Page 50 of His Road Dog

His gaze intensified. "Ride me."

"I can't," she whispered, feeling the strain on her throat. "I won't be able to breathe."

She reached for the leather around her neck. He grabbed her wrist, stopping her.

"Give me your other hand." His cock pulsed inside of her.

"Michael..."

"Trust me."

He held her gaze. She swallowed, hampered by the belt in getting enough air. He'd always taken care of her. His ways were unconventional and extreme, but he had never physically hurt her.

She blinked, wetting her lips. Giving him both her hands, he held her wrists together on his chest. If the belt grew too tight to breathe, she couldn't remove it without using her hands. She could only rely on him to take care of her.

Mustering the courage to step beyond herself and do something he wanted, not understanding if it was for his pleasure or hers, she moved the smallest amount to test what he'd do.

To her surprise, while the belt had tightened, he hadn't cut off her supply of air.

With confidence that Priest would take care of her, she rocked, using her hips and not her upper body. The close contact allowed her to rub her clit against the mound of hair above his cock. She warmed, encouraged by her arousal, and kept moving.

The wetness from her pussy allowed her to glide along his length. She moaned. So slick, so good, so big.

She pulled on her arms, wanting to move more, but Priest held her wrists. Her thigh muscles spasmed, and a jolt of pleasure spiraled tighter inside of her. How could she be turned on by what he was doing to her?

He pulled the belt. Her upper body tilted lower, and a rush of panic hit her as her airway seemed to get smaller. Panting, she made sure her next breath came.

As if Priest manipulated her body, she clung desperately to the sensations pushing her toward riding him harder. She wanted to slam down on him, feel him completely fill her. God, his body was perfect. Every bulge, bone, muscle fit against her, rubbing her, feeding her.

Her lungs expanded, burning with air. Digging her fingernails into the hand that held her, she closed her eyes, only to have him tug on the belt. She blinked, desperation moving her.

She slid on him. Back and forth, grinding her pussy on his body.

Priest held her gaze. Her soul cried out. There was something territorial in the way he watched her.

It was only the two of them.

Together.

Relying on him to let her breathe, to think, to feel, to...oh, God.

A hiss escaped her lips. Frantic to have an orgasm, she dallied with the idea of holding her breath and moving. Move so hard and fast to get her pleasure, no matter how risky. No matter the pain. No matter her fear.

Then, once she got relief, she'd worry about taking the belt off her neck.

Darkness settled around the edges of her vision.

She needed to breathe.

She needed to breathe now.

"Michael?" She moaned, unsure if she spoke. "Help."

He let go of her hands. She reached up to her neck, pulling on the leather at the same time energy soared. Not even having to take the belt off, her body pushed her into climaxing.

Violently shuddering atop him, she fell to his chest. His arms came around her, holding her tightly. Somewhere in the back of her consciousness, she was aware of his body hardening in pleasure underneath her.

Her heart pounded, the sound echoing in her ears. Or maybe it was Priest's heart. Her ear was on his chest.

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