Restrain

by Shandi Boyes

  Suddenly, my spine snaps straight. I don’t have to fear discipline. Not tonight.

  Marcus's throaty laugh is muffled by the dampness pooling between my legs when I grip the back of his head and mash it with my pussy. I moan a throaty purr when the tip of his tongue grazes my throbbing clit. My hands shoot out to brace against the foggy shower door when his tongue slides up the folds of my aching sex before rolling around the bud of my clit.

  “Yes,” I hiss through gritted teeth when he suckles my clit into his mouth.

  Although the lashes of his tongue and the nips of his teeth are more reserved than I am used to, they aren't weak enough to stave off my desire to climax. I try to hold it back. I fight with all my might to ignore the tidal wave crashing into me, attempting to drag me away. But the sensation is too intense. Within seconds, I'm swept into the current, unable to breathe, move, or have a single lucid thought.

  “Give it to me.”

  I inhale a sharp breath, overcome by the sensation carrying me away. My orgasm is so strong, my vision blurs, and my entire body quivers and shakes as it rides the awe-inspiring intensity. The orgasmic shudders coursing through me turn me into a quivering, blubbering mess. I'm shaking so uncontrollably I lose my grip on the shower wall, and my knees buckle.

  “I’ve got you,” Marcus guarantees as he firms his grip on my ass to keep me upright.

  Once every blissful shudder has been exhausted from my body, Marcus stands from his knelt position, gathers me in his arms, then strides out of the bathroom. My damp hair fans across the silky soft bedspread covering his monstrous bed when he lays me down in the middle of it. The thermostat is set to a pleasant temperature, but it doesn't stop goosebumps racing to the surface of my skin since neither Marcus or I dried off upon exiting the shower.

  Beads of water roll off his afro and drip onto my stomach as he places a trail of kisses from my neck to my still throbbing core. I girlishly giggle when he presses the quickest peck to my tingling sex. His touch is only brief, but strong enough to ignite a new fire deep in my stomach.

  With his lustful eyes fixated on me, he kneels between my legs before carefully raising my backside off the bed. My breathing levels when the crest of his cock braces the seam of my soaked pussy.

  I graze my teeth over my bottom lip when he attentively asks, “Are you ready?”

  I nod, too overcome with emotions to express words.

  My back arches off the bed and my eyes snap shut when he slowly inches inside me. The sensation is overwhelmingly sweet and toe-curlingly delicious at the same time. My sex ripples around him, coercing him deeper until every inch of his glorious cock is hilted. I purr softly, adoring the heaviness of him inside of me.

  The past two weeks we've had sex a minimum of two to three times a day, and every single time awards me with an entirely new sensation. Today is no different. With my pussy well-prepared for his intrusion and happily accepting it, the pain usually associated with taking a man of his size isn't present.

  When my eyelids slowly flutter open, they are met with the most alluring pair of dazzling green eyes. Marcus watches me carefully, ensuring not an ounce of pain crosses my face as he slowly drags his cock back out. My vagina hugs him, massaging every perfect vein feeding his magnificent manhood. After pulling out all the way to the tip, Marcus rocks back into me, his pace not as slow as his first pump, but a nice speed that guarantees he is not fucking me; he is making love to me.

  Goosebumps follow the track his lips make when he moves them between my neck and breasts. His mouth adores the top half of my body while his cock worships the rest. I feel cherished; I'd even go as far as saying loved.

  When I asked Marcus to make love to me, I truly thought it would be an hour or two filled with awkwardness. Although he has never explicitly said it, making love is not Marcus's forte. He is a man who likes to fuck, and he fucks well. But not seeing a snick of hesitation on his face as he worships my body is a treasured memory I'll never forget. This experience expresses way more than words ever could. I feel admired, cherished, respected, and Ioved.

  Striving not to cornily express my undying love during our activity, I grip the round globes of Marcus's perfect ass and enjoy the sensation. He rocks in and out of me, over and over until the unmistakable signs of an orgasm awaken within me. Although his speed is a lot slower than we usually go, the rim of his cock hits the sweet spot inside me with every grind.

