Bind

Most of my day has been wasted, lost in daydreams and utter unproductivity that weighs on me as I take in the evening sky. At least coffee tastes just as good in the dark, I muse, as I swirl the spoon in my mug and watch the steam dance across the metal as it rises. Nights like this were made for lounging and thinking about everything and nothing in cozy clothes and a nest of blankets on my bed. The floor to ceiling windows in my bedroom display a cascade of city lights twinkling across the horizon and streaking like fireflies when the rain catches them, dragging the glow down the glass in rivulets. My notebook lay open, untouched, pen still capped in my hand as I watch the raindrops.

Though I planned to spend my time catching up on work, getting ahead of some deadlines, the entrancing pattern of the raindrops racing down the window steal every productive thought before it can become anything and I've been lost to it (and my thoughts) for who knows how long when a litany of chimes from my phone startles me back to reality.

With an annoyed sigh, I lift the insistent device to find that all the messages are from the same person.

- Shit day.

- I'm too distracted.

- Fuck this, I'm coming over.

- See you in 20.

I smile to myself, annoyance giving way to a thrill of excitement more enticing than even my daydreaming. The swirl of restless thoughts coil and tighten in my head and drop straight to my belly, hot and waiting.

Wanting. Always wanting for him.

So I wait, but he doesn't keep me waiting the full 20 minutes.

It's maybe ten before the door to my bedroom is opening and he steps in, sharp suit and scowl from work still intact. But his expression softens when he spots me and I reach my arms out, beckoning him toward the cozy nest of blankets that conceal my mostly-nudity.

He crosses the room slowly, every step melting that scowl of his and restoring the cocky smirk I so love to see on his face. As he goes, he removes his jacket then his tie. The first he drops to the floor haphazardly, but the second he coils around his hand and tucks it into the pocket of his slacks.

"Hi baby," he says when he's in front of me, leaning down to kiss my forehead and the bridge of my nose softly.

"Hi," I return, eagerly reaching for his lips with mine but he pulls back. He rolls up his shirt sleeves and kicks off his shoes before joining me on the bed so I can finally reach him. My hands grasp his shoulders immediately, tugging him toward me until he's prowling over me and the press of his body against mine pushes us both back into the bed.

Finally, he's kissing me. His mouth is soft and sweet against mine, tender at first until I yield to him with a soft whimper against his lips, opening for him. He takes what I offer, the moments-ago sweetness of his kiss burning up in the fire of his want as he claims my mouth with his.

My hands find their way into his hair and I rake my fingers through the neatly combed strands until they are undone. I tug his hair, dragging my nails along his scalp until he growls something both primal and needy. His kiss is searing hot, possessive as it trails across my jaw to my neck. He marks me, nipping at my skin softly and murmuring praise as I writhe against him, silently pleading for more of the pleasure he gives with seemingly no effort.

Across the room, rain taps the windowpane in a rhythm that perfectly matches my pulse tapping against my throat. I can feel it there, but even if I couldn't, the way he's eyeing the tender spot tells me it's racing.

Oh, how my pulse races for him, especially as he moves away from me and leans back onto his knees. He kneels between my thighs, gesturing for me to remove the thin t-shirt that covers me. When it's gone, I lay before him wearing just my panties and a shy smile. His eyes darken with desire as he takes in every curve of my body and every shadow on my skin. He drinks me in like I am something to be savored and I can feel the rush of his desire almost as strongly as the anticipation that courses through me when he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the tie.

I gasp, a desperate sound that has him grinning down at me as he backs off the bed and gets to his feet once more.

He inclines his head toward the window, and I don't miss the shift in his posture as his shoulders go back and his soft tone drops into something low and commanding, "Stand there."

I do as I'm told, padding barefoot across the room. I slow when feel his eyes on me, on the sway of my hips and the curve of my ass until I'm standing in front of the window and looking out at the city lights. He closes the distance between us, pausing briefly to reach for something from his coat pocket on the way before I feel the heat of him against my back.

"Good girl," he praises, warm palms resting on the curve of my waist as I lean into his chest. He traces patterns in my skin and trails kisses across my temple, easy and affectionate as we watch the lights and rain paint magic on the windowpanes.

