by Ward, Deena
This was bizarre. No doubt about it. I had a sinking feeling in my stomach, an “I should have known it was too perfect to be true” premonition.
No. I wouldn’t think that way. There was a logical explanation for his strange behavior. There had to be. I wouldn’t hide from what was going on, either. I wanted answers. And there was only one way to get them.
I had to be in class early the next morning, but finding out what Gibson was up to was more important than school. I dug out the e-reader Gibson had gotten me as a gift and began reading one of the novels I’d loaded onto it but hadn’t had a chance to start yet.
I was well into the book and bleary-eyed when Gibson returned to the room a little over an hour later. He looked freshly showered, I guessed he used the facilities in the gym. He looked sexy as ever in his flannel pj bottoms. He also looked surprised to see me awake and waiting for him.
“I’m sorry,” he said as he quietly closed the bedroom door. “Did I wake you?”
I laid the e-reader on the nightstand. “I’ve been awake a while, waiting for you. Where have you been?”
“I couldn’t sleep, so I’ve been taking care of some things. I hate that you waited up for me.”
“I was worried.”
He crawled into bed beside me. “There’s nothing to be worried about.”
“Don’t you think it’s an odd time to go running?”
“Oh, you saw me?”
“I did.”
“I guess it’s odd. I don’t know. I’ve lived alone a long time, Nonnie. I probably have some strange habits.”
“It’s definitely strange to go running in the middle of a cold night. And Friday you were in the gym.”
He smiled. “You’re keeping tabs on me.”
“No, I just woke up alone and wondered where you were.”
He put an arm around me and we scooted down to lie prone, him pulling me snug against his soap-scented chest. “I’m sorry. It’s nothing. I can be a fitful sleeper sometimes, that’s all.”
“Okay.”
“Promise me you won’t worry. And don’t wait up for me again. You’ll be exhausted tomorrow.”
I didn’t want to promise, but I did anyway.
He snugged me closer and I tried hard to believe the innocent explanation for his nighttime wandering. I even chided myself for being overly suspicious.
Gibson simply wasn’t a great sleeper. Lots of people weren’t. And was it all that strange for him to use the extra time to get in some exercising? Maybe that’s why he was so fit. Leave it to Gibson to turn insomnia into an advantage.
I fell asleep thinking that the situation was unusual, but understandable. If there were more to the story, time would tell.
Chapter 16
I enjoyed school, appreciated the smells and sounds of it, the bustle and noise and stillness. I had classes in art history, color theory, drawing and computer aided design. Drawing, of course, was the most comfortable class for me. Learning the computer programs was the most difficult.
Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays flew by with a speed that only love of what you’re doing can effect. Tuesdays and Thursdays were painfully slow in comparison, with the exception of the commute with Gibson and our lunches together.
It wasn’t that I didn’t like working with Isabel. I enjoyed her company. The work, however, wasn’t to my tastes. I thought mostly about my art these days, and figuring out Isabel’s schedule or soothing someone who was offended by her brusqueness, didn’t exactly challenge me intellectually or artistically.
The job paid well, though, and it enabled me to spend more time with Gibson, something I craved. I required the money, too, since I always needed new clothes and shoes, all of a higher quality than I could have afforded if I had to pay for my room and board.
My salary was like a teenager’s spending money, to be used in whatever fashion I saw fit. Gibson refused any contribution to household expenses, and I had to admit that I felt silly offering — as if I could afford even a single day of the costs of running his estate.
So even though my job wasn’t all it might have been, it provided me with a few benefits I required, and was therefore worth the effort of continuing.
Days clicked by. Then a week. Then another. I felt more at home in the mansion, more at ease with the luxurious life. School went well, and I enjoyed the rhythm of my days.
My nights, too. With Gibson. Always with Gibson. More than a few times I woke in the night to find the bed empty beside me, but I refused to let it bother me. I wrapped the blankets around myself and returned to sleep, knowing he’d return eventually.
His preparation of my body was progressing and I knew he’d be making his claim any time. I was ready for him, yearned for it to happen, wanted that something more which only his hard cock could supply.
Little more than two weeks from when he first revealed his dungeon to me, he took me to our bedroom and stripped me naked. I was a little lightheaded from the wine I had with dinner, but mostly I was giddy because I sensed this was it. The night.
I sat on the edge of the bed and watched him remove his own clothes. I adored his body, the muscular lines of it, the bulge of his thick thighs, the flex of his biceps, the flat surface of his stomach. His powerful cock stood out proud and hard as stone. My fingers ached to caress him.
But Gibson had other plans, as he so often did, and I never gainsaid those plans, or at least almost never. He approached me, told me to lie back, and when I did, he reached down, spread my legs and knelt on the floor in front of me.
His tongue was hot and slick on my pussy as he took one long, lingering lick over me. I sighed and spread my legs wider, unashamed to show how I reveled in his touch. One of his big hands pressed on my lower stomach while the other explored my slit, dipped into my wetness and spread it to my ass.
Around and around his tongue circled my clit, and already my body thrummed with desire. I never failed to wonder at how quickly he aroused me, how even a few words from him could leave me panting, wanting whatever he chose to do with me, to me.