  As he continues driving me to the brink with nothing but a mouthwatering smirk, a leisured speed, and a contented face, I work through my bewilderment at how quickly my climax is cultivating. Usually, I need. . . more, but I can’t deny the tingling sensation sweeping across my core. It's so strong, I feel like I’m mere moments from climaxing.

  No, make that I am climaxing.

  My nails dig into Marcus’s ass as a furious wildfire roars through my body. I’m not the only one caught off guard by my climax; Marcus is just as shocked as me. He stills for a mere second before he continues grinding into me, forcing me to ride the intensity of my soul-stealing climax. His muscles contract and release with each perfect pump his cock does as he uses every inch of his body to make love to me. I shiver and shake as I whisper his name on repeat, adoring that I achieved the unachievable. I came during sex.

  My orgasm is long and exhaustive, one of the strongest I’ve ever had. It feels like hours pass before I can garner the strength to open my eyes. When I do, I spot Marcus staring down at me, smiling and uncontained. His eyes are the rawest I’ve ever seen them, so open and honest. Tears well in my eyes when I read the sentiment in his heavy-hooded gaze. He isn’t just happy he accomplished greatness, he is as smug as hell.

  "Shut up," I murmur while throwing a fist into his rock-hard abs.

  I growl a hungry grunt when he flexes his cock. That one little flex thrusts me to within an inch of the finish line. My god—the power this man has over my body is truly astounding. Even when he is making love, he is still a Master.

  “I’m not laughing at you, Cleo. I’m smiling. Missionary has never been my position of choice, but after seeing the way your face flushes with ecstasy as your pussy milks my cock, I might have to alter my opinion on that humble position. That was by far the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  The tears looming in my eyes nearly roll down my face when Marcus unexpectedly flips over. Since he is still hilted inside me, I follow his movement. I purr like a kitten when the hard muscle of his Apollo belt grinds against my clit in the process.

  Loving my reaction, Marcus jerks his hips upwards. A husky moan tears from my throat when his cock inches even deeper inside me at the same time his pelvis stimulates my clit. Wanting to return his tease, I defy my Jell-O thighs by raising myself onto my knees. A blistering of stars twinkle in front of my eyes when I slam down hard, taking Marcus’s cock to the very base.

  A grunted moan roars through Marcus's lips as his grip on my hips turns deadly. "Jesus Christ, Cleo. We're supposed to be making love."

  My hands shoot out to lean on his sweat-slicked torso as a surge of excitement spasms in my pussy, loving the curtness of his tone. I also need a minute to catch my breath. Because we’ve never done this position, the change in angle is truly breath-stealing.

  “We’ve already made love. Now I’ll prove you can make love without needing to go slow,” I whisper breathlessly. “It’s the emotions displayed during the exchange that differentiates sex from making love.”

  Marcus’s teeth grit when I swivel my hips in a circular motion. “It’s the reactions you force from the one you’re worshipping.” When I tighten the walls of my vagina around his twitching shaft, he thickens even more. “It’s expressing your every want, need, and desire without using words.”

  Marcus's eyes bounce between mine for several seconds. I can tell the instant he reads the honesty from my eyes, as he releases my hips from his firm grasp and places his hands behind his head. Although his eyes are still raging with naturally engrained dominance, they are also sp
arked with agreement. They permit me to do as I please without a word needing to be passed through his quirked-with-amusement lips.

  “Show me, Cleo. Tell me what you want to say but are too afraid to speak,” he commands.

  I do exactly that. I express everything he means to me without a syllable escaping my mouth. I tell him how much I love his dominance, his caring nature, his bossiness. But more than anything, I express those three little words I’ll never be game to say out loud.

  I tell him that I love him—over and over again until we collapse from exhaustion.

  6

  “Remember, Brodie goes where you go, Cleo,” Marcus instructs from the driver’s seat of his car, the deep hum of his voice persuasive enough for a flock of birds nesting in the tree at the side of his residence to take flight.

  I roll my eyes, faking annoyance to his unyielding demand. I'm not annoyed. Although at times, his protectiveness hackles my spine, after years of going it alone, it's nice having someone care enough about me they are worried about my safety. I’m also too exhausted to take on the stress denying his command would instigate. Last night smoothed some of the kinks in our relationship, but there are still many other bumps that need ironing out.

