Don't Move, Don't Come

All characters in this story are over the age of 18 and engaging in fully consensual activities. This is a fictional work exploring erotic power exchange dynamics between trusting adults. Any resemblance to real people or events is entirely coincidental.

⚠️ Content Warning: This story contains consensual BDSM, impact play, orgasm denial, restraint, and explicit sexual content between a male Dom and female sub. If these themes are not for you, feel free to skip. There is no non-consent, abuse, or violence beyond the scope of negotiated kink.

This chapter explores a woman's return to partnered intimacy after a long time alone. What begins as a nervous first encounter turns into a raw, vulnerable journey into surrender, craving, and the erotic ache of being wanted -- and denied.

This is a standalone story, but part of a wider theme I'm exploring. If it lands well, there may be more from these two.

She didn't knock straight away. She stood frozen, staring at the 304 like it might vanish if she dared to blink. The hallway buzzed--fluorescent lights flickering overhead, harsh in that cheap, too-real way. Her legs trembled. One more step, and she'd go down. She was sure of it. She was sure the dress had become tighter during the journey here.

Part of her wanted to flee. How could he want her? What if he didn't want her in the end? What if he took one look at her and decided he wasn't up for it? She couldn't face the rejection. He could have anyone he wanted. He had had anyone he wanted. He'd been with women who looked like they belonged on magazine covers. She was not. Why did he want her?

But the other side of her wanted to stay. Ached for his touch--skin against skin, real and electric. Wanted it to be him that broke the spell of time since she had taken a cock in her pussy. 12 years. She had been considering breaking that for a long time. But she hadn't found a man she could trust. Yet, for some reason, this was someone she felt she could rely on.

Her phone vibrated: No pressure. But if you knock, I won't let you go until you forget your name.

She read it once.

Then reached up and knocked. Her hand hadn't even returned to her side when the door opened. He stood there smiling. Soft, friendly. But there was heat behind it. Hunger barely leashed. He stepped aside, silent, making space for her to cross the threshold.

As she passed him, the scent hit her. Warm. Clean. Sharp at the edges--like soap, skin, and something darker underneath. Not cologne. Not perfume. Just him. Like a man who knew exactly how to touch her. Her knees almost buckled. She took a few steps inside, then stopped and turned.

He pushed the door--it clicked nearly shut behind him--then crossed the space between them in one smooth step. His body met hers--solid, warm, unignorable. He paused, eyes searching hers. Waiting. Her lips parted just slightly. That was all he needed.

He kissed her--slow, sure, claiming.

Breathless, she pulled back just enough to search his face. Looking for doubt. Hesitation.

There was none.

"You made it," he said, voice low. Steady.

A shaky breath slipped out of her--half relief, half nerves.

"I almost didn't."

He smiled--small, knowing.

"But you did."

Then he kissed her again--deeper this time. His tongue found hers, slow and deliberate. They moved together like they'd done this a thousand times in dreams. Not rushed. Just... inevitable.

She suddenly realised she hadn't moved--just stood there, letting him kiss her, breath shallow, body locked. Coming back to herself, unsure, she let her hands drift forward, hesitant, until they found his hips. Warm. Solid. Real. She exhaled as her fingers settled there, grounding herself in him.

This time, it was he who pulled away first.

"I'm not going to push you further than you want to go," he said, voice low, steady.

"I know," she whispered. "It's not that."

He waited, watching her--patient but focused. She exhaled, and then everything spilled out.

"Remember what I told you a few weeks ago? About not getting why you'd want me? When you could have--" Her hands fluttered helplessly.

"Women who are confident, stunning, who know how to be sexy and don't flinch every time someone touches them."

Her voice started to break. "And then there's me--awkward, in my own head, picking apart every inch of myself, hoping the lights are off so I don't have to see the look on your face when--"

He kissed her. Hard. It cut her off mid-sentence. No warning. No lead-in. Just his mouth on hers--demanding, silencing. Telling her enough. She froze for a second. Then, melted--because the kiss wasn't cruel. It was intentional. He kissed her like he was trying to erase every bad thought she'd ever had about herself. As if she were the only thing he wanted.

His hand moved to the front of her dress, fingers brushing the zipper below her collarbone. He paused against her lips, then tugged the zipper down just a little. She sighed into his mouth, her body softening against him, lips parting with a quiet moan.