His fingers entered my ass and I moaned, then his tongue slipped inside my pussy. Ahh, this was perfect, so perfect I ached from it. I squeezed my eyes shut.
I was struck with the beauty of what this remarkable lover did for me, how he made me feel, and not just the pleasure of his touch, but how he made me feel good in so many different ways. With Gibson I felt more beautiful and sexy, yes, but also smarter, stronger, more capable. He made me feel like I could do anything. Accomplish great things.
A few tears slipped down the sides of my face, and I arched my head back so Gibson couldn’t see. I didn’t want him to misunderstand, to stop what he was doing to attend to me.
No, never to stop what he was doing. My body sung his praises, even when he devil-pinched my labia and made me gasp. No, not even that, because it only increased the excitement, the greed.
He didn’t have to tell me when to come; I knew by the rhythm of his strokes, the cadence of his breathing. Time to come, said his tongue and fingers, and so I did, and I rode the magnificent wave, and soon after, another, because he knew how to take me there again. It was easy for him, it seemed, to take me there whenever he wanted.
It was exquisite, and a few more tears ran down the sides of my face, and words, words I wasn’t known to say aloud, beat at the back of my throat, threatened to spill out with my sighs and cries of release.
I love you.
I love you.
Love.
You.
I swallowed them down. Even though I was sure. Even though those words were more true than anything I’d ever said in my life. I loved him. Adored him. Anything. Everything. For him.
Real love. At last.
He rose up over me then, saw the tears on my face and brushed them away with a gentle touch. “Are you okay?”
I nodded. Don’t make me speak, is what I would have said, if I could have. But I couldn’t, because the only words that would have come out ... it
wasn’t time for them yet. It was enough, for now, that I knew them. Not time yet to share.
A few beats of time later, I spoke. “You make me happy.”
He made that growly sound in the back of his throat, the one that let me know how much he wanted me. He kissed me then, a hard, open-mouthed searing kiss, and his tongue danced with mine and he tasted of wine and me.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and held him tight, folded my legs around his waist and shoved myself against him. My breasts were crushed against his chest while his fingers tangled in my hair and tilted my head back where he wanted it.
When he lifted his mouth from mine I snatched some air into my aching lungs.
“It’s now,” he said.
Yes. At last. When he pulled away, I crawled up the bed, assumed the position he wanted. On my knees, ass in the air, head down, shoulders pressed against the mattress. Full reveal and full submission to what he wanted. To what I wanted him to take.
My head turned to the side, my cheek flush on the cool sheet. I couldn’t see Gibson, only vaguely, peripherally, so I closed my eyes, all the better to feel every touch, hear every sound. He opened the drawer in his nightstand, I heard the sound of rollers and the thud of closure.
The bed shifted as he climbed behind me. I heard the quickening of his breath as he took his position, as he took in the view, warmed the lube in his hand before beginning the process of preparing me.
And that process took a while. The way he savored the preparation was a ritual of desire and anticipation. There was a discernible pace to it, pushing the lubricant inside me, twisting his fingers and sliding in and out, massaging the slick stuff as far inside me as he could reach.
I quivered under him, beyond ready, beyond want. Yes, there was fear, too, of how much it might hurt, that I might fail him. Mostly fear of failure. To steady myself I concentrated on the sounds of him readying me, on the tense restraint I felt in his hands.
Then he must have determined I was ready. One of his hands moved to my hip and I felt the unmistakeable pressure of his cock pressed against my asshole. I sucked in a big breath. It was now.
He pushed that huge head against my tight ring of muscles and groaned. “Relax as much as you can,” he said, his voice harsh and guttural.
I did as he said, and took deep breaths.
He pushed harder, and I felt my muscles stretching, trying to open for him. Harder. More stretch, and now it began to sting. I focused on relaxing, but there was only so much that relaxation could do. His cock was big. So big.
His fingers tightened on my hip, dug into me and he shoved that huge head harder and harder against me. I whimpered. It hurt more now. Obviously, as I had suspected, there was no preparation good enough to make it not hurt.
And in more ways than one, I welcomed the pain. This was the first time, and I was grateful it was Gibson doing it. It seemed that it should hurt, the giving of this act. I welcomed the chance to sacrifice for him, something he never let me do, it seemed, and something I longed for.
So I held myself as quiet as I could while he opened me slowly, painfully, and I clenched my fists, concentrated on his satisfaction, how it must feel to him. Even as the sharp sting turned into a fierce burn, my clitoris twitched and my core contracted with the pleasure of giving him pleasure.
He made a mmph sound, and I bit back my own, when with one last hard shove, the head of his cock breached my defenses and entered me at last. The burn subsided some then.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yes,” I answered, my voice reedy and thin.
“You’re so beautiful. So tight. This will feel good for you, too, eventually. I promise.”
I shook my head, but had nothing to say. I didn’t care if it was ever good for me, though I believed him when he said it would be.
It took a long while for him to work his way completely inside me. He was slow and careful and stopped several times to make sure I was all right.
When at long last he was inside as far as he could go, I felt a tremble in his thighs pressed up against mine. Restraint. Always restraint.