  “I know, Marcus. I’ve already brought Brodie a studded collar and lead. Since he is shadowing me like a puppy, he may as well dress the part,” I jest, my tone high-spirited.

  Marcus’s deep growl rumbles through my chest before clustering in my throbbing sex, which is still reveling in the aftermath of our lovemaking that proceeded until the wee hours of this morning. Resisting the desire to squeeze my thighs together from his scrumptious growl, my eyes stray to Marcus. He peers up at me, exuding anger and silent expectations. The absoluteness of his gaze sends a chill down my spine.

  “What?” I murmur, questioning myself more than Marcus.

  Although stumped by his response, I have no doubt he is angry. Blatant jealousy pumps out of him in enraged spurts, and his gaze is so hot, the brisk winter winds aerating my damp hair become a distant memory.

  The cause of his sudden shift in composure comes to light when Marcus mutters, “I thought your knowledge of animal play was minimal?”

  My eyes bulge when the quickest flash of a memory sparks in my spent mind. I’m held captive as I recall the lady standing in front of me, lowering herself onto her hands and knees to crawl into Chains at the heel of her Dom.

  When I snap out of my trance, I try to hold in my laughter that Marcus is fretful of Brodie kneeling at my heel. The more I struggle to contain my childish giggles, the harder my fight becomes. I don’t know what's more amusing: the fact Marcus thinks Brodie would heel, or that Marcus is so blinded by jealousy, he can’t see that I care for Brodie as if he is family. Brodie is a great guy, but there isn’t an ounce of attraction between us.

  Marcus's eyes thin when my dainty laughter trickles into the dew-filled air. “It isn’t funny, Cleo,” he grinds out through clenched teeth.

  Snubbing the way his narrowed glare hits every one of my hot buttons, I bend down, slap my hands on each side of his cheeks, then plant a big sloppy kiss on his hard-lined lips. My excitement mounts when Marcus growls as I fail to open my mouth at the request of his lashing tongue.

  "Our shared shower already has you behind schedule," I mumble against his lips before pulling back. "You don't want to leave Cameron waiting on the tarmac even longer, do you?"

  The quickest flare blazes through Marcus's eyes. Although I'm confident I've seen it before, the nanosecond between its arrival and departure is too fast for me to decipher what it means.

  Marcus's hand tightens around his steering wheel as his eyes roam my face, categorizing every fine feature with detailed accuracy. When his eyes land on my faintly blue-tinged lips caused by the nippy mid-December temperatures, he asks, "Where is your coat? Why didn't Aubrey get your jacket as I requested?"

  When his hand curls around the door latch, preparing to exit his vehicle, I bump my hip against the driver's side door, keeping him trapped in his car. “Aubrey gave me my coat as per your request; I left it on the entranceway table. I’m feeling a little warm.”

  The concern Marcus's eyes have been carrying all morning doubles. "Are you unwell? Are you sick?" His eyes thoroughly inspect me with the same attentiveness Abel had weeks ago. "Should I stay? Do you want me to stay?"

  "No, I'm fine. I’m just a little warm after our strenuous activities this morning. Who wouldn’t be after that exchange?” I fan myself, acting all flustered. My inflamed cheeks aren’t a ploy to lessen his worry. Our exchange went above and beyond my wildest dreams. “Last night was wow, Marcus. Like. . . whoa!”

  The worry clouding Marcus’s usually vibrant eyes dulls from my confession when he reads the honesty on my face. Last night was out of this world. Not only is my heart still beating at triple the speed, but my muscles are screaming from exhaustion. Who knew making love was such an arduous experience?

  I lean into the open driver's side window so I can place my hands on each side of Marcus’s recently shaved jaw. The contrasting temperatures between my hands and his face are staggering. Come to think of it, his cheeks are just as heated as mine.

  “Call me when you land, okay?” I try to keep the worry out of my voice. I fail. Marcus is a very skilled pilot, but that doesn’t mean I’ll not freak every time he’s in the air.

  “Alright,” Marcus agrees before he nibbles on my lips. “Stay safe, baby.”

