Page 42 of Edging Obsession

The back of my head rests against the wall, glancing up at him. “Yes, you.”

Miles flattens his hands on each side of my head. “I might be a conceited, deceitful motherfucking asshole…” He takes a deep breath before continuing. “But when it comes to you, Jules Hunter, I lost my heart. Everything about us, from the first time we laid eyes on each other until now, has been genuine.” His words have me sobbing more, and he brushes them away. “I’m not that great of an actor.”

He steps forward, our fronts flushed, cupping my face, and kissing me. Just lips touching and eyes bolted to mine. A cautious apologetic kiss. Then Miles takes what’s his, which is me. His possessive, bruising kiss escalates the hunger. Miles sucks my lower lip into his mouth, bites it, and lets it go. The sting pebbles my nipples, and my brewing tornado of emotions need an outlet. I roll my hips into him.

Miles breaks the kiss, steps away, and says, “Oh no, Schatzi. There’s going to be some making up to do.”

“By all means, start making up.”

He gives me that devious lopsided grin, and in one fluid motion, his hands drop and he takes my hand, leading me down the stairs into his basement. The switch of the light reveals a similar dungeon to the one at his lake house, except this one has no windows. Black is the theme covering the walls and floor. The ceiling is white other than the mirror hanging over another Dore Alley Dungeon Bed. Even though it’s built of thick metal angles, the covers and pillows look cozy.

He commands, “Strip, Mein Schatzi.”

When he deepens his voice like a deep whisper in a cave, my core dampens, and I’m his for the taking. It doesn’t take long before I’m naked with him fully dressed.

Miles winds his hands around my hair, yanks me closer, kissing behind my ear. “Are you ready for some make-up sex?” I sigh ayes. He tightens his hold. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, Mein Lieber.”

“Safe word?”

“Triscuit.”

Miles guides me over to two metal hoops drilled into the floor about three feet apart and cuffs my ankles to them. His large hand runs over my ass, snaking up my lower back, forcing me to bend at the waist. I grasp the black metal pole in front of me, dangling handcuffs, and he attaches me to it. I’m bent over, holding onto the pole, legs wide open. My breathing increases with small intakes. It’s the anticipation, fear, his control, and my power, sparking life into my body. To feel free by surrendering. These are Miles’ and my private journeys of sexual exploration, and they tinker with my moods until bliss is all that exists.

His fingertips wander over my skin, starting at my wrist, along my arm, shoulder, down the side of my torso, tickling me. With a hand on each butt cheek, he draws circles over them, and I wait for the smack. But it doesn’t come. Instead, he sits backwards between my legs, and very lightly brushes his fingers from my ankles to my inner thighs. The gentle touch alone generates a decent amount of lubrication.

With his hands splayed across my ass, Miles puts his face by my pussy and blows on it. His tongue darts out, wiggling against my clit, and my eyes close. I feel everything Miles is doing to a point that I picture it. Opening my swollen lips, he slides his tongue from clit to opening while massaging my ass cheeks.

He whispers into my pussy, “Totalsüß.”(Totally sweet)

My lips are sucked into his mouth as the tip of his tongue peruses the seam. I’m murmuring how good it feels. Telling him to take all of me. My head drops between my attached arms to watch him as I rise onto my tippy toes. Miles isn’t listening to what I’m saying because his face is shoved into my pussy, nose at my clit, chin by my opening, lapping up his saliva and my juices. Two fingers slip into me while he continues with his mouth. In and out. He’s slurping, running his tongue between my lips, and he shakes his head to jiggle my clit with his nose. My head falls backward, arching and screaming through my orgasm. I’m shaking like earthquake tremors—strong and unpredictable. Aftershocks wrack my body, but I can still hear Miles’ zipper.

I haven’t even caught my breath, and Miles slams into me. My hands clamp around the bar to steady myself. His hands hold my hips as he thrusts deep and hard. I’m crying out from a mixture of pleasure and pain. Miles ruts himself deep inside, stops, retracting in slow motion, then he bucks back in. Several more follow before his fingers press into my skin for leverage as he fucks me hard. My breasts are dangling, bouncing all over the place, and one of my manicured nails breaks off. I raise up on my toes, trying to find a better angle. Relief comes when his hands leave my hips.

Smack.

Heat spreads across my ass cheek.

Smack.

Then the other.

One after the other, he smacks my cheeks, and the blazing heat fires like a backdraft to my core. Tears splatter on the floor. An orgasm hits. I’m coming and jerking from my release and Miles’ strikes. My mind whirls into darkness; into a world beyond. Time slows and distorts noises. I hear Miles’ moans and curses, the slap of his hand, yet my head is empty of space. I’m snapped back, hearing Miles grunt through his orgasm, warm spurts flooding my insides. There’s a genuine peace while my arms hang limply from the bar. I can’t control the shaking in my legs.

Miles pulls out, bends to release my ankles from the bindings. With one arm wrapped around my waist, he frees my wrists, holding me so I don’t collapse onto the ground. My body resembles a noodle as he hauls me into his arms and carries me into a washroom. I’m exhausted, eyes wandering the place in a hazy fog. It has soft lights, gray walls, and stone tiles, and a whirlpool spa that fits six.

On top of the vanity, Miles reaches into a fridge to retrieve a bottle. A fridge in the washroom?

He hands me the bottle and says, “Drink this.”

Disoriented from fucking, I can’t even lift the bottle or see what it says on it. “What is it?”

“Gatorade. To replenish your electrolytes.”

It’s difficult to focus, so Miles uncaps the bottle, bringing it to my mouth. I gulp it down, not realizing how thirsty I was. When I’m done, he fills the spa, and then lifts each foot, inspecting my ankles.

I’m swaying on the counter, eyes half-opened, and I groggily ask, “What are you doing?”

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