Until I feel it. The teasing touch of his favorite rope, just so across the middle of my back as he pushes my hair to the side and kisses my neck. He teases the length of the rope over each place that he kisses, soft brushes of it against my skin.

"Are you ready, baby?" He whispers, lips against my ear and his breath blazing awareness across my skin with every word.

I whimper, and he retracts the rope and his touch except for his fingers beneath my chin, turning my face to his so he can look me in the eye.

"I need to hear you say it," he says, the patient need for my consent holding his lust and drive for possession in check.

"I'm ready," I tell him on a broken gasp, pressing my ass back against him, rolling my hips into the already-hard length of his cock when he wastes no time looping the rope across my chest, brushing it briefly over my nipples and the tops of my breasts as he brings it into place.

"Hold still," he murmurs into my shoulder, voice low and focused as he watches his work, hands expertly manipulating the length of rope across my body -over, under, twisting.

He's holding me against him, my bare back against his chest, my body bracketed between his arms as he works the fiber into intricate twists across my chest and arms that will hold me as he wants me. My back arches when he runs his fingers between my skin and the bindings he's creating, and goosebumps erupt in the wake of his touch. My skin is hypersensitive, aware of every move he makes. Wanting more. He tugs another twist from the rope and I whimper, squirming despite the warning he'd just given me.

He growls a second warning against my skin as he reaches for my wrists, holding them together in one hand as he shakes out the tie he's still holding and drapes it across them with the other.

"If you can't be still on your own," he chides me, nipping my collarbone before soothing the sharp sting with a kiss, "I'll help you."

With that, he steps in front of me, bringing his focus to securing my wrists, but not before he pauses to take in his rope handiwork and my nearly nude form, prone and captive for him. Once he's got me where he wants me, he steps back and grins, attention lingering on my bare breasts, the curve of my waist, my full thighs.

It takes all of my willpower to stay still and silent under his gaze. To hold back the needy sounds that are eager and ready in the back of my throat. After several moments, he nods, approving his work before he returns to me, arms looping around my waist and pulling me close to trail kisses across my throat, my jaw until finally his lips meet mine once more. I smile against him, arms lifting to go around his neck before I feel the limitation of the bindings that prevent me from doing so. Instead, I shift, pressing my chest into his, my hands pinned between us and my mouth against his, silently asking for more.

There is nothing sweet about this kiss. It is all heat and hedonism as he fucks my mouth and I relent to him, offering him everything in exchange for the pleasure he's giving me. I'm at his mercy like this and I want to please him.

I break our kiss, looking up at him with wild, wanting eyes as I drop to my knees in front of him. My bound chest and hands prevent me from reaching for the zipper of his slacks to free his cock and wrap my lips around it. Instead, I lean forward and press soft butterfly kisses to his fly, intermittently trying to catch the tab of the zipper between my teeth and drag it down.

"What are you after?," he asks, humor in his husky voice.

"You," I tell him, my eyes pleading as I part and lick my lips, our gazes locked when I gently bite at the tiny silver tab of his fly again and try to drag it down. It barely budges before it slips, and I let out a frustrated whine.

"What do you want from me?," he prompts again. He wants me to say it. His hand comes down to cover his zipper, fingers toying with the tab and trailing over the outline of his hard cock as he goes. My mouth waters.

"I want all of you," I say cheekily, but avert my eyes and add, "but I'd really like to taste your gorgeous cock. Please."

He nods his approval, releasing the metal tab and tugging his zipper down swiftly, the sound sending a buzz of anticipation straight through me. My mouth isn't the only thing getting wetter by the moment. When his slacks fall to the ground and I realize he's not wearing underwear, I waste no time diving toward him, head dipped and mouth open to take the head of his cock between my lips.

I take as much of him as I can down my throat, his hand steady on the back of my head as I try to breathe and swallow more of him until my eyes water and I pull back, my tongue dancing across his length as I go. When the rigid tip of my tongue swipes across his head, he pulls me to my feet abruptly.

