Page 114 of At Her Will

He took her to her bedroom. As he moved toward her bed, the narrowness of the room, its length, gave her the sense of a journey that ended in just the right place.

“Put me on the edge, Rev.”

As he did, she had him remain standing so she could press her lips to his abdomen, stroke her hands along his sides, over his hips and upper thighs. She stood, putting the rest of her against him as she unfastened his jeans, and indicated with the pressure of her hands that she wanted them off. All of it, except his cross.

When he complied, she trailed her fingertips over his neck, gripping the cross briefly to feel the engraved words about faith against her skin. Then she moved down his abdomen, tracing a circle around his cock, suitably stiff and straight. The henna designs had faded away, but she would plan to do them again. “Undress me, Rev.”

He gripped the hem of her shirt, easing it over her head, careful not to snag her hair. The bra unfastened in the back, so he leaned up against her, his breath at her temple as he did that, her hands on his bent arms. His hand slid over her cat and pentacle tattoo, the most sensitive place on her back.

He removed the jeans next, his thumbs pushed into the sides to ease them off her hips. They were snug enough the panties had to come with them. She sat down to let him finish it, him going to his knees to slip them off her legs with her shoes. He straightened, leaning in between her spread knees to remove her earrings, her pentacle, and her Maat and Isis pendant, cradling them in his large palm. As he twisted around and rested them on the nearby dresser, he corralled the earrings in loops of the chain.

“Give me your belt,” she ordered.

He bent to pull them out of his jeans while she let her hand wander down his side, along his bare hip, the flexing muscle of his ass.

She looped the belt around his wrists and backed up onto the bed on her knees, tugging him up onto it with her.

She liked the effect, him looking like a prowling cat, shoulders and head lowered, his gaze intent upon her. She laid down, parting her legs so his knees were braced between them. As she brought him down over her, she had him put his bound wrists above her head, forearms framing her face.

The heat of his skin was welcome against her. She lifted her legs and clasped them over his bare backside. With the pressure of those legs, she eased him into her slick tissues, tightening her core to lift and pull him in, take him deeper, hold him there.

The light filtering through the tall window turned his face into a sculpture, the striking cheekbones and firmly held jaw. She traced the tender pink seam between his brown lips. “In Tantra, the goddess Kali is the passionate teacher, the female showing the male what she desires, letting him be a witness of what female sexuality is, how it intertwines with his. ‘A naked goddess, with disheveled hair; symbolizing freedom…’ That’s from theChakrasamvara Tantra.”

His eyes moved to her hair fluffed around her face. When his attention came back to her eyes, she parted her lips, drawing his eyes there as well.

“Start moving inside me, Rev. Move slow, just as slowly in as out, and keep doing it that way, no matter how much your body says to do more. No matter what I do to you. When you’re close to climax, stop. Remember your breathing. Impress me with how long you can keep that energy channeled, cycling, building, but not releasing.”

He obeyed, muscles corded in his biceps and under her heels. She trailed her fingertips over his shoulders, scraped him with her nails. Reached up and put her mouth against his throat, bit him, licked him. Rocked her hips up and took him deeper.

His growl, his erratic breath, was music she used to choreograph the way she touched him, stroked, gripped him with her inner muscles to increase the friction from his thickcock. Goddess, he felt so good. That energy was there between them, that link, and she focused on it. This too was a closed circle of energy, their bodies joined.

She reached above her, so his gaze was on her lifted breasts, so close to the heat of his puffing breath, the stretch of his lips that showed his teeth. She gripped the belt, his bound hands, and wrapped her own hands in the free part of the strap, her knuckles brushing the smooth wood of her headboard. The hold gave her more leverage, but it was also an intriguing message. Choosing to be bound to him.

“Mistress…” he said, after a gratifyingly long time. He was learning how to internalize that arousal, drive it deeper into his core, into the root, and hold it there. His gaze was glazed, his mouth tight. She licked his lips, his teeth, nipped his jaw, and a muttered oath escaped him.

“Be still, Rev.”

He did, body shuddering. “Stay still inside me and worship my breasts with your eyes, then your mouth.”

When he stared at them, covering every inch, the swollen curves, the tight nipples, the damp crevice between them, the bliss was indescribable. After the right amount of time, he dipped his head and began to breathe on her, then brush his lips there, a touch of tongue. When he finally dipped his head and latched onto a nipple, he drew it in deep. The hard swell of response through her cunt seized her whole body.

Keeping herself in check, cycling those same orgasmic currents, she began to work herself up and down his shaft. He fought to hold his lower body still and obey her.

“Submit to my will,” she reminded him in a breathless voice. “And tell me what you need. What do you need, Rev?”

“Whatever you know I need, Mistress…God, great Lord in Heaven…I love your breasts…”

Fervent admiration. He lavished praise upon them with his mouth and teeth, his lips, the brush of his rough jaw.

She wanted this to go on forever, the two of them here, nothing in the outside world to take them away from it. A spike of fear came with the thought, a reaction she wasn’t expecting.

She let go of the belt to clasp his head as it moved over her breasts, her thumb against the pulse crashing in his throat. “Rev,” she whispered. “Karman Leone. Inside me, in every way. Mine.”

His bound hands shifted, moving under her head. He held her, his elbows pressed outside her shoulders, his body suddenly having more weight, as if reminding her of what he’d said about carrying her. About being there for her.

He had felt the anxiety, and he was answering it.

There was no absolute protection from everything in the world. But the desire to protect, the measure of it, strengthened the bond two people could have, especially when that desire was accepted and reciprocated, welcomed not as an obligation, but an honor and privilege they would work to earn. She wanted to take care of and protect him as well, with everything she had.

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