That sound--needy, unguarded--was enough. He kept going. Slowly, deliberately, he drew the zipper down to her stomach. The fabric parted, falling open to reveal the red lace she'd promised him.

He pulled back just enough to look. To really see her. He kept his hand on her hip so that she felt reassured. The way the red lace clung to her flushed skin hit him like a punch.

She stood there, half undone, breathless.

"You're unreal," he murmured, lips brushing hers.

As their mouths moved, he slid the zipper all the way down, his hands pushing the fabric from her shoulders. The dress slipped, pooling at her feet. His lips found her neck warm and open. He kissed along her throat, slow and reverent, while one hand rose to trace the lace over her breasts--fingertips lingering, learning her shape.

She arched into the touch without thinking, breath catching in his mouth.

This time, he stepped back fully, his eyes sweeping over her. Red lace hugged her curves like it had been made just for her--bold against her skin, delicate over the swell of her breasts. The bra framed her perfectly, a whisper of transparency teasing what it didn't quite reveal, and the matching panties clung to her hips like a secret worth keeping.

She looked breathtaking. And completely, undeniably, his.

He stepped back in, close enough that her breath caught. One hand slid around her waist, the other brushing her hair aside as he leaned in, his mouth at her ear.

"Spread your legs for me," he murmured--low, steady, not asking.

A shiver ran through her. She obeyed.

He kissed her--slow and claiming--while his hand moved down, fingers gliding over the lace between her thighs until they found her clit. She gasped into his mouth, hips jolting at the contact.

He didn't stop. Just kissed her deeper, fingers circling with deliberate pressure. Like he could read her--knew what she needed before she even knew to want it. His lips found her neck again, kissing along the curve slowly, then deeper.

The pressure built with each pass, soft, giving way to teeth, to intent. She gasped, her head tipping slightly to give him more. His hand was still between her legs, fingers circling her clit with maddening precision. Deliberate. Focused. Like he was reading her pulse through his touch.

Then he spoke, voice low and rough at her throat:

"When you're close--" Another kiss, hotter now, just beneath her jaw. "--you have to tell me."

She whimpered, hips twitching against his hand. His fingers moved faster now, still circling, but with more pressure, more intent. She clung to his shoulders, breath coming fast, hips rolling into his hand like she couldn't help it. Her body was tight, trembling, chasing it.

"I'm--" she gasped, voice breaking. "I'm gonna come--"

And then he stopped. Just like that.

The sudden loss made her gasp--like the air had been sucked out of the room. Her whole body jolted, clenching around nothing. She whimpered--confused, desperate, wrecked. He didn't move away. Didn't speak yet. Just stayed close, his hand still resting between her thighs--warm, steady, denying.

"I did say you would be begging me," he murmured in her ear. She moaned against his neck.

She stood there, trembling, still pulsing from the edge he'd left her on. Her breath was ragged, fingers clenching at her sides like she didn't know what to do with them.

He took her hand and led her to the bed. At the edge, he turned her, pressing her gently forward until her hands met the mattress. Her breath caught. His body lined up behind hers, heat and weight unmistakable. He leaned in, lips at her ear, and told her--quiet, certain--exactly how he was going to take her. Her legs almost buckled, but he caught her. His hand moved up the inside of her thigh, slow and certain. Fingers brushed the lace, then slipped beneath it, finding her soaking wet cunt without hesitation. She gasped--hips twitching as he pressed two fingers into her, deep and steady.

"Fuck, you are so wet!" he groaned against her ear.

She buried her face in the mattress, biting down as her hips moved to meet each thrust of his hand. Her body welcomed him--greedy, trembling, clenching around his fingers with every push. When he slid a third finger in, the stretch made her moan, raw and broken.

He moved harder now, rhythm relentless, each thrust bringing her closer to the edge. He could feel it in the way her pussy tightened around his fingers, the way her breath caught and stuttered--she was right there, barely holding on.

And he didn't stop.

Didn't ease up.

If anything, he drove her harder because watching her fight gave him every reason not to let her win.

"Remember the rule," he murmured at her ear, a wicked edge to his voice.

"You're not allowed to come."

Her answer was a broken sob. "I can't-- I have to--"

But her body was already gone. The orgasm hit hard, shattering through her as she cried out, legs shaking, juices spilling over his hand and onto the floor.

"Oh, baby girl... what did I say?" he murmured, voice low, teasing--but with an edge.

