Silence 35

I wake, kind of half way to orgasm, with Liam's hand in my pajama shorts, still reeling from a very strange dream. The curtains are closed, but the fact that he's home means it is two thirty in the morning, earliest, maybe more like three. I stretch my arms over my head, somehow not dislodging his hand in the process. Unasked for, sure, but it's definitely not the worst way to wake up. "You're home."

"You're awake." He doesn't break the careful rhythm he had going while I was asleep.

"What are you doing?"

The angle our bodies are making right now means I can't see his face, but I can imagine the smile he's wearing. "Waking you up in an amenable mood."

Mmm, gods around me, this is so good. "Okay."

"What, no protest?"

"I'm a little," Oh. That sort of vague itch that builds before orgasm climbs from my stomach to the base of my lungs, snatching the last word from me. Distracted. I was going to say distracted.

"I thought we should try something different."

"Different?" Is all I can get out around the sensation still building in my torso. I'm not sure this is a fair conversation, but I can't bring myself to pull away.

"We need a change. It'll be good for you."

Could he be more vague? But, "Okay. Mmm. Whatever you want."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Maybe a mistake, but it's one night, right? And who could be expected to make good decisions in my current position? I can tell I'm close, so close to climax, and I try to hold my breath to bring it faster, but he stops, resting his hand on my stomach. Shit. "What was that for?"

He presses down a little, fingers tacky with moisture against the slice of bare skin between my shorts and shirt. "Delayed gratification."

I groan a little, pulling the duvet away from my face. "Not right now."

He traces a curving line inside the waistband of my shorts with one finger, and the muscles in my stomach tighten. "We'll get there." And then, he pulls away from me altogether, taking the duvet with him. I'm suddenly cold, and desperately unfulfilled. "You should go pee."

"I'm not going to be able to." I roll to one side, then reach a hand down to finish what he started, but he grabs my wrist, stopping me from looking for my own release.

"I can wait." Once he's satisfied I'm not going to immediately start fingering myself, he lets go, and sits up.

"It might be awhile, Lee. That was," Shit. Quite a way to wake up, anyway. I'm still all tingly and breathing hard. I sit up, brushing my sweaty hair over my shoulders. "You really want to wait there until I'm back to normal and can pee, and then do a bunch of foreplay? It'll be forever."

"We've got time."

"Okay." I stand up from the bed, hyperconscious of the way the bunched fabric of my shorts rubs between my legs, and how my tank top moves over my nipples when I stretch my arms into the air again.

"You're supposed to be calming down."

"Yeah, yeah." I cross the room towards the bathroom, closing the door between us. There's no way staring at his face, thinking about whatever plan he's got stored up, is going to help me relax enough to pee. I sigh, dropping my shorts and sodden underwear to the tiled floor, and sit on the toilet. And now, we wait.

After almost ten minutes with no luck, he says, through the door, "You okay in there?"

I put down the book I was looking through, left on the shelf next to the toilet for precisely this purpose. "It's your fault for waking me up like that. The dream I was having got all sexual too."

"I'll keep that under advisement." A pause, then, "I'll be right back, okay? Just wait for me."

I don't say anything, but I can hear his footsteps head towards the door, then the muffled noises of it opening and closing. Just like that, I can pee. Maybe I felt like he was listening. I wipe, flush, wash my hands, and stare at myself in the mirror for a minute. My freckles and the purple sleepless marks under my eyes are both overshadowed by the insanity of my hair, defying gravity in six directions. Oh well. When I step back into my underwear and pull them up, they're clammy and gross feeling, soaked with the evidence of my sleeping arousal. I almost just leave them in the bathroom, but on the very small chance Liam's crazy plan involves another person, I'd rather be wearing more than just one layer of flimsy shorts on the bottom. Even if that layer smells like sex. I pull the shorts up as well, then leave the bathroom, turning the lights off behind me and closing the door.

In the bedroom I find Liam still missing, but the duvet stretched evenly over the bed again, and the lights on, exposing a change in the image carved into the headboard. Before, it was carved with flowers, but now it shows two trees, each dripping with vines. Weird. I sit on the end of the bed, trying not to feel nervous being left alone, lightly clothed, and very clearly turned on. But, then again, there's something delicious and vital about not knowing what's going to happen.

