Game on
He opened the door, stepping inside to an empty, silent room. Ah, he thought with satisfaction and anticipation, game on. Stalking into the small appartement, Kevin took care to keep his movements quiet. Aurelie should be somewhere in the three rooms, and after a month living together, if she wasn’t waiting when he got home, arms extended, face tilted for a kiss…he knew what his girl wanted.
Moving silently across the room, he caught sight of her and paused in the kitchen doorway, watching. Assessing. He took a moment to consider the set-up she had in place, carefully studying her, reading cues for his planned role in every nuance of her posture. Leaning against the countertop in front of the single sink, she stared out the window at the rooftops of the surrounding buildings. Relaxed, loose muscles and the slant of her shoulders had allowed one strap from her lightweight tank to slip past the curve and onto her upper arm. Bare feet spread hip width at the end of impossibly long and tanned legs, the hem of her skirt brushed the skin just below her knees.
Her hair had been pulled back into a loose ponytail, long strands of blonde silk held together by a knot that lay between her shoulder blades. Tidy and out of the way until needed, gathered for an easy grip. She wants to be taken from behind.
Hands hidden by her body, the angle of her elbows told him she had already secured them. Lowering his chin, he felt a frown draw his brows together at this preparation. She had to because he was still unsure, fearful of making a mistake and causing her injury with a too-tight binding. His fumbling efforts frustrated him, and this was her way to avoid that. My girl thought of everything, as she always did.
Aurelie, as he had found out on that first night, was into consensual nonconsent scenes. She got turned on by pretending to be forced to have sex, and that sex needed to be rough for her to get off. At least the first time. After that, he could pick her up from wherever they were and carry her to bed. A secure nest for her where he could take his time, love her soft and slow. He would watch in awe as she came again and again, the dam broken by the illusion that all control had been stripped from her.
It was an illusion because, in reality, she was in total control. He could touch and pinch, twist and pull, enter her in hard, punishing strokes, unless she said rouge. As long as her word remained unspoken, as long as she didn’t give him their signal, that first fuck was anything goes. Or comes, he thought with a fierce smile.
From her position, dress, and bearing, he knew she wanted him to come in hard and fast. Bend her over. Possess her. Own her body and overpower her physically. She wouldn’t have on panties, and from the reflection in the window, he could see she wasn’t wearing a bra. The skirt was a must for him, because the first time he had found bruising on her thighs from tight pants he had brutally ripped down her legs, he nearly called a stop to it all. He had kissed and stroked every mark for days, soaking with her in the tub until they both looked like prunes. That had been nearly a week of no sex, and on the final day, she had almost been ready to have regular sex just to bolster his confidence again.
Before Aurelie, he believed himself adventurous in bed. The recipient of much attention, he had always been careful to pay that back with interest, or so he thought. Not shy about asking for what he wanted, he had stood beside Mimi’s bed one night, slowly thrusting into her mouth, controlling the pace as he fucked her face. Quickly calling a halt the first time she made a protesting noise, he’d contritely kissed her, thanking her as they made love.
Everything was different with Aurelie. More.
She had coaxed him into straddling her torso, trapping her arms with his legs. Grant me shelter within your boundaries. Begging for his fingers wrapped in her hair while he pulled her mouth onto him, hard and fast. Brand me with your overwhelming hunger. When a thrust slipped too deep and she’d choked, making a mewling noise, he had stopped and pulled out only to be met with a confused look from her. “I’m sorry,” he’d said, gently stroking her cheek, stunned when she tilted her neck to look at him with low, rich laughter.
“Mon amour, you make me gag so sweetly. Don’t stop, please. If I didn’t have your cock down my throat like that, I’d be spread out over your legs, licking and sucking to bend you to my will. I want this, not a gentle love. Not tonight.” Eyes to his, she’d said, “I don’t want that right now. What I want is you in my mouth, wanton and reckless. As deep as you can go.” Her plea rang true, “More than you can ever know, that is what I want. This. Is. What I need. Make me take you in, allow me the chance to master my body’s responses. I want to feel restrained, to have you curb my flight. To know you are in control. Please, Kevin, I want your dick, want you to fuck my face.”
