He Made Me Beg

He left me one way out. I took it...

He’d been at it for an hour, maybe longer. I’d stopped tracking time the way you stop tracking anything when a man has been working you open with the patience of someone who has nowhere else to be. He’d had his fingers inside me for so long my body had stopped resisting and started reaching for him, hips lifting off the mattress every time he slowed, my clit so swollen and aching that the lightest brush of his thumb had me whimpering into the pillow. I’d have let him do anything to me just to be allowed to finish.

He knew exactly what he was doing, and he was doing it on purpose.

Every time I got close he slowed down, watching me with the focus of a man who had decided, sometime before I’d even taken my clothes off, that he was going to wreck me. When I tried to move he pinned my hips back to the mattress, telling me without a word that I wasn’t going anywhere until he decided I was. He wanted me to ask for it because he knew I’d never asked for anything in my life.

The woman in me who’d spent years being in charge of the fucking room was already gone. What was left of me was soaked into the sheets beneath us, legs falling open every time he so much as breathed against me. He could see all of it and he wasn’t looking away. I was so far gone I would have begged him to fuck my throat just to feel him somewhere, anywhere, and the look on his face said he knew it.

He dragged his mouth slowly down the side of my throat, kept his hand exactly where I needed it but unmoving, and murmured against my skin, “You can come on my fingers. You can come on my mouth. You can come on my cock. You can come with my hand around your throat. But not until you beg me. And not until you tell me which one you’ve been thinking about all night.”

I tried to take it back. I rolled my hips up into his hand, twisted my wrist out from under his, leaned up to kiss him the way I’d kissed men who’d loved me for never making them say what they wanted. I was going to undo him, make him forget the game he was playing, the way I’d done it a hundred times before with men who thought they knew what they were doing.

He pulled his fingers out of me, slow, every inch a small punishment, and held them up between us where I could see how wet I was. He pressed them to my lips and waited until I let him in. The taste of myself on his fingers was warm and sweet. He watched me take it as if he’d been waiting all night to feed it back to me.

His cock was hard against my hip, and he didn’t move a muscle to give me more. “You think you’re seducing me? You’re not. You’re showing me how badly you need to be fucked, and I’m letting you. The only way out of this bed is through your mouth. Use it, Katrina.”

I could have held out longer. I’d held out for years against worse than him, against men who’d tried harder and lost, and I knew how to wait a man out the way other women knew how to flirt. But I didn’t want to wait him out. I didn’t want to win this one. For the first time in my life, the woman in me who could have kept the upper hand wanted, very quietly, to put it down.

That was the part I hadn’t expected, the part that broke me, and it wasn’t his weight or his hand or the taste of myself still on my mouth. It was that I wanted him inside me more than I wanted to be the woman I’d been an hour ago, more than I wanted my pride or my silence or the careful self I’d built to keep men like him from getting this close.

I wanted his cock inside me, his hand around my throat, his weight on me when I finally said it. I wanted him to fuck the silence out of me until I’d asked for everything I’d ever been too proud to want, and I wanted him to make me say it again the next time, and the next.

“Please,” I moaned.

He held very still above me. “Please what?”

“Please put your cock in me. I want you so deep I can feel you in my throat. I want your hand around my throat when I come on you. I want you to fuck me until I can’t take it and not stop when I beg you to. I want you to come inside me and make me lie there with it. Please. Make me yours tonight, even if it’s only tonight.”

He looked at me for a long moment with something in his eyes I hadn’t seen there before, something almost reverent, and then he said quietly, “Good girl. That’s all I needed to hear.”

He kissed me before he moved, slow, the first real kiss of the night, and then he pushed into me as if he’d been promised this, as if I’d been promised to him before either of us had walked into the room. I made a sound I’d never made for anyone, and he didn’t stop when he heard it. He held my eyes and kept going, deeper, watching me come undone around him, watching the woman I’d been an hour ago die under him in real time.

I don’t remember falling asleep. I remember the weight of him still on me, his mouth at my temple, his hand loose around my throat, the wet of him still inside me running slow down the inside of my thigh, the feeling of being kept by a man who had no intention of giving me back the way he’d found me.

He never gave me back. I think he knew, before I did, that I had come to him to be kept.

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