Smack.

His hand came down hard on her left cheek, the sharp sound cracking through the air. She gasped, hips jerking, breath catching.

"I warned you there'd be consequences if you broke the rule," he said, voice cooler now--calm, deliberate. "So here's what's going to happen."

He leaned in close, hand resting heavy on her skin.

"Just my hand. Like we agreed. You'll count each one. Out loud. Understood?"

The first strike made her flinch--sharp and sudden, it lit up her skin in an instant. Her breath hitched, the sting sinking in slowly and heat curling beneath the surface.

"One," she said, barely louder than a breath.

Another landed. Her hips jerked forward, hands clenching the sheets. He caught her again, firm and grounding. The burn deepened, warmth spreading in its wake as though it had a pulse of its own.

"Two."

By the third, her thighs were trembling. Her skin ached where his hand had marked her, but underneath the sting was something else--something low and liquid that pulled her deeper into it.

"Three..."

She pressed her forehead against the mattress, her fingers curled tightly. Her whole body was buzzing now--nerves lit, breath ragged. She didn't want him to stop. Not yet.

By seven, her pussy was dripping--hips trembling, breath broken, every strike leaving her deeper in surrender. By then, there was nothing left of her but heat and heartbeat, raw and open, completely his. Desperately wanting.

Her skin was flushed, marked by him, rising and falling with every unsteady breath. For a moment, all he did was watch her, the way her body shook beneath his hands, open and waiting.

Then she heard it--a zipper sliding down. The sound was quiet, but it cut through the air like a promise. She shuddered as he pushed the lace aside, fingers lingering just long enough to feel the heat of her.

He didn't hesitate. He drove into her--hard, deep, no warning. Her body jolted, the sudden stretch ripping a cry from her throat. One hand locked around her hip, holding her in place; the other slid between her legs, fingers finding her clit with practised pressure.

He didn't hold back--every thrust full of heat and intent --each thrust ruthless, unrelenting, his pace brutal in the best way. She could barely breathe, caught between the thick, relentless drive of him inside her and the circling drag of his fingers that lit her up from the inside out.

She tried to keep herself upright, but her arms were shaking, barely holding her. Every part of her was clenching--tight around him, too full, too much--and yet somehow, not enough.

He didn't let up--not even a little. The pace stayed brutal, each thrust punching a sound out of her, loud and unfiltered. She was already trembling, overstimulated, flushed all over--but he didn't care.

"You already got yours," he growled. "Now it's my turn."

He reached down, hooked his arm under her thigh, and lifted--planting her right leg up onto the edge of the mattress. The new angle opened her up completely, more deeply, more rawly. She gasped--half a cry, half a curse.

He drove into her again, harder than before. She had no footing, no control, just the drag of his cock and the sharp heat of his fingers still grinding against her clit. She was gone--wrecked, taken. He held her there, split wide open, and fucked her like he was chasing something only he had the right to finish.

His grip tightened on her hip, bruising, as his thrusts turned ragged--less rhythm now, more need. She felt the shift in him, the way his breath caught, the way his body locked in against hers, driving deeper, harder, right to the edge.

And then he buried himself, all the way in, holding there--deep, unmoving his release hit.

She felt it, the first pulse inside her, thick and hot, followed by another and another. He stayed pressed to the hilt, one hand still clamped around her thigh, the other braced tight at her waist, keeping her right where he wanted her.

That tipped her over--no warning, no time to brace.

The sensation of him pulsing inside her, the heat, the weight, the sheer possession of it--she came undone again. No warning, no sound at first--just her body seizing around him, tensing hard, a full-body quake that stole her breath and dragged her under. Her head dropped to the mattress, arms collapsing, a moan slipping from her lips as the orgasm tore through her, slow and overwhelming.

And still, he held her there.

She lay there quivering, her breath shallow, her body still pulsing from the aftershocks. Her limbs were loose, mind spinning, wrecked in the best possible way--but he wasn't finished.

He leaned over her, voice low against her ear.

"You still with me?" he murmured. "Want more?"

She nodded before she could even find her voice. "Yes... please."

That was all he needed.

He pulled out slowly, and the loss made her gasp. Before the sound had fully left her throat, his hands were on her again--firm, unyielding, guiding her to her back.

She didn't resist. She couldn't. Every part of her felt open, ready.

