Professed

by Nicola Rendell

  A little blush comes instantly up into her cheeks. As she leans forward to set down her glass, I stay put and am awash with the soft curtain her hair and the hollow of her neck. She doesn’t pull back. Instead, she traces the tip of her tongue around the edge of my ear so gently, so effortlessly. My cock is instantly hard, and I slide back up over her body and pin her down lengthwise on the couch.

  “We always end up like teenagers,” I tell her, one knee in the cushions, before I lean in for a kiss. It occurs to me that wasn’t all that long ago for her. But time, it’s relative. Old souls are a real thing. I feel the laugh in her breath as she presses her leg against my erection, making me groan. I run my hands down her hips, gripping those sexy little jeans with my fingers spread. I hook a finger into her pocket and press. She tightens her legs around me, like a vise. Just like that, we get lost a while. The wind and the waves pick up outside, or maybe it’s just the way she’s kissing me.

  “Do you know what I’m going to do to you tonight?” I say when we part finally. My voice is so dark, I don’t even sound like myself. But being this close to her, I just can’t help it. Without unbuttoning her jeans, I move my fingers down past her panties with my palm to that tight stomach. Then my fingers find their way to that magnificent wetness.

  She moans a distracted, “Nun-hun,” and leans her head back, bracing it against the armrest.

  I work her clit gently for a while, just barely reaching inside her. With my tongue, I trace the ripples of her throat, all the way down to her collarbone. Every time I’m with her, I know her better. I learn her shudders and her moans. There’s a particular one, a kind of surprised, delighted gasp that I’ve learned, a jagged breath, that tells me she’s getting close.

  I hear that and back off. Not yet. Not yet. I want to make this last and last.

  “What’s your feeling on rope?” I ask.

  Her purr says, Strong to very strong.

  Her hand is gripping the back of my neck and keeping me close. Her other hand is working its way down my zipper.

  “Not yet. Not yet, beautiful. Not fucking yet.”

  Her hand moves away. With that, I hoist her up on my shoulder and slap her ass as I carry her up the stairs. Halfway up, I lift her sweater from her stomach and begin giving her an epic hickey on that perfect, lovely curve between rib cage and abdomen, and she erupts into giggles and squirming kicks. I surprise even myself with the broad, wide smile I see on my face as I pass the bathroom mirror.

  34

  She lands with a squeaky thump on the mattress, her hair a mess. Immediately she tries to put herself back together, but I don’t give her the chance. I draw her up off the bed into my arms.

  “I’ll go slow,” I whisper to her. Gently, I pull her sweater off.

  “Now you,” she says, reaching for my sweater.

  I stop her hands. “No you don’t. You’ve owned my ass long enough.” Her dark lashes part all the way, and I see the white of her eye around her irises. Now, God. That lip bite. Fucking A.

  She looks amazed. “Have I?”

  “Oh yeah. I used to be a fucking tiger in bed until you came along.”

  Her hands move up my abs and land on my nipples. “I think you’re still pretty much a tiger, Tiger.”

  “You haven’t seen anything yet.” Now I’m unbuttoning her jeans and yanking them down off her ass. They peel off her inside out, and she’s left in her panties and bra on the bed. I stay fully clothed. If she even touches my belt, I’m done for, I’ll never be able to keep my cool.

  “What are you going to do to me?” Her voice, it shivers with excitement.

  “Nothing you don’t want,” I say, feeling the gentle ridges between her ribs through her skin. Everything about her, her rib cage, this little scar under her right breast, the bigger scar off to the left. Every last thing is perfect. Real. Honest. Beautiful.

  This bra is especially nice.

  Which is a shame.

  It’s plain white with a pink bow right in the middle between her breasts.

  Lowering my body over hers, I run my tongue around the edge of her belly button, thinking about when it had overflowed with whiskey. I lay my ear down on her breastbone and can actually hear her heart thumping.

  After a handful of perfect heartbeats, I turn my head, placing it between her tits. That’s when I look up at her. She’s craning her neck to see me, because I have her flat on the bed.

  “I love this bra,” she says, like she’s warning me.

