Page 59 of Fierce

His mouth forced mine open, leaving me no choice but to accept the deep kisses that stole my breath and my wits. His hands flexed around mine, holding them hard. And the alien length and breadth of him pressed hard against my thighs, letting me know what he had in store for me. I wanted it, and I dreaded it, too.

When I’d watched him undress, I’d had a moment of near-panic at the size of him. I’d never seen a man in this state before, not in the flesh, but I’d seen pictures, and surely Hemi was too big for me. All the same, I’d wanted to touch, to feel. But the touching and feeling, it was clear, were all going to be his.

His mouth left mine, moved to my ear, to my neck, and he bit me hard there, making me jump and moan. I heard his low chuckle, and then he was letting my hands go, moving down my body, kissing and licking his way, leaving a trail of fire everywhere he touched.

When he flicked the clasp of my bra and brushed it open, then closed his lips over my nipple, I jumped again and cried out.

“Anybody ever done this?” he demanded.

“N-no,” I said. “No.”

“Ah.” His sigh was pure satisfaction, and then he was on me again.

Whenever I’d touched my own breasts, it had felt good, but it had never been anything special. I’d wondered if there was something wrong with me. Now, I knew. Because if Hemi’s fingers had felt good pinching me, his hard, suckling mouth was light-years better, sending an electric current straight to my core, setting up an answering throb that insisted on being satisfied. And my body was so charged, so primed, all it would take was a touch. One touch. One.

It was a touch I wasn’t getting, because Hemi wasn’t doing it. Instead, he shifted his attention to the other breast, one hand continuing to lavish attention on the one he’d just left. My hips wanted to move, but they couldn’t, not with him between my legs, and I was panting, whimpering, my hands moving frantically over the bunched muscle of his shoulders, needing to hold on, needing to hurry him, needing what I couldn’t get.

He lifted his head, stilled his hand, and I cried out and tried to pull him down again. “No. Don’t stop. Please.”

He was rolling off me, though, and sitting up.

“Hemi,” I said, and if I was begging—well, I needed to beg. “I’m sorry if I did it wrong. Please. Don’t stop.”

His face was hard again, twisted with an emotion I couldn’t identify. Anger? Oh, no. “Please,” I said again. “Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. I just don’t know what to do.”

He was reaching beyond me for the nightstand, dumping a handful of items beside me on the bed, and finally, he was answering.

“I wasn’t going to do this tonight,” he said. “Not for your first time. But I have to, because you need to be able to let go.”

He was holding a length of heavy red ribbon, twisting his hands, somehow fashioning two loops, sliding them over my wrists, then lifting my hands above my head and pulling the ribbon tight, fastening it to something behind me, and I was tied, exactly as he’d told me I would be, and I whimpered again.

“If you need to get free,” he told me, “if you get scared, you tell me to stop. Do you understand?”

When I didn’t answer, he gave the ribbon a hard yank that jerked my arms straight. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I gasped, even though stopping was the last thing I wanted. Having my hands pulled tight overhead excited me almost past bearing, and the look on Hemi’s face as he gazed down at me was doing the rest. “But touch me. Please. Touch me.”

He didn’t smile. He just looked at me some more, then moved over me, got two hands around the band of my thong, and drew it over my hips, down my legs. And then he put one hand on either thigh and was pushing my legs apart, so far that I instinctively tried to close them.

“No.” He was over me again, still holding me open. Lying much too far down my body. “No. We need to get you ready.”

“I’m ready,” I tried to tell him. “I’m ready now. It’s—it’s too embarrassing. Don’t.”

I tried to squirm away, but he wouldn’t let me. And when his tongue touched me, gave me a long, slow lick, my back bowed, my upper body actually rose from the bed, and the noise I made—well, you could call it a scream. And that was when he really started to work.

The orgasm came fast, and it came hard. One moment I was spiraling, gasping. And the next, I was crying out incoherently, my hands jerking hard against my bonds. And Hemi didn’t stop. He kept going, but this time, his fingers were entering me, too, so alien, so hard, stretching me wide, and I was keening.

He worked me through two more orgasms, each more intense than the last, until my breath was coming in sobbing gasps, and then he was rolling off me again as I opened my eyes and struggled to focus.

“I think—” His voice was strained, and he was ripping open a condom packet. “You’re ready. But we’re going to take it slow.”

“No,” I said. “No. Please. Fast. Go.”

He didn’t listen, again, and he was right. At first, he met resistance.

“You won’t…you won’t fit,” I said.

His laugh came out a little strained. “Oh, baby. I’m going to fit. Just as soon as we relax you.”

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