Heartless

by R. C. Martin

  The moment we step outside, she reaches for my hand, lacing her fingers with mine. It feels good. No—it feels right. Without even thinking, I hold on tighter and then lift our conjoined hands, leaning a little to kiss the back of her palm. She props her shoulder against my arm just as Clay pulls up, and I glance down at her as I say, “Let’s get you home.”

  Smirking at me, she coyly replies, “Yes, sir.”

  Blaine

  I’VE HAD ENOUGH to drink that when Clay starts to drive, I don’t hesitate to cup my hand around Michael’s opposite cheek. I’m beyond the point of caring that we aren’t alone. If I don’t get a taste of him soon, I’ll go crazy.

  Turning his face toward mine, I brazenly admit, “I’ve been fantasizing about your tongue in my mouth all night.”

  His eyes flick away from me, and I know he’s looking into the driver’s seat. I’m afraid he’s going to deny me, until I hear a soft hissing noise. My head jerks, and I watch as the partition panel between the rear and front of the car slides up. I gasp, wishing I had known that was there before, and turn back to Michael to tell him as much. Except, I don’t get out a single word.

  An unabashed moan vibrates my chest as he fills my mouth with is tongue, and the desire that makes my belly clench is overwhelming. He cradles my neck as he leans into the kiss, and I shift as much as my seatbelt will allow, hooking one of my legs over his. When he reaches down and grabs the back of my thigh, pulling my knee further up between his legs, I whimper at the feel of his erection, trying the seam of his pants. My arousal pools in my panties, my heart pounding at the fact that I could get him hard so quickly—

  Or perhaps he’s been aching for me as long as I’ve been aching for him.

  I have no idea how long it takes to get back to the loft. All I’m sure of is that Michael’s lips don’t leave my body for even a second of the duration of our ride. As much as I want to do more than kiss, lick, and touch over each other’s clothing, Michael stays in control—keeping me under control. When Clay knocks on the partition, announcing our arrival, I don’t know whether or not I’m still drunk, or if it’s Michael that has me feeling so twisted up and buzzing with a heady high.

  “Come on, angel. You’ve been a very handsy girl,” Michael mumbles against my lips. “I think it’s time we tied you up.”

  “Oh, my god,” I whine on a shiver. I try untangling myself from him in order to get to my seatbelt, but I’m so excited, I’m trembling and my hands feel useless. “Shit, get me out of this thing!”

  Chuckling, his voice deep and unbelievably sexy, he frees me from the belt and then unfastens his. When he doesn’t reach for the door handle right away, I bite my bottom lip and peer at him through the darkness, wondering what the hell?

  He takes hold of my chin with his forefinger and his thumb and then begins delivering his instructions. “I want you to go upstairs. I want you to take off this dress. Leave your heels on, Blaine, do you understand?”

  “Yeah,” I breathe.

  For a second, I don’t know if I’m more turned on by his demands, or the fact that he noticed and appreciates my shoes.

  “I want you on your back, spread wide open for me. I’ll be right behind you.”

  I nod my head, incapable of speech, and he delivers one last hard, wet kiss before opening the door. He steps out first, then helps me to my feet before making his way toward the trunk. I don’t linger and stare, knowing that I’ve been given a very important task. Rather, I walk as fast as my heels and my wobbly legs will let me. As soon as I step foot into my apartment, I flip on the lights and start tossing things. My keys end up on the kitchen counter. My clutch ends up on the dining room table. By the time I’m halfway up the stairs to my loft, my dress is unzipped. I shimmy out of it when I make it to the landing, and then I hear Michael open and close the front door.

  I freeze, as does he, and our gazes lock. In this precious moment in time, I’m wholly and completely aware of one single truth—I want him. For always.

  I’ve never felt more alive in all of my life. Earlier, when I told him I’d die if he didn’t fuck me, I was only half kidding. Now, I don’t care how dramatic or immature or naïve it sounds, I simply confess to myself that I’m so in this with him—there’s no doubt in my mind or in my heart that without him, a part of me really will die. In such a short span of time, he’s come to mean that much to me.

