Kiss the Sky

Images of him on me, in me, breeze through my brain in a wonderful, toxic mess. And I swallow hard as I realize what I want. “Can you be rough with me?” Without the alcohol, I’m not sure I would have had the balls to ask, despite gaining more courage in bed these past couple of months.

He places the strawberries on the mattress, moving casually, easily, contentedly. The uncertai

He lifts me and throws me further onto the bed, the air rushing out of my lungs. He climbs on before I can orient myself, and he spins me so my stomach is flat against the mattress. “We’re going to play a game…” He digs his pelvis into my ass before he strips me crudely with two hands, tossing my dress aside. The cold nips my bare skin, and he snaps my bra off but leaves my blue cotton panties on.

“What game?” I ask breathlessly.

I turn my head a little and watch him unbutton his shirt and shrug off the fabric. He unbuckles his belt, and the spot between my legs aches for him. I stifle a moan and try to sit, but he puts a hand on my back, forcing my breasts to the quilt.

The only way I can watch him is by pressing my cheek to the mattress. He allows me this at least. He takes off his slacks, only in his navy boxer-briefs. He’s incredibly hard, and as he lowers his underwear, his cock springs out, ready to enter me.

But he’s already made it clear that’s not what he plans to do tonight.

I can’t stop staring at the size of him. “I know you’re going to be able to fit,” I say. “I’m not an idiot, but when you do, I think it’s going to hurt…a lot.”

“Most likely,” he tells me, not denying it. He kneels on the bed and leans me on my side, my bottom facing him. He gathers my wrists and ties them behind my back with his belt.

My lips part as soon as the leather digs into my skin, the buckle cold against my wrist. I close my eyes as the sensations ripple through my middle and settle in tortured places.

His lips find my ear. “Are you scared of being sore?”

I shake my head once. I could beg for that force right now, but the words are lost inside my tangled mind.

He yanks my panties up, hard, the fabric digging into my heat.

“Co

He groans, and lets out a deep, husky breath. “I can’t wait to fit inside of you.” He kisses the small of my back and exposes my ass without taking off my panties, his lips sucking on my tender cheek. “Hard. Rough. Wet, volatile sex, with no letting up.”

“Who will concede first, you or me?” I ask him.

He bites my ass, and I press my forehead to the mattress. Ahh. A sharp breath catches, and I let out a high-pitched cry.

“We’ll come together,” he tells me. “Always.” Then he opens the fruit carton. With my cheek back on the quilt and in his mercy, he has control of what I see. All of a sudden, the flesh of a strawberry is against my lips.

“Open wide. Don’t eat it. Treat the fruit like my cock,” he says. “You bite down too hard, and you’re going to be spanked hard. Understand?”

“I’m not an idiot,” I remind him.

“You’re drunk, darling. I’m just making sure you’re coherent. Otherwise, this ends.”

“No, I’m here,” I say forcefully. “You’re not leaving me.”

He leans forward and kisses me roughly, hungrily on the lips, his tongue nearly choking me with the pressure. I clench my legs as I throb for more of this and him. He peels away abruptly and says, “I give the fucking orders.” And then he spanks me.

Hard.

I grit my teeth, my face heated, but the spot between my legs reacts much differently. I ache for him to slap me there. God yes. My insecurities about him leaving, not loving me completely, become shelved in the back of my head. And I concentrate only on how this feels. I leave my mind behind, something that I can only do when I am riding a boozy wave.

He slides the strawberry in my mouth, the green end sticking from my lips, and I rest the fruit on my tongue, careful to not dig my teeth into it.

Co

His fingers dip into the wet, dying spot, nudging my panties to the side.

And I spasm at the sudden touch. I taste the sweet strawberry before I realize I’ve bitten it clean in half. I chew and swallow. Maybe he won’t notice. Yeah fucking right, Rose. His IQ is higher than yours by one percent.

His hand whips my ass, and I gasp, then wince, and glare. “That fucking…hurt,” I retort slowly. But as soon as I say it, his fingers return to the needy spot, and he rubs my clit. Ohhh…I melt instantly, and I think I whimper into the mattress. I don’t know what else to call that foreign sound.

“You’re too drunk to have my cock in your mouth,” he says.

I scoff at that declaration, but the aftertaste of sweet strawberry says he’s right and I’m very much wrong. But even drunk, I can’t surrender so easily. “I am not.”

He suddenly sits me up by pulling at my tied wrists, but my spine still faces him. I feel him shift on his knees, the bed rocking with his weight, and his hard cock poking at my back. “Co

“How do you feel?” he asks. “Besides dizzy from the alcohol.” He clenches a chunk of my hair and pulls so my chin juts upward and I can see his eyes as he stares down.

“I feel…” I blink a couple times as I try to form the words. I lick my lips and say, “Like I want you to do anything to me.” Just uttering the words shallows my breath.

He stares at me with a hard, possessive gaze, and his arm extends over my shoulder, and his fingers fit back inside me again. But he doesn’t move.

“Elaborate.”

“I…need you…to move.”

He takes out his hand quickly, and he forces me on my knees. The blood rushes to my head, and he spanks me again, the sting more numbed by the booze than before. He must notice because I don’t whimper or moan or flinch forward.

He sighs in frustration and starts untying my wrists.

“Wait, no,” I say. “Stop.”

“Just months ago, you were telling me to stop from touching you. Now you want me to keep on doing so, and I’m still not going to comply with your order, Rose.” He tosses the belt aside and turns me onto my back, my head relaxing into a pillow. “You know why?” he asks, his hands on either side of my shoulders as he hovers over me.

“Because you’re an asshole,” I snap.

He pinches my cheeks with one hand. “Because you’re wrong. I won’t fuck your mouth, your pussy or your ass when you’re drunk. I’ll fuck you when you’re sober.” He kisses me roughly on the lips before saying once more, “Elaborate.”

On what I feel.

I stare into his deep blue eyes. Lost in the power inside them. And I take his hand for a second, and I fit it between my legs, his gaze never breaking from mine. “This is yours,” I tell him. “That’s what I feel.”

I’ve never wanted a man to toss me around how they want, how they like, using me to their desires so much before. And in this moment, I realize it doesn’t matter what I believe outside the bedroom. In life I can be powerful, but here, I can trust him to fill me with his power, his strength. That has to be okay. Because beyond all thoughts, all logic, it’s what makes me feel so fucking good.

His lips rise. “Ca vous a pris pas mal de temps.” It took you long enough.