One by one, he took her wrists and stretched them toward the top corners of the bed, locking the cuffs into place with quiet, deliberate clicks. Then her legs--he adjusted her hips, nudging her thighs apart, securing her ankles wide to the lower corners. The mattress shifted beneath her, and leather tightened around the skin until there was nowhere left to go.

Her fingers twitched, instinctively trying to reach for him, then stilled, the cuffs a quiet reminder she couldn't.

She was spread open--arms and legs bound, back arched slightly with nothing to cover her. Vulnerable.

Then came the blindfold.

He leaned over her, hands brushing her face as he slipped the soft fabric over her eyes and tied it behind her head. Darkness fell instantly, deep and complete. Now, she couldn't see. Couldn't move. All she could do was feel.

The air shifted. She felt the weight of him beside her. He watched. She felt it--the heat of his gaze crawling over every inch of her skin. It made her shiver harder than the cold ever could.

Then she heard it. A soft swish through the air. No contact. Just a sound.

Another--closer this time. Still not touching her, but her whole body flinched anyway, tightening in anticipation. She didn't know what it was--leather, rubber, fabric--but it moved with intent.

She gripped the cuffs harder, her breath caught just behind her teeth.

Then it landed.

A sharp, clean strike across the top of her thigh. Not hard. Not cruel. But direct. Focused. Her breath rushed out of her in a stuttering gasp, and she pulled reflexively against the restraints. Not to escape--just reacting. Her body lit up like the skin he touched had been waiting for this kind of awakening all its life.

Then came the second, across the opposite thigh, just a touch lower. It stung more. Her hips jolted, and a moan slipped out before she could stop it.

She froze. That sound--her sound--wasn't something she meant to give him. And now it was hanging in the air like a confession.

The next moment held nothing. No strike. No sound. Just her, panting in the dark, strung out and exposed, her chest rising and falling too fast. The anticipation crawled over her skin like static, made worse by how calm he was. He hadn't said a word.

Was he watching her squirm? Was he smiling? Did he even need to touch her again, or was this enough?

Her thoughts spun too fast to hold onto any of them.

Then his voice, quiet and steady, cut through everything.

"Colour?"

She swallowed hard. Her mouth was dry. Her body was not.

"Green," she whispered.

He didn't answer.

This time, the strike landed beneath her ribs, on her left side. A sting that felt more direct, more personal. Her back arched, breath punching out of her. It was too much--and not enough. Her brain struggled to keep pace with her body, but it couldn't.

Another, just below her hipbone. Then another, over the same line on her right thigh. She writhed now, restrained but responsive, the cuffs catching the small jerks of her limbs. Each hit was a spark; each pause was a question she couldn't answer.

Somewhere in the haze of it, she realised she wasn't trying to endure this. She was reaching for it. Her body, traitorous and desperate, wanted more.

Just as the burn began to turn sharp, his hand touched her again--palm pressed to her stomach, grounding her. Another hand on her inner thigh, warm, confident, right before it slowly slid upward.

She moaned, hips trembling. Her skin was alive everywhere--tingling, stretched, aching. She didn't know what she wanted anymore, only that if he stopped now, she might actually fall apart.

She heard him move--barely a shift in weight on the bed, the faint creak of the mattress. Then warmth, sudden and solid, between her legs.

His hands slid up the insides of her thighs, slow and sure, spreading her wider. She gasped at the contact, at how exposed she felt--blindfolded, bound, and now open under the weight of his attention.

He didn't speak. Didn't warn her. He just tasted her.

The first touch of his mouth made her cry out--sharp, helpless. His tongue was hot, deliberate and slow at first. He licked her like he meant it like he wanted it more than anything. Not a tease. Not gentle. Just focused. Hungry.

She couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Her hips tried to lift, to chase his mouth, but the cuffs held her down. She had nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide from the rhythm of his tongue, the way his mouth worked her over like he was memorising every reaction.

And he knew. God, he knew. Knew exactly how close she was. She started to shake when her body tightened. How her moans grew frantic, thin at the edges. He felt her start to unravel--and that's when he stopped.

Just like that.

He pulled back, his breath still warm against her skin, but his mouth was gone. The absence was devastating. She sobbed a desperate, broken sound, tugging hard at the cuffs like she could force his mouth back with sheer will.

But he was already off her.