Not much, as it turns out, just Liam and a nondescript canvas bag coming back through the door. He leans the bag against the wall, then comes to stand in front of me. "Hey."

I smile. "Hey. What's with the headboard?"

He doesn't answer, just looks me over, eyeing the way the blanket bunches around my legs, and how my nipples are visible through the white fabric of my tank top. While he's not visibly aroused yet, I can tell he's thinking about what he wants to happen now. "I'm not going to tell you exactly what's going on, because I don't want to freak you out."

"Thanks." That's an agreement we made a long time ago, when we were first figuring out how to manage my trauma flashbacks. Everything is easier if I don't know exactly what's coming next.

"But, I'd like us to play around with some BDSM stuff."

Oh gods. Okay. "That's a very general category." Which I have never strayed into. Ever.

"I know it's pushing it for you, and I'm not so much into the sadistic side of things, but I think beyond that, it's worth a try." I'm nervous, and he can definitely tell, because his expression softens and he steps closer to me, reaching to hold my hand. "You've done stuff like this, right?"

"No, actually."

"It feels good. You'll see."

"Are you sure?"

"I promise, Mikaela, it'll be fine." He sets a hand on each of my shoulders, pressing until I fall backwards against the bed. "And if it's not, we can stop."

I stare up at the ceiling. "You won't be frustrated?"

"Probably, but you're more important."

"Okay." I squeeze my eyes shut.

"No, look at me." He cups the side of my face with one hand, and I blink my eyes open. "I've got you. Everything's going to be fine." I smile, though I can tell it's not convincing. "Do you want a safe word?"

"A what?"

He pulls back, laughing quietly. "You've really never done anything like this. I thought you were just feeling insecure."

"No, I really haven't." Before him, there was Francesca, who wanted everything to be very mutual and holistic, and before her, no one.

He smiles. "A safe word is a word that means you want me to stop."

I tug on the waistband of my shorts, trying to even out the fabric. "I can't just say stop?"

"Sure, but it might turn you on to say stop and have me not listen, so this is like a backup. Like you really mean it." He grips the neckline of his shirt and pulls it off over his head.

"Do you want that? For me to ask you to stop and you not listen?"

"Sometimes it's hot." I feel color rising to my cheeks. No wonder he's bored; I've really never considered most of the stuff he's saying, and we haven't even done anything yet. "But I wouldn't overthink it." I cover my face with my hands. Overthinking is inevitable. He tugs on my wrists, uncovering my face. "Don't. I want to see you."

Looking up at him, I ask "Why am I doing this?"

He hasn't let go of my wrists. "Because you care what I want, and you find the whole idea pretty attractive, even if you're embarrassed about it." I sigh, then look for an answering flush in his cheeks, but nothing happens. Maybe I am more turned on than he is. He leans further over me, putting more weight in the heels of his hands, planted on my forearms. "So, safe word, or no?"

"I don't know, Lee." I try to cover my face again, but he holds my arms to the bed. "Whatever you think."

He smiles like 'you're getting it.' "Let's just do it. I'd rather not cut off your options."

"Okay."

He lets go of my right arm so he can sit instead of leaning over me, and I take the opportunity to scrape a section of hair behind my ear and out of the way. Watching this, he traces wavy patterns onto my opposite forearm. "How's nej? That's easy to say."

"Why does it need to be easy to say?" What is he going to do, stop me from talking?

I can see the barely contained laughter in his expression as he plants a kiss on the palm of my left hand. "You have no idea what you're doing."

"I have no idea what you're doing."

He runs two fingers up the inside of my arm. "It's easy to say in case you're breathless, or in a compromising position."

"Right." I feel a moment of idle curiosity as my heart rate lifts, then refocus back on him. "And am I going to be in a compromising position?"

"That is the general idea, yes." Suddenly all serious, he positions his face directly above mine, jade green eyes like disks of need. "Assuming that's what you want."

"It's what you want, so, yeah. That's fine." I don't tell him how nervous I am, or how turned on, though I'm sure he can feel my pulse racing where his hand still circles my wrist.

"I appreciate it." He releases my arm, then motions for me to slide further back on the bed. I do, holding my hair out of the way, aware of his eyes on me. "Nej it is." It's a bit of a heady feeling, releasing control. He touches the arch of my left foot, fingers warm and leaving a trail of sensation against my skin. "Are you particularly attached to any of those clothes?"