But I wanted him to let go.
He’d done the right thing, and broken me in as gently as he could. And now I wanted, needed him to unleash himself and take everything that he wanted.
He began a slow pulling out, not removing his cock all the way before beginning the push back in. Slow, steady. The burn. The sting. The thud of my heart and the sound of his labored breaths.
This was good, yes, but I wanted it better.
“Fuck me,” I said, a surprisingly meek-sounding request considering my intent.
“Yes,” he said. “You’re so tight. So hot. Incredible.”
“No. Fuck,” I said louder.
He only exhaled and pumped inside me, maybe a little faster. Not enough.
I reached back, found his thigh and pulled him toward me. “Fuck me. Harder. Faster.”
I shoved my ass back against him. “Please, Gibson. Take me. Hard. I want it.”
He groaned, a long and low sound, a conversation with himself, I guessed. One of his hands closed over my shoulder and the other pressed against my lower back. “Yes,” he said.
And then, he truly began to fuck my ass. There was nothing gentle about it when he pulled back and then shoved himself home, all the way to the hilt, eliciting a loud cry from me, a call of pain and triumph. Yes. Fuck me. Just like that.
He took me hard and fast, his cock pounding inside me. He even removed it all the way a few times just to enjoy the wicked thrill of cramming it past my tender asshole. I cried out and writhed under him, rocked back to meet his violent thrusts. Mixed my gasps and grunts with his.
This was no pretty act, this taking. It was animal and pure and ugly and exquisite. My muscles trembled and his hand was an immovable clamp on my shoulder, pinning me down, nowhere to go. As if I might go. No chance of that.
He took me as hard as he’d ever taken me before, and his balls slapped against my pussy, his weight bore down on me with terrible pressure.
I gloried in everything he did, in everything I felt, the fire inside me, the ache in my belly. I reached for my clit and frantically rubbed myself, seeking what I knew would lessen the fire, would turn it into release.
“Yes!” He smacked my ass. “Good. I want to hear you scream when you come.”
And he thundered into me, and soon I was coming, and I did scream for him, because it was unlike any other release I’d had, from that different place, but bigger. Because he was inside me. Fully inside me. Finally. Claiming what was his.
Gibson went into overdrive then, pummeling against me, his breath a ferocious rasp. I wailed every time he rammed home, and whimpered every time he pulled back. Wave after rapturous wave washed over me.
Then Gibson cried out too, and began coming deep inside me, my muscles undulating around him. Another hard shove. Then one more, as his release hit its peak and then his hand relaxed on my shoulder and he groaned a receding groan.
He slumped over, on and beside me. I lay there, welcoming his weight settling on me, accepting his heaving chest against my back, his half-hard cock still inside me. I reached for my own air and found it in lengthy gasps and pulls.
“Beautiful,” he whispered near my ear.
I agreed.
Beautifully ugly.
Only a few minutes passed, maybe five, when I felt his cock swelling inside me. He shifted me onto my side, my back pressed against his chest, my legs and knees bent.
He nuzzled the side of my neck and placed warm kisses that sent little thrills down my arms and spine. I took long slow breaths as he began to fuck my ass again, a steady, controlled slide, patient and tender.
He asked if I was okay, and I said I was fine. My ass burned, but I was fine. He wanted it again, so I wanted it again. Take me. As much as you want. Take me.
And he fucked me like that, a smooth glide, his hand stroking my side, my breasts, my stomach, seeking out my clit between my le
gs, making me come one more time.
And then he went faster, but not greedily. He was simply coming again. Filling me again. Taking what was his.
And for that, I was grateful. Honored that he wanted me.
I loved him.
A few hours later, after a short nap and a leisurely shower, we sat side by side in bed, munching on some cookies from my nightstand stash.
Gibson brushed at the crumbs on his chest. “I never eat in bed. I hate crumbs in the sheets.”
“That’s okay. We’ll get them all out when we’re done.”
“You can never get them all out.”
“Aw, are you like the prince and the pea? Super sensitive, your highness?”
“I don’t see why you have all that food up here. We could have gone to the kitchen.”
“Yes,” I said, “but isn’t it more fun to eat in bed?”
He reached over and picked a few crumbs off the top of my breast. “It does have one advantage.”
His touch sent my nipple into an insta-hard state. He didn’t fail to notice. He grinned and took a big bite of his cookie, finishing it off.
Cocky male. Had to admit it looked good on him. I nibbled on the last of my own cookie and enjoyed being watched.
“Seriously, I have wondered why you have all this food up here,” he said.
“It’s kind of stupid.”
“I won’t think you’re stupid. Tell me.”
“It’s because I don’t like walking to the kitchen by myself at night. It’s a long way and it’s kind of creepy at night. Like I said, it’s stupid.”
He looked at me with a serious expression. “It’s not stupid. You shouldn’t be afraid in your own home. What can I do to make it feel safe to you?”
“Nothing. I just need to get used to this big place.”
“I forget how new it is for you because you seem to take everything in stride. Is anything else bothering you?”
The first thing that sprung to mind was Gibson’s continued, odd night-time workouts, but I didn’t say it. “I can’t get used to other people washing my underwear.”