  Shame, like I said. I take that little pink bow in my front teeth and yank it off. She lights up with the sound of ripping thread. It’s part surprise, part exhilaration. Exactly how I want her.

  Greedily, I pull her left breast out of her bra and feel her areola tighten under my tongue. Her hands grip my body whenever I bear down, and then continue on when I ease up a little. Her skin is so milky white, and so fucking soft against my lips.

  Pawing at my face a little now, she’s trying to get me to come up to kiss her. Hungry and desperate, trying to rush. But there is no rush, not here.

  When I release her breast, I lick a little circle around one nipple and then the other. “Put your head on the pillow, Miss Costa.”

  She scoots up, hands to the mattress and never taking her eyes off me.

  “Bra,” I say.

  She sits up, so perfectly obedient now. Off comes the bra, and her breasts swing loose. It’s all I can do not to just take her right here, right now, and make the missionaries fucking weep. But she does that to me. She makes me take my eyes off the prize.

  And I hate her for it. Okay, not exactly. Between hate and love, right there. Equidistant.

  Now, at least, I’ve got a plan. I did think this part out because I knew she’d get me lost, just like she has.

  Standing at the side of the mattress, I take a length of rope from under the bed. I’d stashed it there, because to do what I want to do, I’m going to need a lot of it.

  “What are you…”

  “Do you trust me?” Her nod is so big, even her hair swishing against the pillows sounds enthusiastic.

  “Good girl. Give me your left wrist.”

  With the rope in my hands, I stare down at her. My cock presses through my boxers and right into the teeth of my zipper.

  Binding her left wrist first, I check and double-check that the knot is tight but not too tight. But the nylon rope is slippery. “Here. Let me. What you need is a non-slip loop knot,” she whispers.

  The sailor’s daughter, of course, she knows her knots. Never was there anything hotter than a woman tying herself up.

  That wrist done, I loop the rope around the brass bed frame but I don’t knot it. I bring it back to her body, to her left ankle this time. I circle her ankle twice. Now to the footboard. She’s trembling there in front of me. But I keep it together. Step by step, because there’s work to be done.

  The rope presses into her skin as I bring it diagonally across her until finally she’s laid out in front of me, not just tied to the bed frame by wrists and ankles, but underneath a tight X of rope that will only hold her tighter if she fights me.

  When I set to tying the finishing knot, she turns her head, smiling a little. “Yeah. Over, under. Right.”

  I see that her fingers are shaking, and she brings her palm closed into a fist. Her head is up off the pillows, tense and curious.

  “That okay?” I ask. I pull on the rope. “Are you good?”

  She nods.

  “So relax, beautiful,” I place my hand behind her head, and she lets me take its weight. “Don’t fight me.” Then I lower her head down onto the pillows and whisper for her to close her eyes.

  Her smell is everywhere. Again, it takes all my willpower not to enter that pussy however I fucking can. Cock, fingers, lips.

  I slip it over her head. “Can you see?”

  Wordlessly, she shakes her head.

  “Don’t lie, beautiful.”

  She snickers. “Pull it down just a little.”
<
br />   So I do, until she nods. “We’re going to need a safe word.” She swallows. Her head is deep in the pillows, her hair spilling out from every direction. “What do I say?” I could let her pick it, but that’s not how it’s going to be. “Dominus. You say that, everything stops.”

  “Dominus,” she says, trying it out.

  “Latin for Master. Got it?”

  Her swallow fills the room. I’m taking that as a yes.

  35

  The next thing that happens is a familiar smell. At first, I can’t place it. It’s chemical and yet sweet…

  Marker. He’s got a marker. My whole body gives a sudden, excited shake. I think he’s going to write on me. Somewhere, something, his handwriting in ink on my skin.

  God, yes, yes, yes. Is that a thing? Writing on skin? Because that’s so hot.

  He’s hovering over me. I can feel the mattress depressing on either side of my body, under his knees. “What are you going to write?”

  There’s an airy breath. I know he must be smiling. He smiles so much. I love that about him.

