Page 126 of The Fire We Crave

“Fuck, you look so good, sugar,” I say from my spot behind her as I thrust my cock deep into her pussy. She’s wearing a small butt plug, a training one, with my initials on it.

She’s on her knees in the center of the mattress, face down on the sheets. Her arms are spread out towards the edge of the mattress on each side. They’re tied down with deep burgundy ribbon that reminds me of the highlights in her hair when the sun catches it.

Her cheek is flush against the sheets, and her back is perfectly arched. I can see the bumps of her spine and the dimples in her smooth, unblemished ass cheeks.

I don’t know who needs this more, me or Quinn.

But knowing how the day is going to shake down, I needed something life affirming. And given Quinn told me fifteen minutes ago that she slept like shit, I knew I had to get her out of her own head before we move ahead with my surprise.

Worry in my game is a death sentence.

Like a wildfire, anything that takes your head away from what you’re doing is a risk.

She’s already come.

Twice.

But I could see she was grappling with the idea that it should have been my turn to come.

Tying her up is sometimes to show her it’s not about turns. It’s about what I feel we need. What she needs. Sometimes I make her come over and over; sometimes I use her to make myself come while holding her on the edge.

When she can’t think about anything other than her own body and the way she feels, when she knows I’m using her body how I see fit, she can get out of her own head and enjoy what’s happening.

I place my thumb on the base of the butt plug and wiggle it gently. It’s so small, I can barely feel it against my cock, but knowing she agreed to take it for me has the same physical effect.

Quinn groans. “Please. It’s too much.”

I grin. She says this a lot when she’s close but feels greedy, or when the climb to the final orgasm feels to steep.

“Take it for me like the good girl you are.” I love the way my hands span her hips as I grip them, encouraging her back and forth on my cock from tip to root. Her cream coats me. It’s messy, and occasionally we make the sound of slurping between us, and honestly, it’s all I can do to hold off coming when we do.

Always thought sex sounds were fucking hot.

I slide my hand beneath her and reach for her clit. It’s fucking rock hard, the area around it puffy from the way I slapped and licked her to her first orgasm.

“Ahh,” she cries. “Smoke. No, please.”

No.

See, that’s another word she doesn’t mean. She knows her safe word. She knows what to say or do to get me to ease off ifshe needs a moment. But she doesn’t. She squirms and wriggles and finally…

“Smoke.” Her harsh cry slams off the walls. I swear there’s an echo.

And it’s enough to bring my own orgasm.

When I’m unloading deep inside her, I can’t think about anything else.

Just me and her and how good this all feels.

Like I’ll never get enough of the two of us together.

Once I’ve brought us both down, I untie her and spend some time just holding her in bed.

“Feel better?” I ask.

“Mmm-hmm,” she says lazily.

Fuck knows I do. I feel more even keeled. More ready to take on what the day holds.

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