"That's enough of that," his voice is hoarse, eyes dilated as he leans in to kiss me. I love that he isn't afraid to kiss me after his cock's been in my mouth. I can still feel the wet heat of my mouth on his skin where his cock is pinned between our bodies, pressed against my bare stomach. It's so fucking sexy. His hands roam my body, pinching and teasing in expertly balanced touches that have me moaning into his mouth, my back arching in a desperate plea for more as his mouth claims mine and my mind blanks of everything except for him. Us. His fingertips trace the intricate bindings across my chest, careful- too careful- to avoid my nipples, overly sensitive from the gentle constriction.

The want swells, pushing against my skin and my mind when he runs his palms up the flare of my waist and I'm ready to ask for more- for him to touch me- when he does it. His hands stop their slow torment, palms flat against my breasts as his fingers loop through the rope and tug it just a little tighter. I press myself into his hands, whimpering at the sudden onslaught of sensations.

He smiles, pleased with my reaction, but I can see his waning patience in the way his fingers flex against me and how his cock jumps with every gasp that slips from my lips. His cock that I want inside of me so much I can feel the aching absence of him between my thighs and I know I'm slick with the needy urgency of it.

He nips my neck as his hands release my breasts and immediately I feel that absence too. My body is screaming for him, desperate for the pleasure it knows he can provide. His hand trails down my stomach until he reaches the hem of my panties. He stops there, fingertips hovering over the dark lace. I roll my hips involuntarily, the movement slight and almost imperceptible, but it's enough to light his eyes with pride.

He can sense my desperation and he likes it.

I like it too.

His hand continues, lightly grazing the front of my panties until it rests between my thighs, over my pussy with just the thin lace between us. I know he can feel how hot I am, how wet and wanting and ready just on the other side of that thin barrier, but even still, he brings his gaze to mine once more and asks, "Are you wet for me? If I pull these panties to the side and touch you, what am I going to find?"

"I'm so wet. I want you. Please, sir."

I oblige his ask with no teasing, no games because I mean it with an intensity that borders on desperate.

He traces me over the material and I can feel my pussy respond, clenching as if I can pull his fingers inside of me with the sheer force of my desire. I close my eyes, tipping my chin down just slightly to try to reign in the heady rush of need.

"Good girl," he says finally as he pulls my panties to the side, the words as much as the action acting as a reward for my bold desire.

I suck in a sharp breath when his knuckles brush gently over my bare skin, his touch feeling cool against the heat of my need. He doesn't stop with the brush of skin though, and he does not tease. He moves swiftly in response to every sign my body offers him to communicate how ready I am. as he thrusts two fingers inside me, that breath becomes a gasp and I am breathless once more.

"I should have added some rope here," he says thoughtfully with a quick tap of his thumb against my clit. I whimper, and he grins. I can't be sure if the whimper is a response to his touch, the smooth thrust of his fingers fucking me, or the idea of a knot rope being added to this blissful tease.

"But there's no time for that now. We've already drawn this out quite long enough."

His words are punctuated by the removal of his fingers and his grip tight on my hips as he maneuvers my body, turning me until I am facing away from him and looking out the window once more. One hand travels up my spine, pushing gently until I follow the pressure and bend. I instinctively move to lift my arms and brace myself against the glass but the confinement holds me in place and I struggle right myself in this new position. His hand at my hip holds me steady until I find my balance and he nudges me forward until my bound breasts and flushed cheek are pressed against the glass to support me instead.

He runs his fingertips over the rope crisscrossing my shoulder blades, tugging just enough to shift the binding between my breast and the cool glass. As he does so, his other hand comes down across my ass in a single strike that takes me my surprise. The immediate sting that blooms there is deliciously contrasted with the cool of the window, the tug of the ropes and the sound that leaves my mouth in trying to process each is barely human. I'd beg, but I'm not sure I have the capacity for speech any longer.

His palm comes down on my ass again with a satisfying smack, "Mmm, you look so good with my marks across this ass."

With one more tug at the rope binding my breasts, eliciting another animal-whine from me, he slides his hand down my spine, down the crack of my ass and spreads me wide.

