It started with silence.
The kind of silence that isn’t empty — but full. Full of anticipation. Of not knowing.
The earplugs dulled everything. No breath, no footsteps. Just the thud of my own heart. My skin prickled with it — the stillness, the waiting. I was blindfolded too, lying on my front across the bed. Naked. Exposed. The world had narrowed down to darkness, and that slow, growing tension in my stomach.
I didn’t know when he would come. I just knew he would.
I’d agreed to this — of course I had. That was what made it safe. But lying there in the thick, warm dark, stripped of sight and sound, I could no longer hear my own certainty. Only feel. Only sense. Only wait.
Then it happened.
The weight of the air changed.
A presence.
I couldn’t hear him. But I knew.
A shift in pressure, the tiniest brush of a movement against the duvet, something primal deep in my chest flaring awake: he’s here.
My breath caught. My body stiffened.
And then I felt it — him.
A hand, heavy and certain, pressed flat between my shoulder blades. Holding me in place. Not hard. But hard enough to tell me who was in control.
I inhaled, sharp and silent, my pulse loud in my ears. I tried to move, a subtle test — but he didn’t let me. The hand tightened. A low growl of authority I could feel rather than hear.
Then another hand — lower. Smoothing across my hip, down the back of my thigh, slow and deliberate. Possessive.
I whimpered.
He didn’t speak. Couldn’t — I wouldn’t have heard it. But he didn’t need to. Every inch of him radiated command. His breath ghosted across my back. His fingers trailed up the inside of my thigh. And I spread my legs, because I had to.
He didn’t rush. He teased.
His fingers skimmed over me, barely touching, then withdrawing. Over and over. Making me ache. I tried to lift my hips — but the pressure on my back held me down.
I wasn’t in charge here.
His fingers finally slid into my wetness — slow, curling, stretching. A moan escaped my lips, too loud in the void of silence I was wrapped in. I reached out instinctively, grasping at air, trying to ground myself — but there was only the bed, the sheets, and his hands.
He added another finger, working me open, making me squirm. And just as I was close — so close — he stopped.
The emptiness made me cry out, frustrated and aching. I turned my head against the pillow, blind and helpless, trying to beg without words.
He shifted. Moved behind me.
I felt the tip of his cock at my entrance, thick and hard and barely there. He slid it through my folds — up, down, pausing to tap against my clit — not entering. Just teasing. Cruel. Beautiful.
Then, with one slow push, he breached me.
I gasped. My whole body lit up. My fingers clenched in the sheets. He didn’t ease in gently — he knew I could take it. He bottomed out in one firm thrust and held still, buried deep.
Pinned.
Claimed.
Taken.
He began to fuck me with deep, rhythmic strokes, one hand tight on my hip, the other in my hair. Pulling. Possessing. My breath broke into ragged gasps, each thrust sending heat rocketing through me. The silence made every sensation louder — the slap of skin, the drag of his cock, the way my body clenched around him like it never wanted to let go.
Then he leaned in, chest against my back, teeth grazing my shoulder.
I felt it. The growl.
Not heard — felt. A deep vibration through his chest, pressed into mine. I arched beneath him, desperate, needy, lost.
He pulled back and drove into me harder. Deeper.
I couldn’t see him. Couldn’t hear him. But I could feel everything. His need. His focus. The way he owned me in that moment. His cock thrusting deep, again and again, until my legs trembled and my breath sobbed out in moans.
He reached between my thighs, found my clit with skilled fingers, and rubbed me just right.
It was too much.
Too deep. Too intense.
Too perfect.
I came with a broken cry, loud and helpless, my body shuddering violently beneath him. He held me through it, never stopping, fucking me through every tremor.
When he came, it was with a growl against my neck — one I felt more than anything. His body tensed. He thrust deep and stayed there, pulsing inside me, breathing ragged and hot against my skin.
We stayed like that — tangled, raw, breathless.
Eventually, I felt him kiss my shoulder.
Gentle.
Tender.
The blindfold slipped away first. Then the earplugs. The world came rushing back — sound, light, his voice murmuring soft words I couldn’t quite catch, but didn’t need to.
Because I was held. Safe. Owned.
And I would let him do it again.
Any time he wanted. |