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The corners of his mouth stretched, forming a pinned line, his eyes glued to her hand. “I don’t deserve you.”

Did she forgive him for the drugs? Did she trust him with her safe word? She checked her heart, and it hid behind an even thump, the unhelpful thing.

She didn’t need trust or forgiveness for this. She pinched his nipple, twisted it between her fingers. “Shut up.”

The buck of his pelvis spurred her into motion. Up and down, she rotated her hips around his cock, pulling grunts from low in his throat. His hands shook where they clenched her waist and his thighs flexed beneath her.

“Jesus. Gonna make me come, Charlee. Slow down.”

How sublime it must be to climb to the precipice so easily. She was still circling the bottom of the steep, trying to find a way up. That was okay. This was for him. She gathered her hair on her head and held it there. Pulling in her stomach muscles, she rolled her hips, flowing over him in a liquid movement.

“Beautiful.”

The gruffness in his voice aroused the hairs on her nape. She kept her mop pinned on her head and rocked faster, closing her eyes and memorizing every stroke along her inner walls.

“Feels so good. I can’t…I can’t—” He bent at the waist, arm around her back, and flipped her. Following her down, he thrust his hips and filled her again.

His mouth fell over hers, open and sweeping, parting her lips and tongue nudging inside. His licked lazily, but the exploration consumed her. He tasted clean and human and something else she couldn’t name, but it attached to her recognition of him. A flavor that didn’t belong to anything or anyone. It was wholly Jay.

He drew in and out of her pussy, setting a plateauing pace. Neither building nor slowing. His hands roamed her body with the same deliberation. He seemed to be simply enjoying. Legs entwined, they moved as one. Their bodies rose and fell together, breaths giving and receiving.

Her thoughts flickered to the prior night, the nylon cinctures, the heat of the pole, and the stretch of the plug. She caressed the muscles playing over her, envisioned how much pain they could bear if he chose to unleash his strength. A needy shudder unfurled through her limbs.

She raised her chin and found him watching her from inches away. His hips ground into her, harder and less-controlled with each rotation. Lips parted, eyes dilated, his inhales deepened. “Come with me.”

If only. She let that hope disintegrate before it could grip her.

His hand shot up and squeezed her throat, not hurting, but digging in enough to paralyze her breath and cut her voice. His gaze bore into hers, his expression unreadable, but there were no signs of teasing. The pressure on her jugular was serious. Did he know what he was doing? If he pressed too hard, too long, he could choke her.

A different kind of pressure coiled through her pussy and exploded without warning. Full-body shocks rippled off her, loosening every last knot. The stroke of his cock bumped the pulsating spot inside her, over and over, drawing out her release. Her muscles seemed to melt into the bed, her exhales vibrated with her moans, and the heated look in his penetrating eyes carried her away.

Twitches skated along her body, and her breathing calmed, even as his hips continued to flex and his fingers pressed against her throat. His rhythm sputtered and his muscles went taut.

Buried inside her, his body rigid and eyelids pinched, he groaned through a gaping mouth. If he thought she was beautiful, he should look in the mirror while he came. Suffocating under the clamp of his hand, she could die this way, watching him. What a way to go.

“Breathe, Charlee.”

She couldn’t. His fingers were still pressing against her throat. She yanked on his arm, and it wouldn’t budge. A dizzying cloud weighted her movements.

“Focus on how loose my fingers are and take a breath.” His eyebrows slammed together. “Now.”

Why wouldn’t he release her? Lungs burning, she sucked in a gulp of air. Another and another. The fog in her head thinned and scattered. She moved her hands up his arm, felt his fingers locked around her neck. No pain. Just a heady feeling of restraint. “You’re not hurting me.” Holy shit. How did he do that? He fucked her, brought to orgasm, but where was the pain? Her chest swelled with adoration. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“No. And I never constricted you harder than this.” His grip fell away and the sudden loss of it shriveled her with insecurity, no longer protected under the detainment of his hand.

Before she could dwell on how fucked up that logic was, he rolled them, flattening her body over his with a hand sliding down her spine. “You okay?”

She dropped her cheek on his chest and let the strong beat of his heart fortify her. “I don’t know. How did you do that? There was no pain…and I came…and why couldn’t I breathe?”

He stroked her hair and spread the layers across her back. “You were breathing just fine right up until you climaxed. Then you locked up.” He tapped her temple.

Did he think it was all in her head? He’d tricked her, dammit. How had she not perceived what was real and not real? Heart hammering, she let her hair slide forward and curtain her face.

“Charlee, look at me.”

She did, and he stared back from beneath dark brows. “I don’t think it’s the pain that gets you off. It’s the anticipation…the fear of it.”

Her rebuttal scrambled to the tip of her tongue and hung there. Wasn’t that how she found release during masturbation? She would think about depraved acts, anticipate them, and yes, fear them. “And you learned this in one night?”