Page 297 of Disarm
I force myself to exhale, and my head is swimming. The vulnerability of this position, being tied down, open, him in the mask could tip either way in my body. It doesn’t. It settles into a deep, hot ache.
“Green,” I say. “I trust you.”
The first finger slides in slowly, a stretching burn that’s more memory than pain. My hips jerk, but he holds me steady with his other hand on my thigh. He waits, breathing with me, letting my muscles unclench.
“Fuck,” I groan. “Forgot how that feels.”
“In a bad way?” he asks, voice tight.
“In a ‘holy shit, yes’ way,” I say. “Keep going,hermoso.”
So he does, easing his finger in and out in short, gentle strokes, then adds a second when I’ve gone from stiff to pushing back. The stretch makes me hiss through my teeth, head tipping back against the pillow, rope digging pleasantly into my wrists.
“Breathe,” he reminds me. “In four, hold, then out six.”
I actually listen, and it helps. The burn shifts into something fuller, deeper, my whole body relaxing around him.
He curves his fingers deliberately and I swear my vision snaps white at the edges.
“Jesus fuck,” I gasp. “Okay, yeah, I remember that one.”
Caleb laughs, breathless. “Good,” he says. “Wanted to make sure the wiring still works.”
He keeps it up, patient and relentless. Two fingers become three, each addition preceded by a check-in, by a wait for my nod or my “green.” By the time he withdraws, my whole lower half is buzzing, thighs trembling. My dick is a throbbing, neglected weight against my stomach.
“If you leave me like this and go to sleep, I’m breaking up with you,” I pant.
Rolling his eyes in that bratty way of his. “Rude,” he smirks. “Totally warranted. But rude.”
“Baby,” I whimper, and that draws his gaze to mine. “Take the mask off and fuck me. I need you.”
“Fuck… that is so hot hearing you say that.” Ripping the mask over his head and tossing it to the floor.
He slicks himself up with a quick, practiced hand, face scrunching a little at the sensation, a soft noise punching out of him. I watch, eyes glued to the way his fingers coat himself, the way his dick jumps when he brushes the head. Then he shifts my hips again, one hand gripping my thigh open and the other guiding himself.
Eyes on mine, he pauses at my entrance.
“Color?” he says, voice barely more than a shaky breath.
Not only am I vulnerable to him in this position, but he is to me. And honestly, there is nothing more beautiful.
“Green,” I say, and my voice doesn’t even shake. “Come on, baby. Take what you want.”
Caleb exhales shakily. “Okay,” he whispers. “Okay.”
Sinking in slowly, inch by inch. The stretch is intense, even with all the prep—borderline too much, then not, then just… full. My breath punches out of me. Rope creaks softly as my fingers reflexively curl, uselessly, against it.
Watching my face like it’s a road map, stopping when I wince, waiting as my body adjusts, rocking the tiniest amounts to ease the burn.
When he bottoms out, we both groan.
“Fuck.”
“Oh, God.”
“More?” He asks, voice strangled.
“Holy shit,” I say, the words coming out hoarse. “More… fuck… I need more.”