She barely had time to register the loss before it happened: a sharp, clean strike to the side of her thigh. Her whole body jolted. Then another, lower this time. She cried out, hips twitching, clit throbbing with unmet need.

His voice came again, low and rough.

"You come when I say. Not a second before."

Another strike. Her head fell back against the mattress, mouth open, panting.

Another strike landed across her inner thigh--sharper this time. Her whole body jerked, breath catching in her throat. The sting flared, quick and hot, and was gone just as fast, replaced by the throbbing ache he'd left behind.

He moved around her slowly, measured. Not in a rush. She never knew where the next one would land. A low smack across her hip. Then, the soft underside of her breast. Each blow a jolt, a punctuation mark on her need.

She was writhing now--mindless, undone. Not from pain but from the way he controlled everything: the pressure, the rhythm, the silence between each one. She couldn't see him. Couldn't beg properly. Couldn't hide the way her body arched up for more, even as it trembled beneath him.

The next touch wasn't tender. No warning. No buildup.

Just the sudden press of his fingers--thick, unrelenting--driving deep into her pussy without pause. She cried out, her hips jolting against the restraints, but he didn't stop to comfort or coax. This wasn't like his mouth. This wasn't worship. This was control.

He leaned over her, weight braced on one arm, the other hand working between her legs with sharp, focused precision. His fingers thrust hard and fast into her dripping cunt, the wet sound of it obscene in the silence. No eye contact. No voice. Just him, using her body like he already owned it.

It was brutal in the most perfect way.

And still, she felt herself climbing, helpless to avoid it. The speed, the pressure on just the right spot, had her shaking, her moans high and raw. She couldn't close her legs or move away from it all. Couldn't hide. Couldn't breathe.

She was going to come again.

He knew it.

She wanted to hate him for it. For knowing her too well. For making her need it this badly.

And he stopped.

Just pulled out. Her body clenched around nothing, aching, empty.

"No," she whispered, half-plea, half-protest. But he was already gone--off her again, letting the silence press in thick around her.

The mattress shifted beneath his weight. She braced for more fingers, another teasing touch.

But instead, his hands went to the cuffs, releasing first her wrists and then her ankles.

The blood rushed back into her arms. Her fingers twitched against the sheets, unsure of what freedom meant. She lay there, still blindfolded, heart pounding as her limbs settled back into her control. She wasn't sure if she wanted to run or stay exactly where she was.

He didn't give her a choice. His hands found her hips, flipping her onto her stomach.

The sheets were warm against her skin, the air cool against her back. Her legs parted automatically, her body already offering itself to him.

Then he leaned in, a voice close to her ear--quiet, firm.

"You're not restrained anymore," he said. If you can stay still and take what I give you, you'll get your reward."

Her nod was small. Barely a breath.

She heard it before she felt it--the whistle of something thin slicing through the air. Sharp. Fast. The riding crop.

The first strike landed across the swell of her ass. Precise. Focused. A sharp, stinging line of fire that made her gasp and jolt forward before she could stop herself.

She froze. Held her breath. Her thighs trembled.

Then another--slightly lower. The same bite, the same rhythm. He waited between each one, letting the tension settle into her bones before bringing it again. He moved deliberately, not cruel, but unapologetic. She could feel the care in his control--each blow intentional, never random--but it still made her squirm.

Except she couldn't. Not now. Not if she wanted what came next. She gripped the sheets harder, her muscles twitching under the effort to stay still. The sting lit her skin in flickers. She was shaking with the effort to obey.

And he didn't say a word. Just circled her slowly, letting her feel every second, every space between the crop and its return.

She was unbound. But never more controlled.

The next strike didn't come.

Instead, she felt him behind her--close, his hand resting between her shoulder blades, grounding her. She was trembling, but she hadn't moved.

His voice came low, firm, just above a whisper.

"You've done well," he said. "But now I want to take you a little further."

She held her breath, her body still tingling from the last line the crop had left behind.

"I'm going to give you five. The hardest you've felt yet."

A pause.

"You will count them. Out loud. And if it's too much, you use your safe word. Do you understand me?"

She nodded--fast, eager--but that wasn't enough.

"Say it."

"I understand," she whispered. "I'll count. I'll use my safe word if I need to."

"Good girl."

He brushed a hand down the curve of her back--gentle, almost tender. Then he moved away, just a step, the crop back in hand.

"And when we're done," he added, voice darker now, "you'll get what you've been begging for."

