Blood Noir - Laurell K. Hamilton [11]
He swirled his hair over one shoulder the way you’d sweep a cape to one side. He bared the line of his body and lowered himself toward me. He didn’t put on a condom. I was on the pill, but I still made most of the men in bed use condoms. Micah was fixed, so there was no need. But lately, with Nathaniel, we’d just stopped using them. I’d had sex on just the pill for years with no problems, but still…But I could feel the difference between condom and no condom, and I knew that Nathaniel could.
There was something about being tied down while he slipped inside me with no protection that added to the illusion. BDSM was like stripping. Stripping was about the illusion that the customer could have the dancers for real sex. BDSM was about the illusion that you would truly hurt the person, that you would truly do exactly what the game pretended.
He plunged himself as deep inside me as he could get, then he hesitated. I caught movement from the corner of my eye. Jason was leaning in the doorway. The condom was gone, so he’d cleaned up.
Nathaniel started to do what he’d said, he started fucking me. Almost immediately, small sounds of pleasure fell from my lips. But I managed to gasp out, “You waited for Jason?”
“Yes,” he said, and drove himself in and out of me. He knew where the spot was inside me, from almost every position we’d tried. Tonight was no different. He drove himself over that spot close to the entrance, but he also hit that spot deep inside me, because he knew I’d go from both.
The orgasm from the G-spot grew, a slow, powerful build, but the orgasm from the cervix being hit didn’t grow, it was just suddenly there. One minute I was riding the rhythm of his body, the next I was screaming, pulling at the chains hard enough to rattle them. I wanted to touch his skin, wanted to mark my pleasure down his body.
When my body quieted, Nathaniel drew back, so that he no longer hit deep inside me. He played himself over and over in shallow strokes on that other spot. He was in a position similar to the one Jason had taken, but with even less of him touching me, not much more than the tip of him caressing over and over on that sweet spot.
Jason was beside the bed now, leaning on the lower bedpost. He watched us, and I caught Nathaniel looking at him. Nathaniel liked an audience.
He turned his attention back to me, and I watched him fight his body, to keep that shallow rhythm. I watched down the line of his body, watched his stomach, his groin, his hips, all working in that athletic line, that muscular control. And all the while, the orgasm grew like some pressing weight, some building energy between my legs. Then between one stroke and the next, the orgasm spilled up, over, through, and I shrieked my pleasure to the ceiling. Head back, eyes closed, back arching, and screaming.
I pulled on the restraints at my wrist and they added to the pleasure, they made me scream louder. I don’t know why, I couldn’t have explained it, but I liked being held down. I just did. Sex isn’t about logic; it’s about what feels right.
Nathaniel waited until my body had quieted before he plunged back inside me as far and as hard as he could. He fucked me until he brought me one last time, and then, and only then, did he let himself go. He shuddered above me, inside me, and I felt his release, and that made me cry out all over again.
He leaned over me, a dew of sweat decorating his chest, a smile spread across his face. He said in a breathless voice, “I love you, Anita.”
“Nathaniel, I love