  Then again, what is time when you’ve found a soul that connects with yours in such a way that you never imagined possible? It’s more than physical. It’s the way he looks at me. The things he says to me. The way he treats me, as if I really am his angel.

  With my eyes still trained on him, I hook both of my thumbs into the waistband of my thong. Slowly, I remove it from my body, careful to keep my balance when I step out of the material. I dangle the scrap of fabric from my finger as I straighten and then extend my arm over the banister before letting the thong drop.

  His small duffle bag makes a thud noise as it hits the hardwood floor, and I can see it as his nostrils flare before he turns to flip the deadbolt on the door. I’m still standing in my spot—naked in my heels—when he looks back up at me.

  “Bed,” he grunts, loosening the buttons on his vest. “Now.”

  My clit pulses at the sound of his tone, and I follow his command immediately.

  His shoes click across the floor at a steady, even pace as I toss the comforter onto the rug—certain that we won’t need it, and too impatient to fold it at the foot of the mattress. As I spread myself across my sheets, my legs opened wide, and my fingers hooked around a couple of links on opposite sides of the headboard, I hear it as he approaches the stairs. I’m breathless with anticipation as he draws closer, and I’m panting when he reaches the loft’s landing.

  He’s shirtless, the belt at his pants is undone, and his top button is loose. From this vantage point, the bulge at his groin is painfully obvious, and it makes me want to jump him. I don’t, somehow knowing it would displease him. The last thing I want is to do anything to prolong the moment where his dick is inside of me.

  I need him.

  He doesn’t ask me where the ropes are, too familiar with their storage space. Instead, he toes off his shoes and drops his pants before heading straight for the nightstand to my right. He pulls out both cords, dropping one on the bed as he begins to secure my right wrist to the headboard. Just like the last couple of times that we’ve been able to play, the soft texture of the rope against my skin makes my whole body breakout into goosebumps. My ache for him grows, and the slightest brush of his fingertips at my wrists makes me quiver.

  “Hurry, Michael. I can’t wait.”

  A smirk tugs at his lips as his eyes lift to meet mine. My hand jerks as he tightens the knot on my left wrist, and I test his handiwork, fighting against the restraints. When I find that I’m not going anywhere any time soon, excitement trickles down my spine, and I arch my back with a moan.

  “Michael…”

  “What is it? Hmm?” he hums, teasingly tracing his fingertips along the inside of my arm.

  “Baby—I need you,” I confess, not the least bit embarrassed.

  I admire him as his gaze precedes his touch, hinting at where he’ll set me on fire next. My jaw falls open and I can feel my desire leaking from between my legs as he grazes his fingers over one of my peaked nipples.

  “Fuck,” I whine when he pinches and rolls my sensitive bud.

  “Where do you need me?” he asks softly, his voice rumbly and seductive.

  My god, the sweet agony of his foreplay.

  I love it and hate it.

  I hunger for it and despise it.

  I’m greedy for it and tired of it.

  I’m impatient with his teasing, and yet, enjoying every second of it.

  I am in awe of the power he wields, the strength of his self-control, and his ability to take his time with me. I adore the way he savors every inch of my body, the way he worships me, making me feel like the most beautiful woman
in the world. I’m lost in him, in us, knowing that what we do here, how he touches and tastes me, how he plays and pleasures me, it’s ours; knowing that he’s only ever experienced this kind of tantalizing, erotic ecstasy with me.

  Only me.

  “Blaine?” he grunts, dragging two fingers down my stomach. “Where do you need me?” he repeats.

  I bend my knees, planting my heels flat on the bed as I open up for him. In this bed, completely at his mercy, I am not bashful. I am not shy. I am desperate.

  “I need you in my pussy. Please, baby—I—”

  I suck in a loud gasp when he grazes his fingers over my clit and then down to my soaking wet entrance. He groans, slipping inside of me with ease before shoving his other hand into his boxer briefs. I buck my hips at the sight of him stroking himself, clenching my jaw closed as I tug on the ropes.

  “Is this what you need, angel? Is that what you want?”

