The Widower [Mature]

Epilogue

Time stops for no one. Lost in the stress of life changes and new arrangements, I found solace in the one place I could always let my stress go: Augustine's arms.

Our free afternoon ended the way they always did, with us wrapped up in each other. Naked and cuffed, I rode him, sliding myself up and down his length in our lotus position, overtaken by the stimulation of peering into his eyes while he held me at the edge of my orgasm. He was still fully dressed, his pants only down enough to give me what I needed. His fingers tugged the chain hanging between the clamps on my nipples then traced up the center of my chest to my neck. Desire crackled within me.

"I want it," I begged.

"Do you?" he teased.

"Yes."

"How badly?"

"Very."

He lifted me and dropped me onto my back, edging me again, but I stayed high knowing I would get what I asked.

He unfastened my wrists. "I want your hand and eyes at all times," he instructed. My hand ran down his hard chest and stomach, my attention stayed trained on the muscles of his lower core flexing as he moved inside me. His hand smacked my cheek. I looked at him. "Eyes. Don't give me a reason to leave you unsatisfied."

His hand wrapped around my throat and pushed up on the base of my jaw, choking me. I gripped his wrist the way I had shown him; the pressure would only exist as long as I had the strength to make it stay. He fucked me hard, his deliberate pace pushing me closer to the edge with every crash of his hips. The edge of fear heightened my lust. My eyes rolled with pleasure. When the pressure of his hand loosened, I clawed at his forearm, pleading for him to give me just a few more seconds.

He did so, staring down at me until my eyes watered and my lungs burned. I dropped my hand, and he released me.

My breath came in a rush, and with it, the pleasure. I wanted to touch myself, wanted to end my torture and push myself over the edge, but when I tried to reach down, he pinned my wrist to the bed. He was in control. Just the way I wanted.

When my cries returned to panting, his hand slid down my face and gripped my throat again. My eyes snapped to his and my hand returned to his wrist. There, I saw the fire in his gaze. He saw only me, submitting to any and every desire he could want. The power he had over me made me melt around him. A smile curved my lips.

His other hand came down against my neck, choking me completely. I lost my smile to the pleasure that flooded through me, his face twisted in ecstasy, his mouth dropping open with a moan. He fucked me harder, nailing me to the mattress. The pressure built. A tear slid down the side of my face.

I felt helpless in the best possible way. His cock stroked every sensitive place inside me, his desperate groans of desire filling my ears as he hardened. I was right there, and I didn't want to leave.

My strength left me. He let me go and with a breath, we both exploded. My knees snapped together, his fingers clawed hard against my skin. My sex gripped and released him so hard, my vision went out. He gripped me tightly and he returned to his punishing pace, his heat filling me, then spilling from me with every thrust. Still shaking, my legs fell open, I stared down, watching his speed taper as he stroked out the last of his orgasm.

Finally, he slipped from me and wiped the rest of the residue onto my thigh. He stood up with a sigh and tucked himself back into his pants like he had done nothing but use the restroom. He combed his fingers through his hair and then checked his watch, still catching his breath. I loved it when he used me like a toy.

He went into the bathroom. I realized I was shivering. A mix of cold air against my skin and the adrenaline leaving my veins. When he came back, he cleaned me, removed the clamps, then lifted my hands to remove the cuffs. He noticed my shaking.