To feel closer to him.
“Don’t give a fuck,” he rasps, tugging my nipple harder.
“I —”
He comes closer then. “I brought my belt.”
My eyes go wide at that. My breaths falter.
“Your b-black leather belt?”
“Yeah.”
“To tie me up?”
His response is a clench of his jaw and I know.
That yes, that’s why he’s brought it.
I swallow.
He’s talked about it before, of course. Multiple times. Mostly playfully, sometimes with serious intent. But he never did. Because I guess he knew how much I liked touching him.
Scratching him.
Not to mention, how much he liked that as well.
He still knows that. He still loves that.
Just because we fought yesterday and ended things doesn’t mean he forgot.
But does he really think that this would change my mind?
That this would defeat me.
Disappoint me?
“Okay,” I whisper. “I trust you.”
He hates that.
My easy acquiescence.
But tough luck. I don’t care. I do trust him. I do believe in him and if he doesn’t like that, he can suck it. So before he can say anything else, I go in for a kiss.
And then we start it all over again.
Kissing, biting, devouring, going crazy over each other.
Going sick and obsessed.
Like we’ve been for the past six years.
At last, he lays me down on the bed and goes up on his knees between my open thighs. He takes his belt off with slow, deliberate movements as if giving me time to back out. Giving me time to say no.
But all I do is watch him.
With bated breath.