Page 38 of Wristlocked
“Beautiful.” My voice is a low husk, ripped unwilling from my throat, and her eyes dart to my face.
“Kiss me,” she demands, and I do, hooking two fingers into the crossed straps at her elbows and tugging her off balance so my lips are the only thing keeping her afloat. She parts like water, melting under my tongue, a decadent tangle of wet, willing flesh.
Mine.
I grip her ass, tugging her to the edge of the block and into the hard ridge of my waiting cock. Her arousal soaks through the layers of cotton and spandex, and the tips of her fingers, caught between us, flutter over my skin. She dips them behind my waistband, smearing precum over my slit, and I growl into her mouth before breaking away. She almost topples forward, but I steady her with a hand on her chest and guide her back until she’s lying across the block’s padded surface, her legs dangling in front of me and her ruby curls cascading over the far edge.
I peel away her leggings and the lace scrap of her underwear, letting my nails carve into the grooves of muscle along her thighs, before placing her heels against her ass. The raw sight of her spread breathless and at my mercy has me fighting the urge to drop to my knees and lap up the moisture beading in her short curls.Not yet.
Swallowing the tension in my throat, I grip the hanging straps above her bound wrists and make a slow circuit, drawing her arms up and back until I’m looking down at her upturned face through the triangle of her biceps. With one hand on the pulley,I use my foot to press the slack from the straps, pinning them to the floor.
When I’m finished, she’s stretched over the edge of the block, shoulders straining at the limits of her flexibility, head hanging down between them. Her perfect fucking tits arch up and toward me, overflowing her sports bra.
For a moment, I’m crippled by the weight of trust and desire in her eyes. I don’t even begin to know what to do with her looking at me like that, so I strip her bra over her breasts and roll it down her arms until she’s blindfolded, with her elbows caught against her ears.
“Gale—” The thread of trepidation in her voice steadies my racing heart.
“Last chance,” I tell her, running a thumb over the bruised coral of her lips. “Once I claim your mouth with my cock, I won’t stop until you swallow every drop of my cum. Do you want to say his name for me now?”
“No,” she whispers, quivering under my hand as I trail it up her neck and lay it heavy between her breasts. Her heart thunders beneath my palm.
“I didn’t think so.” With my other hand, I free my eager cock and drag it across her mouth. She opens readily for me, arching her neck.Greedy little monster. I take my time invading her, letting her adjust to my size, but don’t stop until I’m seated fully. “Swallow,” I command, and her throat closes around me.
“Fuck,Smalls,” I groan. “You feel like sin.” I draw out languidly, savoring the suction and the wanton heat as she chases my cock with her tongue. She makes a sound, halfway between a whimper and a plea, and I let her take one breath before slamming myself back home. Her whole body arches into my hand, and my knees almost buckle, washed away by the sensory onslaught.
This girl is going to ruin me, but at least I can ruin her first. I hook my fingers in the braided straps again, catching her tangled hair.
“My cock looks amazing in your wicked little mouth,” I tell her, my eyes locked on her swollen lips stretched around my dick. She fuckinghumsthen, the vibration going straight to my balls, and I stop playing around. I fuck her mouth recklessly, losing myself in the press of her tongue and the cling of her hollowed cheeks as she struggles to keep up with my pace.
“Breathe, sweetheart. You can take it. You’re fucking perfect.” Saliva leaks from the corners of her mouth, coating my shaft and the tight weight of my balls, and she’s so turned on she’s pressing her thighs together and rocking her hips in desperate search for friction. Her hands flex in their restraints, reaching for me, and I’m heading into overload. The world goes black at the edges, a line of fire races up my spine, and with one final thrust, I spill my release down her throat.
She sucks in frantic gulps of air when I pull back, spent, and there’s blood, slippery under my fingers, where my nails have etched half-moons into the valley between her breasts. The only word beating in my head isruined,but it feels like a prayer.
“I need to see you,” she says, her voice hoarse and lovely, and I kneel and free her from the tight fabric of her bra. For a long moment, we stare at each other, and I should ask if she’s okay, but I already know the answer.
So instead, I kiss her and let myself feel whole.
22
Gia
For three weeks, Gale carves himself into my skin, and I wake to all the dark and lovely edges of my power. And for three weeks, I watch Lyot slowly destroy himself, while a part of me I never knew I needed dies with him. The pain of it is almost a physical thing, an ache of loss and desire mingling inside me, chest to core, and my monster laps up every exquisite drop, growing sleek and fat on all the two of them provide.
Rehearsals with Gale are another revelation, like reaching into a fire and finding you can fly on the updraft. I lose myself in the grip and spiral of each sequence, the world pared down to the bite of the straps and Gale’s body dancing with mine, and the whispers inside me become a chorus, straining to be heard. My excitement is contagious, and flickers of wonder begin creeping through the cracks in his armor. One night, I drag him out to a dance club off the strip with Vaya and Jules.
The place is lush and crowded, all flashing lights and pulsing music, with a full wall aquarium on one side, complete with mermaids in shell bikinis. The bartender takes one look at Gale, with the three of us crowded and giddy around him, and snorts a laugh.
“Good luck, man,” he says, then pours a round of tequila shots without asking any of us for IDs. Jules is ever-watchful, of course, her eyes flicking between Gale and me every time he lays his hand on my neck or leans in to whisper something dirty in my ear. Vaya flirts outrageously with all of us and plies us with tequila, until even Gale is laughing and relaxed.
He follows me into the bathroom and makes me come in the last stall, two fingers stroking me to ecstasy and his teeth in my throat. We end the night on the dance floor, drunk and happy, and it isn’t until we’re riding home in the Uber, windows open to the desert dawn’s chill, that I remember to be lonely.
If watching Lyot self-destruct is slow torture, seeing him pull the pieces back together without me is almost as awful. The low, selfish part of me that took comfort in our mutual heartache is left empty and grasping when his eyes turn cold and distant. Even Gale can’t get a rise out of him. When he starts hanging out with Naomi, I crumble and go in search of Ren.
“They’re just friends, Bluey,” he assures me, shifting his weight onto his hands while he stretches my pointed toes. “Now push.”
“Wewere just friends,” I grumble, flexing my knees to accentuate the stretch. “Ow.”
“If you still believe that, you should definitely stay away from him. Don’t be a baby, you can totally get your toes to the floor.”