  “More,” I pant.

  He pumps in and out of me, my slick center coating his fingers in my abundant desire. He reaches into me as far as he can go, curling his knuckles and stroking me just right. My eyes roll into the back of my head when the welcome pressure of my building orgasm starts to overwhelm my senses. I’m on the brink of coming when he pulls out of me, and I whine at the loss of him.

  My eyes shoot open just in time to see him drop his briefs before climbing into bed with me. I’m still mourning with the frustration that he’s caused, after leaving me hanging, when he straddles my chest. He aims his dick right toward my mouth, and the smell of him makes my clit pulse and my hands itch, aching to touch him.

  “Take me,” he groans, touching the tip of his head against my parted lips.

  My stare locked with his, I slowly lick his seam, and the muscles in his jaw jump as he clenches his teeth together and draws in a deep breath through his nose. Wanting to make him feel as out of control as I do, I open my mouth wide and lift my head, taking as much of him as I can swallow. Swirling my tongue around his shaft, I bob my head, all the while watching him watch me. His eyes are dark and dangerously sexy. The way he’s looking at me, it’s as if the tables have turned. Even in my vulnerable state, I feel powerful.

  When he tenderly rakes his fingers through my hair, I moan in delight. Then he clenches his fingers into a fist around my wavy strands, causing me to cease my movements. His eyes grow even darker as he begins to move my head for me. I whimper, my sense of power being ripped away from me at the exact same time that I get my wish—to see him out of control. With his left hand, he takes hold of the top of my headboard. I see the muscles in that arm flex with his grip as he continues to guide my head up and down while he thrusts his hips back and forth.

  “Blaine—you look so perfect just like this. Mierda. Mí ángel hermoso.”

  As I fight against my restraints yet again, I’m startled by the tears that spring to my eyes—and yet, I can’t stop them. I was wrong to think that watching him lose control would bring me any sort of relief. It doesn’t. Not even a little bit. It makes me more desperate than before. I want more—I want him.

  When my first tear spills down the side of my face, he pulls out of me instantly, his expression melting from one of passion to one of worry. “Angel, are you okay? Am I hurting you?” he asks, cupping a hand around my cheek.

  “No,” I insist, shaking my head. “Fuck me. Please, Michael—fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!”

  Still straddling my chest, he reaches over to the nightstand on my left and yanks out a condom. I can hardly breathe as I watch him sheath himself. Then, when he finally positions his body between my legs, I tuck my bottom lip between my teeth in heightened, anxious anticipation. Except—he doesn’t enter me right away.

  Propping himself up on his forearms, he traces his nose along mine as he whispers, “I like to hear you beg.” He pauses, kissing me tenderly before he tells me, “But I hate to see you cry.”

  “Oh, shit—yes!” I mewl as he slams his big cock inside of me.

  I circle my legs around him, digging my heels into his ass as he pushes up onto his hands and pounds into me over and over. The sound of our slapping skin mixed with that of my wetness drenching us both is so damn hot, I can hardly stand it.

  “Harder, baby!”

  With a growl, he rams into me, and I arch my back and tighten my legs as my climax barrels through me like a mighty storm. While my core pulses around his cock, constricting him, he slows down a notch, rolling his hips. Every thrust is precise, hard and yet gentle—or rather gentle, as he grazes his pelvis over my swollen clit, and hard, when he thrusts all the way home. Before I start to come down from my first orgasm, I feel it turning into a second.

  “No way. No way, no way—oh, god, baby—I’m coming!”

  My entire body trembles, and I throw my head back as I pull at the ropes. I can’t think. That’s how intense my pleasure is, how all consuming, how perfect.

  Michael grunts as his hips slow down even further, his strokes deep and staccato. It’s obvious he’s having difficulty holding on, the muscles in his neck straining as he tries to keep it together.

  “Let go, baby. Come for me, Michael,” I pant.

