Breathe. Count. Focus. Then, his voice.
You did it.
I blink my eyes open. Smile. He leans down. Kisses my mouth before he straddles me.
Breathe. Focus. No need for counting to 10 over and over now. My eyes drink in his body. His strong, muscular chest, his biceps, naturally rounded and firm from his work rather than a gym, his rugged face, his shocking ice-blue eyes, his cock. Dear Saints above, his cock. Velvet covered length steel with the girth of my fist.
Trust me.
I nod. Always I trust him. Always I’m ready for him. One look into his eyes, one whisper of his breathe on my skin, one word, and I’m ready for him.
Without preamble, he thrusts inside of me, his eyes never leaving mine. I open my mouth to scream but no sound comes out. My nipples are seared. I thought the pain from the clothespins was intense. Nothing could have prepared me for the sudden blood rushing back to the hard nubs. Nothing, except the entry of his sword into my honeyed sheath.
Nothing on this world or any other could have stemmed the orgasm that obliterated every cell in my body. Nothing could have kept my mind glued into place. My back arched so high only my hips, feet, and the back of my head still touched the bed.
Somewhere, far away, I heard his voice. Anchoring me, calling me back to the new sensation of the tender, delicious ache in my nipples combined with the stretching completeness of my cunt.
Nothing in the world or any other could possibly compare to the love I give this man.
Anarie Brady 