It had taken more than that one time. Hell, more than a half-dozen times, and he still wasn’t comfortable with her body’s reactions to what she needed, the force and fierceness craved as strongly as any drug. The edge she rode struck deep when she took him so far down her throat that tears had streamed from her eyes. When saliva had bubbled from her lips around his cock, she’d babbled her thanks, uneven gasps for breath heating his skin as he pulled out on every third or fourth stroke. He knew she’d said she wanted it, even begged him for it, but seeing her in what looked like agony made it hard, even now, to equate the experience to the ecstasy she claimed.
He was beginning to learn her, though.
Beginning to absorb what she needed so she didn’t have to ask all the time, didn’t have to strip her fears bare for him again and again. In the hours after their first time together—an experience he had come to realize was far in the vanilla zone, as she called it—they’d lain in bed talking and she’d asked if he would be her lover for the time remaining to him in Paris. With blunt and open words, not giving him any indication how hard that was for her, she’d told him he was perfect for her. His sheer size, a detriment in so many other areas of his life, was something she found attractive about him.
“Just by being yourself, you master me.” Reaching out, she’d drawn his hand up her body. Placing his palm on her throat, she’d wordlessly urged him to cup it around the column, fingers threaded between his, the tension in her tight grip holding their hands in place. “You could hurt me, kill me even.” Tut-tutting him to silence when he would have interrupted her, she’d continued in her satin voice, “You will not, because of the man you are. But, you could. Were you to close your fingers and cut off my air, I could not fight you. If you want me, I could not stop anything from happening. You could do anything to me. You will not, but you could. And therein lies my joy.”
She’d given a shrug that he had only ever seen done in France, a lifting of the shoulders that seemed to go on for hours. “I will not worry that you cannot back up what you ask me to do. What you demand must be met, because you can make it so. That takes the reins out of my hands in a way that leaves me free to enjoy. Because you can control me when I cannot control myself.”
Easing into the idea, they’d experimented a little more boldly each session, and Kevin had begun to apply changes to the scenarios. This improvisation left her guessing, even more aroused with the inherent uncertainty. Freefalling. Through all of this, he found his own enjoyment at their interplay in ways he never expected. Not only the sex, which was hot and satisfying, but the extra bits as well. He loved wrapping her up at the end of the night, feeding her sweets and juice, holding her close in his lap. Best feeling in the world, having her need him like that. Letting her lean into him, trusting him implicitly, knowing he would catch her.
But to get her to that place in their evening, he had to take her outside herself, past the point of restraint in bed. Not yet a master at it, he was learning to love the unfocused stare on her face when she was so lost in the act, so far outside her own head she no longer could tell him no. That was why she needed someone she trusted. Someone like him; someone to know when she had enough.
Today will be tame compared to our last session, he thought, wincing as he remembered the dark red marks the ropes had left on her ankles. Tied to the bedframe, she’d been held splayed open on the mattress for him to fuck. Pulling her ass close to the edge of the bed as he’d snapped his hips forward, he had savored her moans with each thrust driving home. Tame, he smirked, rubbing a rough hand across his rock-hard cock, unbuttoning the waistband of his pants in preparation, but still fucking hot.
Moving soundlessly across the tile floor, he paused behind her for a second, their gazes meeting in the window’s reflection and he scowled, pulling on the persona she preferred.
“Don’t make a sound,” he growled in English, the language unfamiliar in this apartment enough to bolster the illusion of an intruder. One arm low around her waist yanked her to him as he ground his hips forward, she nearly slipped from his grasp, but he clamped down hard. Going for intimidation, his other hand encircled her throat, grip threateningly tight, just enough to ensure she understood the futility of resistance. Through his thumb pressed against her carotid artery, he felt her heartbeat jump and pound, the adrenaline of her body’s instinctive fight or flight response kicking in, knowing this paired with her anticipation from waiting would feed her excitement. “I can do whatever I want to you.” Teeth against the skin behind her ear, his voice rumbled low when he told her, “You belong to me now.”