides into the car, turn, and I can see a hint of the storm of emotions. There is much kept hidden, I’m realizing.
Still waters run deep, I believe the saying goes.
The elevator doors close, and I am alone.
Glance away, huge windows letting in the sunlight. Perhaps thirty minutes have passed since I entered this penthouse.