  His kiss is brief but wondrous enough to cause a rush of dizziness to cluster in my head. After taking one last whiff of his delicious scent, I regretfully withdraw from his scrumptious mouth and take a step back from his car. The loud rumble of his engine breaks through the uncomfortable silence bouncing between us when he cranks the ignition of his sports car and revs the engine. The pout on my lip switches to a smile when he playfully revs his engine a few more times for good measure, ensuring our exchange is ending with fond memories instead of sad ones.

  “That’s better,” Marcus murmurs when he spots my smile. “I’ll see you soon, Cleo.”

  Not trusting my mouth to hold back the heavy sentiment I feel, I broaden my smile and idiotically wave. Marcus winks before increasing the pressure on his gas pedal. From the way I stand on the stoop of his stairs, watching his car roll down the asphalt, you’d swear he was leaving for war, not spending the week laying down tracks on another no doubt record-breaking album.

  I wait for the taillights of Marcus’s car to disappear on the horizon before pivoting around and climbing the platform stairs. “Come,” Aubrey says from the entranceway. She gestures her hand in the same manner she did last night, but this time, her tone is void of any annoyance.

  Earlier this morning, when Marcus was submitting his flight manifest for his trip to Ravenshoe, I had a quiet word with Aubrey. It was awkward, but one hundred percent necessary. I wouldn’t say it was unnecessarily awkward for Aubrey—I was the only blubbering idiot in our conversation—she handled it with the maturity awarded by her age.

  Although I pathetically used my argument with Marcus as an excuse for my appalling behavior, Aubrey graciously accepted my apology before issuing one of her own. Our bond started on unstable ground, but with us both being mature enough to admit our wrongdoings, I think all previous awkwardness will now be avoidable. Once I’m satisfied that’s been achieved, I’ll begin working on her relationship with Marcus. It's clear before last night they had an amicable working relationship, but their exchange in the hallway has added some obvious cracks I’ll strive hard to repair, since part of the blame for their spat lands on my shoulders.

  Aubrey drapes a large blanket around my shuddering frame before running her hands up and down my prickled arms. Once she is satisfied my body temperature has returned to an acceptable level, she curls her arm around my shoulders and guides me into the living room. A grin curves on my mouth when I spot a large mug of hot chocolate sitting on the coffee table. It's positioned right next to my recently loaded Kindl
e.

  “I’ll get fat if I keep consuming sugar-laced drinks while sitting on my backside reading,” I grumble under my breath.

  “It’s Sunday. Besides, from what Mr. Brown told me this morning, I don’t think you need to worry. Mr. Everett isn’t planning on being gone long.” Aubrey’s usually smooth voice is hindered by the crack of hilarity.

  When my eyes sling to hers, the hue of pink on her cheeks shifts to a vibrant red coloring. “You’ve been talking to Abel?” I question, happy to deflect the conversation away from my vigorous sex life.

  Like her face could get any redder, Aubrey’s cheeks blaze even more. “Yes,” she replies with a faint smile.

  I step into the living room and slide onto the comfy couch, inconspicuously snagging my Kindle and hot chocolate off the coffee table on my way by. “Did you and Abel talk to plan Marcus’s visit, or. . .” I leave my question open, letting my waggling brows speak on my behalf.

  The heat on Aubrey’s cheeks ascends halfway down her neck. “Our call was not in regards to Mr. Everett.”

  She stands still, frozen by my shocked stare. Before I can configure a response to her admission, Aubrey mumbles something under her breath before she pivots on her heels and exits the living room without a backward glance. Since our relationship is still wading in murky waters, I store her flustered response away as ammunition for when I'm next wrangling Abel.

  After switching on my Kindle, I snuggle into the couch Marcus defiled me on weeks ago and get caught up in the fictional world of my all-time favorite author.

  I've been reading for nearly two hours when the buzz of a cell phone interrupts me. Unable to tear my eyes away from the super-hot sex scene of a detective and his long-lost love, I continue reading as my hand aimlessly searches the coffee table for my cell. When I find it, I dash my eyes between my Kindle and the screen of my phone. Noticing it's a message from an unknown caller, I rest it against my thigh. With my utmost attention devoted to the story melting my Kindle more prominent than my need to be persuaded by a telemarketer, I ignore my caller.