Her body clenched in anticipation, a flush spreading hot across her skin. Every muscle was taut with tension, bracing for the first blow.

She was terrified.

And aching for it.

Absolutely -- shifting into inner thought per strike is a powerful choice. It puts us inside her head in real-time, tracking the way each blow lands not just on her body but on her mind, her will, and her limits. You'll get a blend of physical sensation, emotional resistance, and raw instinct -- the kind of chaos that comes when someone's trying to hold still while their body screams to move.

She didn't hear the first one so much as feel it--sharp and sudden, slicing across her right cheek with enough force to knock the breath out of her.

"One". she gasped, the word barely forming around the shock. Her whole body tensed, thighs trembling, fingers digging into the sheets.

But she stayed still. Barely.

The second came lower, across the tender curve where thigh met ass. It burned hot and deep, a sting that didn't fade fast enough before the pain began to throb.

"Two". Tears pricked at her eyes. Not from pain, not yet--just from the sheer intensity. Her jaw clenched tight as she fought to stay grounded.

The third landed high, right across the top of her left cheek--too close to the bone. It snapped through her like a live wire, and this time, she cried out, the sound raw and involuntary.

"Three". Her voice broke.

She wanted to move. Her body screamed to flinch away. But she didn't.

The fourth hit her right where the second had landed, layering pain on top of pain. Her hips jerked forward instinctively--just a twitch--but enough for her to feel the shame of it.

"Four." Her breathing was ragged now, her whole body shaking.

But she didn't say stop.

And then the fifth. Dead centre. Brutal.

It cracked through her like lightning, full force, and for a moment, the world tilted--nothing but white noise and the echo of her own cry ringing in her ears.

"Five." She whispered it, hoarse and shaking.

And then she heard him behind her again, closer, quieter.

"Good girl."

Two words. Soft. Steady. Low enough to barely register--but they hit harder than all five strikes combined. And that was what broke her.

No one had ever said it like that before. Like he meant it. Like he'd meant every second that led to it. Like she'd done something not just brave or obedient, but worthy.

Her breath caught. Then shattered.

A broken sob slipped out before she could stop it, her body trembling, collapsing inward under the weight of it. She wasn't holding the pain anymore. She wasn't holding anything. The tension in her arms, her back, her jaw -- gone, like he'd spoken her right into surrender.

She felt his hand again, warm and certain, resting between her shoulder blades. Not holding her down -- just keeping her anchored.

"You did everything I asked," he murmured. "You took every bit of it. You stayed right where I told you to."

A kiss, soft and reverent, landed between her shoulder blades.

"And now," he whispered, moving lower, mouth brushing the curve of her hip--

"I'm going to give you what you've earned."

She felt his hands slide gently up her back, palms wide and warm, smoothing over her skin with slow, grounding pressure. He moved with care now, fingers massaging into her shoulders, down along the sides of her spine--soft where he'd been hard, reverent where he'd been ruthless.

Then his mouth followed.

Soft kisses. Warm, open lips brushed over the curve of her lower back, up along her spine. He kissed each welt, each place he'd marked her, letting his breath soothe where the crop had bitten deep.

Still blindfolded, she could only feel. And it made everything sharper.

Her body melted under his touch--her limbs loose, her breath slowing, surrender curling deeper into her bones. She had nothing left to give him, and still, somehow, she was opening further.

And then he moved again.

His hands slipped to her sides, firm and sure, and he turned her over--slowly, gently. She let him move her like she wasn't just allowed to yield but meant to.

The mattress was cool against her back. Her chest rose and fell in trembling waves, legs loose, thighs parted. She lay there--blinded, marked, waiting.

And then he removed the blindfold.

Her eyes blinked open, adjusting to the low light--until they found him. Kneeling between her legs, gaze locked on hers, expression calm and full of heat.

"Watch me," he said. ""You wanted this," he said, steady and dark. "Now you'll see what that really means."

She couldn't look away--not even if she wanted to. There she was--wide open, trembling, waiting--his to take. But it was his eyes--steady, consuming--that held her in place.

And then he lowered his mouth again.

She gasped as his tongue found her--hot, slow, deliberate. He licked her like he'd never tasted anything better, eyes still locked on hers, even as his mouth devoured her.

This was different now. It wasn't teasing. It wasn't worship. It was possession.

