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“You look high as a kite.” He chuckles.

“I feel it. Can I do that again?”

“Later,” he promises. “Do you need to be fucked?”

I nod, long, slow movements that feel strange, like my head isn’t quite attached to my body.

“Ask me,” he orders.

“Will you fuck me? Please.”

Blinking, he grabs my hand and hauls me up the stairs to his bedroom.

“I thought you wanted to bend me over the dining table?” I ask, breathless and excited.

“Another time. I can’t fuck you the way you need to be fucked downstairs.”

I’m naked, my stomach already sticky with precum, but he doesn’t seem to care as he pushes me down onto the bed, keeping his hand on my chest to hold me in place. Leaning over me, he licks a path down my stomach, then parts his lips and takes my dick all the way to the back of his throat, then swallows.

I come. It happens so fast I don’t even have a chance to try to stop it, but Anders doesn’t seem to care, eagerly sucking down every drop as he works his fingers along my crease until he finds my hole.

This will only be the third time we’ve had sex, but already the fearful and unknown caution has faded to excited anticipation. I want this. I want the sensation of being full of him. I want to feel his huge body crowding over me. I want his lips on mine. I want his cock inside of me. I want to be owned.

Feeling like property shouldn’t be appealing to me. My entire childhood I always felt like a thing rather than a person. I was a belonging to be moved from place to place when I became inconvenient or obsolete.

When I aged out, I was excited to be free, to make my own choices and direct my own life. Yet here I am, willing…no, eager to hand over control to another. To let him set the course while I’m simply a willing passenger.

Truthfully, I don’t really know why his control is so appealing to me, but it is. He cares for me. He wants me. He needs me; probably more than I need him and that’s intoxicating. Because I don’t think I’ve ever been needed before.

My many foster families needed the money that came with providing me with the basics and a home in the very loosest sense. But they didn’t need me—Henry Clayden.

But Anders does.

This big, strong, dominant man needs me. He needs me to allow him to exert control over me. He needs me to allow him to use my body. He needs me to gift myself to him. And although I’m confident he could fulfill his needs with someone else, he doesn’t want them. He wants me.He needs me.

Slippery fingers push inside me, and my vision blurs as pleasure, hot and intense starts to buzz through my veins like it’s been injected straight into my blood. His touch is never gentle, but it’s tempered, careful, like taking care of me and making sure I’m okay is more important than our raging need.

Every quiet, sweet, faceless fantasy I envisioned before Anders barged his way into my life feels like a silent black-and-white movie in comparison with Anders’s high-definition multicolored fantasia.

I feel my body start to open beneath his ministrations, his fingers grazing my prostate as he toys with my ass, stretching me and preparing me for his dick. Shards of ecstasy start to build, drawn to each other until a need to come starts to pulse low in my stomach, threatening to make me explode again, before Anders is even inside of me.

Despite his rule that I ask his permission to orgasm, he doesn’t seem to care how little control I have or how often I end up coating us both in my cum when we’re together like this. Truthfully, I think he likes that he gets me so excited he barely has to touch me to make me explode.

I could tell him a thousand times that I don’t want him, but my body is incapable of deceit, and my hair trigger would prove me a liar every single time.

“I’m going to come,” I groan, lifting my butt off the bed. Pushing his fingers deeper into me, I writhe against the sheet, searching for the position that’ll make him massage my prostate and make me lose my mind.

“No, you’re not,” he snarls, slipping his fingers from inside of me and wrapping them tightly around the base of my dick, immediately stifling my urgent need to come.

“No,” I whine.

“Jesus, Kitten. Look at you, a sticky, needy mess.”

“Fuck me. God, Anders, I need you.”

I know I’ve said exactly the right thing when he rips his clothes off, throwing them to the floor, then flips our position until he’s lying on his back with his fist wrapped tightly around his hard cock. “Climb on. I want to watch you ride my dick.”

Freezing, I lift my gaze from his dick to his face, pulling my lower lip into my mouth with my teeth. “I…” My voice dissolves to silence as I struggle to admit what he already knows. That I’ve never done this before.