I turn my head a little, my motion limited between the pin of his grip and the glass, and try to catch a glimpse of what may be coming. I can hear the slick sound of skin on skin- him stroking his cock as he takes me in- and the rasp of my breathing. I can feel the race of my pulse so clearly I think I may be able to hear that too. But I cannot see enough to sort out what to expect so I wait. I hear him groan and close my eyes, another rush of heat that drops directly to my core and amplifies the nearly unbearable want I have for this man. I think there is little better than the sounds of his pleasure, but then I feel the press of his cock.

"Are you ready, my good girl? You have been so patient." His words are low, his restraint at odds with his desire just as mine is.

I nod fervently.

"Tell me."

"I'm ready.." I confirm, the words a whisper between lips that feel desert dry with desperation.

First, I feel him against my ass before he slides down over my slippery pussy, teasing me with slow even strokes over my lips without applying any pressure.

I want the pressure, though, and I push my hips back against him in a silent plea for more.

"Eager, are we?" He laughs, and I briefly think this may prolong the tease but before the thought has finished, he's pushing into me.

The head of his cock stretches me and my mouth forms a silent O, all the sound stripped from me with the sensation of finally, finally getting what I want. No, what I need. Want has long since passed what I'm feeling but it no longer matters as he pushes into me slowly, filling me until his hips come to rest against my tender ass.

He pauses there, his cock throbbing inside me, our bodies notched together in a calm that belies the rising ferocity we both crave.

The one he will soon deliver. One hand smooths my hair and strokes my cheek. The other grips my hip to steady me in preparation as he begins to make short, shallow thrusts. Just partial withdrawals as he decides what it is we both need. As he reads my body and his own desires and matches them in the effortless way only he can.

His hand in my hair twists, fist gripping as much of it as he can hold. He pulls out of me slowly, until we are nearly separate, before pushing forward once more. I am whimpering, moaning at the overload of sensation.

My breasts and face against the glass. The rope against my breasts. My arms bound to my sides, unable to touch or balance myself as I'm used to. The rope sliding against my back as it arches. His cock stretching me. His balls slapping against me. The lingering tenderness of his spankings as his hips meet my ass, over and over with building intensity. His hand in my hair, tugging my head back just enough.

The whimpers and moans begin to run together as he fucks me mercilessly, my body pinned between his and the window. I can feel my heartbeat in my clit even before he reaches down to toy with it. I can feel my body on overdrive at the pleasure of him, of this, of us.

"You cannot come. Not yet," he tells me with such force that my eyes widen. He's toying with my clit, overwhelming my body with pleasure and I want to come. I do not want to wait.

But he knows I will, and he begins to slow the piston of his hips as he leans down over me. He releases my hair and his palm is flat between my shoulder blades briefly before he curls his fingers, gripping the rope at its junction so that every tug on it tightens each binding.

His name is a moan on my lips as he pulls me up and back against him via the ropes. His other hand is at my ribcage, supporting me as he pushes forward, bringing me against his body while I'm still against the window. He moves inside me and against me until every thrust brings his lips to my ear. Some are met with a sprinkle of kisses and bites across my neck and shoulder, some just a growl of his need.

I feel the swell of his cock just as I open my mouth to tell him I'm close, and I know that he is too. But he pauses, buried in me in stillness just before the abyss, just long enough to whisper in my ear.

"Do you think anyone's watching us? Watching me fuck you ahainst this window? Watching me use you? Maybe they're cumming to your pretty pussy getting pounded... but I'm the only one cumming in it," he pauses for a sharp inhale, a battle for control as his growled questions push us both ever closer to the inevitable, "because you are mine. Now cum."

And I do, his words dissolving the last of my control with frightening speed as I fall to pieces on his cock. He slams into me once, twice, as my pussy clenches around him before he joins me in ecstasy and he explodes inside me. It's his turn to cry out my name as he leans into me, hips hammering into mine before stilling with his cock buried to the hilt as he cums. Every hot pulse of his orgasm further stakes the claim that his rope, his marks, his words sought to stake on me. A claim that I never question but am all too happy to be reminded of.