He fucked her with his mouth--tongue plunging deep, curling inside her, dragging back up to circle her clit with maddening precision. Over and over. She could hear the slick sounds of it, obscene and perfect. Her hands clawed at the sheets, her thighs trembling, her moans raw and constant.

She was close. Right there. Again.

Her eyes fluttered, her whole body straining toward the edge--but he growled low against her and lifted his head.

"Not like that," he said. "Not this time."

He shifted upward, one hand guiding himself, the other braced beside her head. She felt the blunt heat of him pressing at her entrance--thick, hard, relentless.

And then he drove into her.

She cried out, head falling back, the stretch of him overwhelming, all-consuming. Her walls clenched around him instantly, body arching, breath catching like she couldn't make space fast enough for the way he filled her.

He didn't ease in.

He took her--deep, full, slow only in the first thrust just to let her feel it. And then he moved. Hard. Sure. Controlled.

Her body met every stroke with instinctive hunger, her fingers gripping the sheets, her eyes wide on his.

"You feel that?" he said, voice low and rough. "That's what you've earned. That's what you begged for."

And it was. Every inch of it.

He slowed just enough to shift her--gripping her thighs and folding them to the side, pinning them there with his weight. The new angle kept her wide open but brought him lower, closer--chest nearly brushing hers, his face hovering just inches from her own.

She gasped at the adjustment, the stretch still deep, the position even more exposing--but this time, she could feel his breath against her lips.

His mouth found hers again, harder this timeless tenderness, more need. Hard. Deep. Tongue claiming hers as fully as his body claimed the rest of her.

He fucked her through the kiss--long, powerful strokes that made her moan into his mouth. Her arms came up instinctively, wrapping around his shoulders, clinging to him like she might fall apart without the anchor of his body.

Every thrust ground into her perfectly now, the pressure building fast, her hips tilting into him, her entire body working to meet the rhythm.

He kissed her like she was already coming. Fucked her like he wanted her to break apart beneath him.

And she was close--so close she could barely think.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes locked, voice low and ragged.

"Come for me," he growled. "Now."

The moment the words left his mouth, her body obeyed.

She came hard--back arching, a cry ripping from her throat as every muscle seized and pulsed around him. Her walls clenched tight, locking onto him like her body was trying to keep him there, hold him inside where he belonged.

Her vision blurred, her mouth opened, and her breath was stolen clean from her chest as wave after wave crashed through her. He didn't stop--just held her there, deep and steady, riding her through it, watching every second as her body gave in.

Her hands clung to his back, her legs trembling against his sides. She didn't even realise she was whispering his name over and over until he kissed her again--rougher this time, like he couldn't hold himself back anymore.

And then his pace changed.

He started to move harder--deeper, faster, hips snapping into hers with sharp, driven force. His breath hitched against her throat, the tight sounds in his chest telling her just how close he was.

She could feel him lose the rhythm, feel the tension rise in every part of him, the way he gripped her thigh tighter, held her still while he chased his own edge.

And then he was there.

His body locked, buried to the hilt, and she felt the first hot pulse of him spilling inside her--thick, deep, perfect.

And that was all it took.

She came again--instantly, uncontrollably--her body responding to the feel of him, the weight of him, the heat of being filled. The second orgasm ripped through her, smaller but no less intense, her whole body shaking as she gasped his name into the crook of his neck.

He groaned against her skin, riding out every last wave, hips grinding deep, deeper, until there was nothing left between them but breath and skin and heat.

And still, he didn't let go.

He just held her--tight and close, their hearts hammering in sync, her body wrapped around his like it finally knew where it belonged.

As their breath slowed, he shifted beside her, lips brushing her shoulder. "Took your reward like a fucking goddess," he murmured, voice softer now, warm with affection. "Might've ruined me a little."

She gave a wrecked laugh, eyes still closed, and he caught her chin, tilting her face toward his for a slow kiss. "Water," he said against her mouth. "Blanket. Then maybe round two. After I make sure you still have a pulse."

Thank you so much for reading. This story means a lot to me -- it walks the line between power and care, fear and surrender, and what it feels like to finally be seen. If it resonated, I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Comments, votes, and feedback are always appreciated -- especially if there's a moment that hit hard, or something you want to see more of in future stories. I write these to connect -- and that includes you.

If you're curious about what happens next -- or what kind of dynamic these two build beyond this night -- let me know. There may just be more in store.