Well, that's a question. Still staring at the ceiling, I close my hands on fistfuls of blanket. "No."

He grabs the waistband of my shorts on both sides, tugging them down, off me. Then, he throws one leg over my hips, so he's on his elbows and knees above me, and we're eye to eye again. He smiles, and touches the hollow of my throat, before trailing his touch between my breasts to the hem of my shirt and sliding his hand under it. The sensation of his skin on mine brings a rush of anticipation; my heart beats faster, and I feel a spike of heat between my legs.

When it seems like he's going to pull my soaked underwear off too, since he's got one hand against the skin of my hip, under the worn cotton, I jerk a little to one side, just on instinct. It would have been too much, too soon, but he doesn't seem happy. "Don't move."

Don't move? How am I supposed to not move? I hold as still as I can, staring up at the ceiling, even when I feel the touch of his hand, and then something else, on my wrist.

"Look over here."

"I thought you didn't want me to move." It comes out a little more petulant than I was going for.

"Don't talk to me like that." His voice is cold and angry, in a way I'm not sure I've heard before, sending chills up my back. This is all for both our pleasure now, but I'm suddenly aware of how fast that could change to just his.

"I'm sorry. It was an honest question, I just don't really understand."

"If I tell you to do something, you should do it."

"But what if you say conflicting things?"

"Go with the most recent." Okay. He holds the bottom of my jaw in one hand, not particularly gently, tipping my face towards him. "See this?" He tugs on the cord fixed around my wrist. I nod. "If you pull against it, it'll go tighter. Which is fine, it's not going to injure you. Feel free. But, if you're really done, like in safe word territory, hold your arm up close to the headboard and it'll loosen enough you can take it off yourself." He moves my arm closer and further away, and I feel the tie growing tighter and looser just like he said. "You want to try?"

"No, I got it."

He smiles. "Confident." Then, whispered against the side of my neck, "Maybe overconfident."

The sensation of aroused apprehension is heightening, even though he's barely touched me since reentering the room, and I know he can see the flush of it on my face, and find it as the origin of the small sound that emerges from the back of my throat when his palm skims over the tip of one of my breasts. My gods, this feels so good. Who knew?

"Give me your other wrist." I do, and he ties another knot, the same as the first. I try pulling my arm away from him a little, just to see what will happen. The grin on his face turns to a dark sort of pleasure, and his grip tightens. "I said don't move."

I think I'm getting it. Him saying that, it could be an order or a challenge, and it's kind of up to me to listen, or fight back. Fight back, knowing that he's going to win, that is. I pull harder with my right hand, trying to figure out if I like the feeling or not. I think I do, but he puts weight on my shoulders, pinning me to the bed, cutting me off from experimenting. I guess he was pretty serious about the not moving thing. "Just wait."

Finished with my other side a couple of seconds later, he releases me to the confines of the ropes, hand moving across my chest instead. I inhale, sharply, as the pad of his thumb brushes over my nipple, and he does it again. I take almost the exact same sharp breath, which I guess is what he was looking for, because he exhales next to my ear, then presses a forearm against my sternum, holding me against the mattress.

I pull against the restraints, first on the left, then both sides, still kind of trying to figure out if I enjoy it. He just watches me, holding me down, smiling like he's been waiting a long time for this moment. I think I do like it. Like this. I feel a flush rise up my neck at the thought.

Almost like he can't wait anymore, he kisses the side of my mouth, then under my jaw, leaving a trail down my neck to the strap of my shirt. "I love you." And then he closes his teeth over the place where my neck meets my shoulder. Not hard, like it barely hurts, but I still startle, instinctively pulling against the ropes. I guess that's the point. When I move, though, he bites down harder, and my throat catches, letting a small, strangled sound escape. Not a particularly attractive sound in my opinion, but I can feel the weight of his hips against mine shift, like he's trying to work in closer, and his hands tighten around my upper arms, so maybe he liked it.

