Page 33 of Yield to Me

Chapter 18

Owen brought me to a room I hadn’t seen before in his house: long red drapes hung along the walls, candles decorated the edges of the room. A plush circular bed was in the middle covered in white blankets. He unzipped my hoodie slowly, his eyes trailing down my body, his hand reaching underneath my shirt, feeling my bare skin. I shivered at the warmth of his touch. All I wanted to do was to put my hand in his hair and bring our mouths together, but I resisted. We had boundaries now. Instead, I licked my parted lips and pulled his shirt over his head. He unhooked my bra, his fingers tickling my spine. He laid me down on the bed, then took my hands and placed them behind my head.

“I’ve been waiting for this for weeks,” he said. He kissed down my body, taking his time, savoring each stroke of his lips against my bare flesh, caressing my skin. “There will be time for pain, but for now, I choose pleasure.” His teeth nipped my skin. I flinched, and he looked up at me.

“Sensitive, are we?” he asked, grinning. I smiled back, and he unbuttoned and unzipped my pants, pulling them down and off of my legs. I was wearing white cotton panties and felt embarrassed by their plainness, but he didn’t notice—he kissed my clit through them anyway; the teasing of his mouth was enough to make me shudder. He pulled down my panties at a snail’s pace, egging me on, wrapped his hands around my back, pulling me closer to him. With his mouth on my sex, I moaned, relishing in the warmth. His tongue flicked my bud with gentle caresses, and my breathing quickened. I wanted so badly for him to plunge his member deep inside of me. I squirmed, and Owen pushed my legs further apart, then bit my inner thigh hard, the pain coursing through me like electricity surging through power lines, reaching through my limbs; I could feel the nerves tensing all the way in my neck. “What happened to pleasure?” I groaned, and he rubbed his finger gently on my wet slit.

“Are you questioning me?” he whispered. “Stay down.” He pushed down on my thighs again, then released me. I listened to his command. He licked me then, tasting every drop, and moaned deeply, the sound vibrating through my legs and the blankets beneath me, his voice guttural and primal and needy. “I want all of you, Riley Glass,” he growled. The circular motions of his tongue were rhythmic, deliberate, and his finger pressed inside of me, gently kneading me, working together to coax me closer to orgasm. He was on his knees in front of me, showing me exactly what he needed and what I needed. We were perfectly in sync; it was as if he had made me with his own hands. My whole body was hot again in the way I had only felt the first time we were together, and it grew more powerful with every moment.

“Beg me to come,” he said.

I breathed out, trying to keep the pressure inside of me from building. It was nearly unbearable. “Remember I own you when we’re like this, Riley. Don’t forget it.” And those words made me realize that I wanted him to own me, all of me. I didn’t want these bullshit rules. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted him to fuck me with the savagery I knew he was holding back. I wanted to feel every ounce of pain and pleasure he was willing to give me, and I wanted to do it for him. For me. Because I wanted to please him. Because I knew how powerful sex with him could be, how I had gone from a stubborn artist to a heaving mess of need around him, how I still felt powerful knowing how much I had done for him, how much he needed me too, how much I had learned about myself already. But all I said was, “May I come?” my voice barely rasping out of my mouth. He kept licking, taking from me. “Please, Owen…” I whispered. The need to let go was overtaking me, and it felt good to ask him, to need his permission, to know that when I came, I was coming for him, that he would help me grow, that he would protect me. But the urgency was overcoming me. I couldn’t take it much longer. I begged, louder this time, my voice a high pitched whine, “May I come, Owen?!”

“Come for me,” he growled. And with those words, my whole body filled with hot waves of pleasure, making my knees buckle and shake and my hands grabbed onto my stomach, as if to hold my insides in place, to keep myself from falling out. Owen’s growl vibrated through me as I came and came, and he held me close to him, his hands resting behind me.

After I had caught my breath, he laid beside me. Holding my neck in his hand, he kissed my collarbone, my breasts, his fingertips grazing my skin, soothing me.

“Thank you, Riley,” he said quietly. Confusion briefly fluttered through my mind, then disappeared. “For trusting me,” he added. It was strange to hear Owen be thankful, especially when I felt I should be the one thanking him. But I understood what he meant. It took a lot out of me to give myself to him like that, and I was glad he could see that. I squeezed his hand to acknowledge his thanks; words were hard to say right then. But I knew a better way to show my own thanks. I slinked off of the bed and kneeled in front of him. He sat up, looking down at me.

“Will you teach me to pleasure you?” I asked.

A primal groan echoed through him, and I could feel my own need stirring deep in my stomach already. His green eyes searched me, and he gently caressed my cheek.

“Undress me,” he said.

I undid the buttons, pulled the zipper, and inched the pant legs off of him, revealing his thick, muscular legs, soft dark hair covering them. His cock pressed against the fabric of his boxer briefs. He lifted his hips and pulled down his underwear, and I placed them on top of his jeans. His member was thick and hard, weighing down as it pulsed. I licked my lips, staring at the ridge of his head. For some reason, I knew I was supposed to wait for his instructions, even if I knew how to give head. After hearing him admit to his mistakes and seeing him pleasure me, all I wanted to do was to make him radiate with pleasure, to show that I emphatically wanted this too. All of it. Especially him. And I wanted to know exactly how he wanted it done. I rested my head on his lap, waiting for the next command.

“Take it slowly,” he said. “Massage every inch with your tongue.” I opened my mouth wide, massaging the tip. He moaned; a magnetic heat circulated quickly through my limbs, filling me with the need to make him come too. “That’s it,” he said. “Use your hand.” I held the bottom of his shaft, working my mouth and grip methodically, eager for his instructions. Each time he moaned, I picked up speed, eager to bring him to completion. “Slower,” he said, and I eased my movements. The need in my belly ached, desperately wanting to make him come as hard as he had made me explode. He twitched in my mouth.

“You’re lucky we have rules,” he said. “I would tear you apart.”

His hand gripped my hair, pulling himself deeper into my throat, and we both moaned, immersed in bliss. When he came in my mouth, I took all of him, greedily in a way I had never known before. Owen had awoken my need for pleasure and pain, the need to surrender control to him, my passionate fire harnessed and released, bigger than I had ever imagined. And I knew Owen was the one who could give it all to me, as long as neither of us got caught under the weight of our emotions.

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