  He roars, throwing his own head back as he drives into me twice more before I feel him twitch inside of me. His arms are shaking, and I know he must be as spent as I am. He doesn’t sever our intimate connection right away, and neither does he relax. He drops his chin to his chest, taking a few deep breaths before he lifts his head once more. With one hand, he reaches to unfasten my left wrist. That accomplished, he repeats the act with his opposite hand on the other side. Not until I’m free does he collapse on top of me.

  I close my eyes, clinging to him with all of my limbs. He’s heavy, and I can hardly catch my breath with him pressing against my chest, but I don’t care. To touch him is heaven, and I’m not ready for him to move. Silently, I say as much as I tenderly run my fingers through his hair.

  A squeak spills from between my lips when he rolls us over together. My arms stay firmly locked around his shoulders, and my legs straddle his hips as he settles on his back. We lose our connection, and I feel it as he reaches around me to slide off the condom. Burying my face in his neck, I hide my smile when he simply tosses it onto the floor before securing one of his arms around my back. With his free hand, he grazes his fingers over my ass, feeling all the way down to my tender entrance. His touch is light as he strokes me, and I shudder, tightening my grip around him.

  “Rest, angel,” he mumbles. “I’m nowhere near done with you tonight.”

  His reminder that I get to keep him, just like this, all night long—it does something to me. Something unexplainable. I’m not sure that I’ve ever been as happy as I am in this very moment; this moment where, no matter what might be happening outside of my front door, what reality exists outside of our little bubble, we have each other—we have right now—and we have us.

  I touch the tip of my tongue to his neck, tasting his skin as I kiss him before I whisper, “Yes, sir.”

  Michael

  I WAKE UP, AND all I’m cognizant of are my five senses.

  I smell her. I smell the evidence of her arousal and the five orgasms she had before we fell asleep. I smell her sweat on my skin. I smell her—my angel, and the scent of flowers in springtime that is all Blaine.

  I taste her. I taste her on my lips—reminding me of how I savored every inch of her body last night.

  I feel her. I feel her warm, small body pressed up against mine—her back to my front, and our legs tangled together. Her arm rests over the one I have draped across her stomach, and our fingers are laced together as if, even in our sleep, we knew that the night was precious. We couldn’t afford to let go of each other for even a moment.

  I hear her. I hear the soft murmur of her slow, even breaths. I marvel at the sound, having never had it upon waking before.

  Finally, as I open my eyes, I see her. I see her mess of brown hair fanned around her head like a crown on the pillow that w
e share. I see the three condom wrappers discarded on the nightstand in my line of sight. I see that the sun has already made its entrance as it shines through the window above us, casting its light across the loft—and I know that I am not where I belong.

  Yet, I am home.

  Right here, in this bed, with this woman—I am home.

  There is a comfort here that I don’t feel in my own bed. In the silence of morning, without a word spoken, without a touch given, in this stillness that only exists as one shakes off sleep, there is a sense of security that insists that I stay. That here I am safe. Here I am free. Here I am home.

  I hold Blaine closer, burying my nose in her neck as I breathe her in. My heart swells and my chest aches as I realize that while last night was the best night of my life, it does not compare to the serenity of this quiet moment; this awareness of who Blaine is to me—of who I am when I am with her. She allows me to be all that I am, and she does so with more grace and mercy than I can remember experiencing with another human being.

  I am a man—a man that she cares for.

  I am a believer—a Christian that she neither judges nor condemns.

  I am a husband—a husband that does not belong to her, and yet, with every passing day she gives me grace and time to figure out what the hell I’m to do with the pieces of my marriage that hold me captive.

  I am a savage—a wild thing that she coaxes into her bed; a man unhinged in the throes of passion that she begs for.

  I am hers.

  The bed in which I lay may not be the place where I belong, but the woman in my arms belongs to me.

  She gasps, her body going rigid before she twists her neck to peek at me from over her shoulder. I lift my head to meet her beautiful hazel eyes, and she frees a soft whimper as she lets go of my hand in order to shift. Her front now flush against mine, she peppers my face and my neck with kisses. When my dick grows stiff, she reaches between us and wraps me in her small hand. My hips jerk when she tightens her grip and runs her thumb over the head.