Teeth still dug into my shoulder, I feel the tip of his tongue touch the skin trapped there, tracing small, slow circles in a way that sends shivers up that side of my neck, and makes me want to squirm away. The skin of his chest is warm through the thin fabric of my tank top, and I feel almost sweaty, just from anticipation, and the sensation of his body against mine. He reaches a hand to cup the side of my face, and I close my eyes again, since he can't see. The heat of his palm moves from my cheek to my mouth, and his grip tightens suddenly, clamping down over the lower half of my face. I can still breath through my nose, but I don't like the trapped feeling that comes over me, and I bite at his fingers without thinking, trying to pull my head away.

He just presses down harder, and, inexplicable as it may be, I feel his erection against my pelvis. He wants me to fight back. The realization sends me into shocked stillness, and he grows fully hard against me, grinding his hips into mine even as his hands hold me down against the mattress. He releases his mouth from my shoulder, tilting his head towards my ear, voice rough with need. "That's it."

I'm not sure what I've gotten myself into. He makes a cage of his body over mine, lifting his hand from my mouth to cover it with his own instead. His kiss is desperate, deep, and not particularly gentle, leaving my lips abraded and scored with the marks of his teeth. And, as much as I may think this isn't my thing, I don't free my wrists to push him away.

When he pulls back, sitting astride me, my eyes are still closed, and he reacts right away, sliding his hand over one side of my throat, soft, not pushing down, but a clear reminder that he could, if he wanted to. "Look at me."

"I," What I want to say is that I'm afraid, but it almost feels like acknowledging that is crossing some unspoken barrier dividing pleasurable experimentation from real experience. As if what we're doing is only okay because we both say it's just a game, and accepting my fear as valid would make the situation too real. I don't open my eyes.

He presses down slightly on my throat, though not painfully, and I feel another spike of heat between my legs. "Now." When I still don't look at him, afraid of what I might see in his face, he presses down even harder, and I groan softly, letting my chin fall in the direction he's applying force, trying to relieve the pressure. "I'm not sure you want to find out where this is going."

"Why does it matter?" My voice comes out slightly strangled, compressed by his hand, and he grinds his hips into mine again, drawing another weak groan from the back of my throat.

"Fine." Suddenly, the pressure on my neck is gone, then he climbs off me, off the bed entirely. There are quiet rustling noises, the pad of his feet on the wood floor, then all goes silent. For a full minute, I don't hear anything, until I give in, sitting up as best I can and opening my eyes. Liam is standing at the foot of the bed, obscenely erect, though he's still wearing sweatpants, just watching me. "See, it's not so difficult." His jade eyes are cold, hungry, and I don't look away, feeling another burst of arousal slick the folds around my entrance. In his right hand, he holds a thin metal rod, sinister in the bright overhead light.

I sit up a little more, trying to pull my legs in towards myself. "You said you're not into sadism."

"This only works if you do what I say, Mike." He is every bit as terrifying as I was worried about, length of flexible metal glinting in his hand, desire burned across his face.

"Okay." I breathe in, then out, feeling the shift of my tank top over my breasts as my chest rises and falls, nipples stiffening from stimulation.

"You have to mean it." He smiles, slow, like he knows he's got me cornered. "We can stop."

"I don't..." My eyes catch on the rod, which he has tightened his grip on. "I don't want to stop." And it's true. Embarrassing as it is, I am so turned on right now, I need this to go somewhere or I'm going to implode. The fear is worth it, especially if this is all he's in for tonight.

He climbs back onto the bed, drops the silvery metal to the covers next to him, and reaches a hand out for my left ankle, pulling my leg out straight. "Lie down."

I scoot my ass down the bed towards him, until I'm lying on my back again, staring at the ceiling. The restraints around my wrists feel much tighter than before, and I realize I've moved farther from the headboard, settling more tension in the ropes. Too late to change position now.

Instead of grabbing my other ankle to pull that leg straight as well, which was what I was expecting, he pushes my foot back towards me, so my knee bends. He crawls up to me, hooking my bent leg over his shoulder, so, when he leans against me, lining our bodies up, the top of my thigh meets my stomach. His arm stretches above my face, reaching for the headboard behind me, then pulling another restraint towards him, fixing it around my knee, so my leg stays in place even when he takes his weight off me. Again, I wonder if he's going to do the same thing for the other leg, but he doesn't, instead trailing two fingers down the back of my thigh from my knee to the leg opening of my underwear, where he pauses, then cups his hand over my heat for a second. Gauging the situation.