  “What I want to write is mine on every inch of your skin,” he says. I feel a touch on my arm, and at first I think it’s the marker, but it’s warm and soft. His fingertip. He trails it up my forearm, lingering on the shallow depression above my elbow. “Mine, mine, mine,” he says. “All over you. A thousand times.”

  I can see it in my head. Mine everywhere. Big and little. Sloppy and neat. “Please. I’d love that,” I whisper.

  “I want to get a jar of ink,” he says. Now his palm is flat on my stomach. “And put my prints all over here.” When he says here, which he says slowly, he slides his fingertips down my abdomen.

  All I can do is nod. I have no way to tell him how much I want that.

  The mattress squeaks a little as he lowers himself down on me. His weight is heavenly on my legs. The feel of his chinos pressing into my bare skin. The agony of knowing his beautiful cock is right there, not six inches from pressing into me. It drives me right out of my mind.

  “But there’s really one word that needs writing first. Before all the rest.”

  The words line up in my head like flashcards. Trying to guess. But then I just let it go. Let him do it. Let him take control.

  The tip of the marker is cold on my skin. It begins on my right side with a downward stroke.

  I, is what I think at first, but then there’s a curve at the top. And a kick-out. R.

  Another downwards stroke. I again? Nope. Three right-to-left lines. E.

  Oh God, I think I know. Diagonal stroke, and a second. He makes the crossbar just over my belly button with agonizing slowness. A.

  I know the word. But I just want to savor every last drop of this. Downward stroke, half circle. D.

  Small check mark on my left abdomen, small downward stroke. Y. Already I’m nodding.

  “Are you?” he asks.

  And I tell him a long stream of Yesses straight through the squiggle and point of a ?

  READY?

  My hands are in tight fists, my nails pressing into my palms. Whatever he’s going to do to me, if it hurts or teases or pulls or pinches, I want him to do it. All of it. “Ready,” I whisper back.

  The next thing I hear is a snapping. Rattling of markers. Another uncapping. Now he’s closer to me. I feel his forearm over the soft skin of mine. This is harder to make out, it’s on my wrist and small. “What does it say?”

  He doesn’t answer at first. The little marks continue on my wrist. I hold very still, trying to get a sense of what it could be. “Ben,” I whisper, “Tell me.”

  “It’ll drive you crazy not knowing, I’ll bet,” he says when he’s done. I hear him cap the marker shut.

  God, yes it will. “You don’t want me distracted.”

  His laugh is quiet and smug. I love it. “It says Property of Master Beck.”

  Annnnnnd toe curl! Everything curl. I try to reach up to touch him, but the ropes hold me tight. “I want you.”

  Now I hear his zipper coming down, tooth by tooth. Everything is so exaggerated because I can’t see. He’s not touching me though. He’s off to my right. I hear his footsteps on the carpet. “You’re gonna get me.” I hear his belt clatter on the ground, and I moan right out loud, just at that sound.

  There’s nothing for a while. Perhaps he’s just standing there watching. But then the mattress squeaks, I hear the gentle crack of his knee, and I feel the soft skin of his erection on my belly. He presses into me with just the tip, but not gently. Enough to make me feel fire in my muscles. I realize I’m clenching my fists in anticipation, and I stretch them out. God, to touch him right now.

  As if he read my thoughts, his jaw is under my fingers. He glides his stubble back and forth. I lengthen out my fingertips as far as I can to touch as much of his cheek as possible. My pad of my thumb rests on his jaw, and then he turns and kisses my palm. “That’s exactly what I wanted.”

  But then he pulls away, and I feel so helpless, so needy, so anxious for him to come back. His weight leaves the mattress. I surprise myself with a long stream of, “Please, please, please, please,” on my exhalation.

  Suddenly he’s on the other side of me, whispering in my other ear. “Do you know why this is so important to me?” he says, his breath warm against my cheek. “Why I need you tied down?” This is all so disorienting, not being able to see him or touch him or read his expression in those dimples. I shake my head and whimper a “No.”

  He’s gone again.

