“I don’t know. It seems my seduction tactics got us here, didn’t they?”
“Yes. I suppose they did.” The look in his eyes told me he knew that here meant more than just where we were at that moment, me on top of him, his cock between my thighs.
He kissed me, placing his hand between us to massage my clit. Making me dizzy from two angles at once. It wasn’t even a minute before I was coming apart in his arms, milking his cock, tumbling with my orgasm. When it finished, I collapsed onto his shoulder.
Reeve’s chest shook as he chuckled. “Oh, no, you don’t. No passing out on me. You had your fun. Now it’s time for mine.”
He pulled out of me and flipped us around with ease, pushing me to my stomach. I turned my face toward the fire that was now barely smoldering. Reeve placed a hand on my lower back, then, from the shift of weight on the bed, it felt like he was reaching for something behind us.
Before I heard the drawer open and close, before I heard the snap of the bottle lid, I knew. I knew without a doubt. The familiar conflicting feelings of excitement and terror gripped me. My throat tightened like my body was preparing to cry, but also I wanted to laugh. This man – this fucking asshole – everything always had to be on his terms. No matter what the circumstances. Even when it looked like he was giving me the director’s chair, it would always be temporary. It would always be him who called the shots.
It was just the way I liked him. The way we both needed him.
But it didn’t mean I didn’t also want to kick him in the nuts a little.
His finger entered my tight rim first. It was cold with lube, which he’d applied liberally and was now spreading over the walls of my asshole. I was already moaning, my heart already pounding like a stampede inside my chest. It felt so good, and I wanted more, yet was unsure at the same time.
It didn’t really matter what I wanted anyway, because Reeve would tell me like he told me everything.
Damn him for deciding I wanted this.
But then, he surprised me. He removed his finger then stretched his body lengthwise over mine. His mouth at my ear, he said, “Tell me to stop, Emily.”
I cursed silently. So much for him deciding.
“Tell me to stop,” he said again, “or you’re choosing this.”
Seriously, he was brilliant. I’d told him that he couldn’t trap me like this, and yet here he had trapped me in all sorts of ways. He was forcing me to tell him yes or no. Whichever answer I gave him, I would either be asking him to stop or asking him to fuck me in the ass. He was forcing me to set this limit. He was forcing me to either move on from Bridge or not.
“Tell me to stop,” he repeated.
The trickiest part of it all was that even while he was telling me what to say, I knew what he really wanted me to choose. And while that would normally be what I automatically chose – to let him do this, to not stop him – our earlier conversation had put a different frame on anything I chose for him to do versus something I let him do. If I chose this, then it meant I trusted him. Then it meant I loved him.
Fucking trapped.
He was waiting for me to respond.
Well, I didn’t have to answer. “I’m not saying anything.”
“Then you’re choosing this.” He crawled back down my body. I heard the bottle open and shut again. Then it was his cock pressing at my rim, his crown alone feeling impossibly big against my hole. “You’re choosing this, Em. If you don’t stop me, this is your choice.”
It had been years, but I knew the drill. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath in and out. Concentrated on relaxing. Readied myself to push out as he entered me.
And as I prepared, I asked myself what I really wanted. If it weren’t a trap, if I didn’t know what would make Reeve happy – what would I choose?
He pressed into me, slower than when he usually drove inside my pussy, but by no means gently. His crown hit the point of resistance, and, without pausing to let me adjust, he pushed past it.
I gasped from the pain, tears leaking down my cheeks.
“It hurts, doesn’t it?” Reeve taunted me. “I know it hurts. Tell me to stop.”
He thrust in farther. Pain seared through me, waking every nerve in my body. It hurt – so much – but it was nothing like the nightmare that Bridge had put me through. This hurt, but it hurt good. It hurt, and I knew what I’d choose.
It hurt, and I would still choose this.
“Tell me —”
“Don’t stop!” I cried.
As soon as I said it, as soon as I chose, he was different. He stilled, letting me get used to him as he lay over me.
“I won’t stop, Blue Eyes,” he said, stroking my cheek. “I’m not going to stop. And I’m not going to be considerate because that’s what I want, and I know that pleasing me makes you happy. But I’m also going to make sure you find pleasure in it too.”
More tears spilled, less from pain now and more from emotion. He scooted back to his knees and urged me up to all fours. By the time he had me in the position he wanted, I’d adjusted to him. Which was good, because, as he’d said, he wasn’t considerate. He dug his fingers into my hips and pulled back slowly, pulled back like the car of a roller coaster trekking to the summit. And then he was over the crest, plunging back in with speed, his hips thrusting with wild abandon.
I screamed through gritted teeth, balling my hands in the sheets below me as the pain tore through my ass, lighting the nerves on the opposite wall. It was agony, but as it stretched and yawned, it reshaped, transforming into overwhelming ecstasy. It grew like a ball of fire in my lower regions, the source no longer identifiable. It was almost impossible to tell what parts of me were even being touched. Because everything felt touched, every part of my sex organs shouting with the sensation of having been rubbed.