Page 115 of For Real

“Spread.”

I made a noise that was most certainly not a whimper and obeyed, sliding my thighs apart, and then further still, until Toby was satisfied.

He tucked a pillow under each of my knees and smiled up at me. “So fucking hot.”

I tried to come up with something grumpy to say in response, but it was hard to think, hard to breathe beneath Toby’s gaze. “The things I do for you,” I managed.

“I know.” Gleeful was how he sounded as he skated his nails up the inside of my legs, while I shivered helplessly at being so defenceless and tried to hold position, cock and adductor muscles already aching softly. “Okay. So…” He released me briefly from his attentions and rummaged again in his pile of ropes and cuffs and God knew what else. He held out his hands to me, the Gates of Hell in one, the anal hook in the other, and grinned again. “Choose.”

That was easy. I pointed at the Gates of Hell. “Cool.” He threw them back into the pile.

For a moment I groped after meaning, and then I understood, and then I groaned. “You mind-fucking little bastard.”

He nodded, utterly unrepentant. “Hands behind your neck.”

It occurred to me—as it always did at some point—that I could simply refuse. I could get off the damn table and not allow him to do anything to me. The only power he had was power I’d given him, and I could take it back at any moment, with a look, a word, the simplest of gestures.

But I didn’t want to. I wanted him to have me, to have everything, my pleasure, my pain, my pride, and my shame. I wanted to lay it all at his feet until we were both free, until I was his and he was mine, and everything else was tatters.

I put my hands behind my neck, and he cuffed them there. His fingers ruffled through my hair, tugging it lightly so that hot sparks slid all the way down my spine.

“Okay,” he said. “Down.”

I didn’t want to do it, but I wanted him to make me. I needed him, I needed his hand—firm and inevitable—to control my descent. He was so gentle that I nearly wept with mortification and a kind of terrible longing. I could feel the scars and whorls in the table beneath my cheek. Toby was just a haze of warmth behind me, standing at the delta he’d made of my body as he debased and opened me.5

I shuddered and yielded to him, impaled on his merciless, lube-wet fingers. Someone moaned, but it was Toby, the sound as naked as I felt. And I answered, pushing my hips up, needing him to know anything he wanted, I wanted too. That I wanted this. For him to do this to me. For me. With me.

His hand closed around my cock, and the sheer pleasure of his touch burned through me like the brightest sunlight. My sudden cry echoed on the kitchen tiles, too loud, too harsh, too desperately revealing. He bent over my back and kissed his way down the straining, suppliant arch of my spine. My fingers knotted against each other, but there was nothing for me to hold on to. There was just Toby, his mouth on my skin, and everything he made me feel. The truth was, pleasure frightened me more than pain. It demanded a deeper surrender.

It was almost a relief when he moved away.

But then came the blunt pressure of the anal hook, stretching me wider, pushing into me. It was a dull sort of violation. It didn’t hurt, but it seemed like it might, and that was somehow worse, holding me on the edge of a gasp.

Until Toby whispered, “Breathe,” and then the damn thing was inside me, my body struggling round it like an oyster with a pearl.

I hated it. Loved it. Loved how much I hated it.

And how safe it was to be in that place with Toby, who somehow saw the spaces between all my blurred lines far more clearly than I did.

He used the chain between my cuffed hands to draw me upright again. He was careful, but even that slight movement…jostled, reminded, pleasured, tormented. A few drops of sweat slipped between my shoulder blades, and I was so sensitive, so lost in my skin, I half thought I felt the heat of them, the scratch of salt within each sphere. My mouth gaped open, and a sound came out, wavering and unformed, a muddle of misery, need, arousal, and submission.

Yes.

Please.

This.

There was a chink of chain as Toby fed it through the ring, then the click of a snap hook as he connected it to the cuffs, and there, I was bound. I tugged, because it was always my first instinct, and the curve of the hook twisted on the threshold of my body, reminding me of its invasion, intensifying my sense of restraint. I swallowed a gasp, my pulse fluttering fearfully. Robert had often put me in more demanding bondage, but for all its crudity—perhaps because of its crudity, the harsh mixture of exposure and penetration—this stripped me, flayed me, and left me raw. My cock strained upwards obscenely between my spread thighs, pre-come slicking down the sides, and dripping onto the table.

“Oh God. Laurie.” Toby scrambled up next to me, pushing between my legs, and buried his hands in my hair. For a moment, his wild, shining eyes were my whole world, and then, with a little growl, he kissed me savagely. I didn’t dare move, not wanting to feel that awful tug and pressure deep inside me, but he had me braced—as long as I didn’t struggle, as long as I didn’t do anything but let him shove his tongue deep into my mouth, and take me, take everything.

He tasted like the tea he’d drunk earlier. Then of me. And it was so beautiful, that cruel and hungry kiss.

We were both dazed and breathless when he pulled away.

His hands skimmed across my body, stroking, scratching, owning it, while I shivered and moaned softly, tethered and untethered at the same time. The pads of his thumbs circled my nipples, stirring pleasure like glowing ashes until it flamed in me afresh, and I threw back my head, arching into his touch, heedless of anything else. The movement dragged against the cuffs and the hook, and the shock of those harsh adornments jolted through me, a cry catching at the back of my throat.

Toby leaned in to me, and put his mouth where his hands had been, covering too-sensitive flesh in a wash of exquisite heat. What little breath I had shuddered out of me, and I choked on Toby’s name, a fly in honey, trapped and drowning in sweetness. Just when it became almost unbearable, he caught my nipple on the edge of his teeth, and that rougher touch sheared through me like lightning, and I almost came in the rush of knowing myself so utterly controlled. So utterly his.

---