  The mattress creaks, and I’m relieved to feel his skin against mine again. Thigh to thigh. His hips part my legs a little further. I feel a small cramp in my ass as he positions me to take him. “To take back the power you steal from me.” That’s when he presses into me. No hesitation, no waiting, no gentleness, just a smooth, forceful press of his body parting mine. My back comes right up off the mattress, and I feel the ropes bind me even tighter.

  “Don’t fight it, beautiful. Just let go.”

  Let go. I’d never let go for anybody, except for him. Just for him.

  He’s hitting my cervix, he’s pulling my G-spot up and over with the tip. His balls meet my ass with every thrust. I don’t try to squeeze him, I don’t try to take over.

  I’m his. I show him how much I’m utterly his.

  There is nothing I can do, there is nothing I want to do. But I do, so fucking much, want his cum inside me. “Please, Ben, just…”

  He’s doing this thing to me, where I’m all half sentences and guttural groans.

  “Why are you so fucking beautiful?” he asks.

  I’ve never come during sex. I’ve never come from the inside out. But he’s getting me really, really close.

  “Answer me.”

  What was the damned question? “I don’t know why. I don’t know.”

  “Answer me.”

  He’s looking for something. He doesn’t understand that when he drives…into…me…like that, I can’t even think. But why am I so beautiful? Why?

  “For you,” I groan out. “I’m so fucking beautiful for you.”

  His next thrust is more urgent, more desperate. “Good girl.”

  He goes and he goes. Without being able to see him and touch him, all my senses are between my legs. He feels huge inside me, and my lips feel swollen and sensitive. He goes harder and longer than he ever has before. With every thrust, our grunts couple up. His low, and mine almost a whine. And then just when I feel exhausted, when I stop focusing on coming?

  I start to come “Oh shit, Ben. Shit, that’s it.”

  My calves cramp hard against my curling toes. My biceps ache. I feel the rope on my nipples. And I’m gone.

  As I’m going, it’s like a switch flips in my head. I don’t just want his cum inside me. I want to have forgotten my fucking birth control. I want to have fucked up and have us make a mistake that ties us up together. I want all the things that I know, I know, I’m not supposed to want. But I do want it. He fucks me harder, and the he
adboard bangs. The idea of his cum inside me makes me want to blow up my five-year plan with dynamite. And so what spills out of my mouth? What outrageous thing do I say before I can stop it?

  “I want your baby.”

  He snarls out a gasp, but he doesn’t slow at all. Instead, he says, “Did you take your pill? Are you good?” Another deep thrust. “What if I didn’t?” I did, but the primal idea of not having taken it? Holy shit. That makes me so incredibly wet for him, he has to feel it too.

  He grips my waist with his hands and drives in again. “You don’t know what that idea does to me, Naomi. You can’t understand…”

  I do know. Because I feel it too. Profoundly, irrationally, way down in my inner core. I scoot my head down a little so I can just barely see him through the edge of my blindfold. He’s as serious as I’ve ever seen him. He’s not pissed, he’s not worried. He’s driven. Driven and focused like he hasn’t let me see him. Between gasps and drives, I whisper, “Get me pregnant. Do it.”

  And then he’s gone, roaring against the ceiling, with the headboard thumping into the drywall as he growls out my name and says over and over, “How the fuck did you know…”

  36

  I don’t know what time we fell asleep, but I wake up early and feeling like a brand new man. For a while, I just lie there next to her, watching her sleep. Scooting down my pillow a bit, I get a tiny bit closer to her to listen to her breathing. I love the way she sleeps, with the covers tightly bound up to her chest. I watch her for a while, get the rhythm of her breath. I enjoy the quiet. College is nice, but also noisy. Kids yelling, music thumping, weird plumbing sounds. The silence between us out here, this is heaven.

  I get up and head towards the bathroom, but I realize it’s chilly in here—it feels like winter. I don’t know what winter feels like, exactly, because I’ve never lived through one, but the fact that I’m covered in goose bumps and my balls recede into my abdomen is a pretty good tip-off. I take an extra blanket from the closet, this one amazingly non-nautical, and drape it over her body.