Kian pulls at his restrained hand, and I notice the slat he’s cuffed to begin to give way.
“Fuck,” he moans as I pick up the pace.
And then I hear the crunch of splintering wood, and Kian’s hand is free. The cuff hangs off his wrist, still attached to the jagged plank of light wood, but he doesn’t even seem to notice.
He stands up, keeping my legs wrapped around his waist as he carries me to the patio table only a foot away. He places me down on the edge, keeping his hand firmly on my thighs.
He’s only half inside me, but the moment I’m lying flat on the slightly gritty patio table, he slams back all the way in—hard.
I feel the surge of fear, unsettled by how easily he was able to overpower me. But there’s also something incredibly sexy about the way he had ripped free of his restraint. Pure power and lust and dominance.
He fucks me so hard that all I can hear is the animalistic sound of flesh meeting flesh. The slap, slap, slap of skin on skin. Then, with both hands, he grabs my breasts, squeezing them gently as he bears down on me with so much force that it shocks another orgasm loose.
At first, I’m not sure what’s happening. I wonder if he’s broken me.
But then I realize, the sensation flooding my body isn’t unpleasant. In fact, it feels… out of control, in a way that I actually welcome. There’s a certain amount of fear, but I can overlook that in light of what I’m feeling. I want to grip something, but I can’t seem to steer my hands. I end up clawing at the table I’m lying on, tearing up chunks of the soft wood as I moan like I’m possessed.
Kian doesn’t stop fucking me, not even for a second. He keeps going, more machine than man.
His expression is both terrifying and titillating, and all it takes is one look at him to wrench yet another orgasm from me. One that’s more violent, more out of control than the last.
When I come, so does he. Long, savage thrusts, burying himself all the way inside me.
Only then does his body start to slow, a sheen of sweat glimmering over his taut skin. He pumps into me a few more times before he stops altogether.
A drop of sweat travels from his neck, down to his chest. It moves slowly and I can’t seem to take my eyes off it. With Kian still inside me, I sit up and lean in. Then I lick the sweat right off his chest.
When I look up at him, he’s staring down at me intently. The hunger in his eyes has ebbed somewhat, but the desire is still there, burning hot.
He slips out of me a moment later. I feel a sense of loss at the absence of him between my legs. I’m sore, but it’s the kind of soreness that’s satisfying.
Kian buttons up his pants but ignores his open shirt as he walks back into his office. When he returns, the cuffs are gone and he’s holding two glasses filled with a murky brown liquid.
He hands me one of them. I sniff it cautiously. “Whiskey?”
“Irish whiskey. The best in the world,” he tells me. “Take small sips.”
I do. The first note is dark and dusky, but the bitterness ebbs after a moment and there’s a salty-sweetness just underneath.
Kian sits back down on the chair, the same one I’d cuffed him to. Then he gestures for me to join him. It’s an intimate gesture, but I’m not scared off by it.
I get off the table and reach for my clothes. “No,” he says gruffly. “Leave them.”
“I’m naked.”
“That’s how I like you,” he says.
It’s not a compliment or a tease or anything like that. Just a fact. Cold, hard, dark. It makes me shiver with a feeling I can’t name.
“Now come here.”
I’m about to argue, but one corner of his mouth twitches up like he knows exactly what I’m going to do. Sighing, I shrug my shoulders and climb onto his lap. My back settles against his arm and part of his chest and I rest my head against his shoulder.
He smells of whiskey, sweat, and… me. It’s a fucking intoxicating combination.
Both our faces are craned up towards the sky. I’d thought it was about to rain, but I notice that the dark clouds have moved on. The swirling vortex of rain has retreated into the far distance, somewhere above the ocean.
“I’ve never really been outside of the city before,” I murmur.