As if that single thrust had broken something open inside me, I gasped again and then let out a shriek, my palms on the mirror taking my weight, his grip in my hair holding my head up. Somehow I’d missed the fact that he’d rested the round wireless remote for the bullet on my back; he picked it up, touched a button, and the tempo of the bullet’s vibration increased. Another button-press, and it ramped up again, and a third had it buzzing so hard I could feel it in my belly, and once again my breath was stolen. Roth tossed the remote onto a nearby stack of jeans, curled his now-empty hand around my hipbone. I wanted to curse and scream and plead for mercy, but I couldn’t speak. I truly didn’t want mercy from this mad, wild bliss.
And now he began to f**k me in earnest. Slowly at first, using the same slow withdrawal and hard in-stroke. I found my breath again, and the only sound I was capable of was a short, sharp scream with every pounding f**k of his hips. After a dozen of these slow-hard thrusts, Roth tightened his grip on my hair and pushed me lower, spreading me wider, letting him deeper. I wiggled my feet to widen my stance, walking my hands down the mirror, and found myself glad that I was naturally fairly flexible. I was off-balance, even my hands on the mirror not quite enough to keep me in place. I felt like I was about to fall, especially when Roth started a faster, smoother rhythm, giving me a hard push at the moment his hips crashed into my ass, rocking me forward.
“I’m not—I’m gonna…fall, Valentine,” I gasped, my words broken by the impact of his c**k burying deep in me.
He slowed his rhythm, sliding slowly, letting go of my hair so he could gather it into a ponytail in his fist. “I won’t let you fall. Give me your hands.” I pushed my hips back against his, took one hand from the mirror and extended it behind me. “Both of them.”
“Roth…?” I protested, but brought my other hand around behind me as well.
He pinioned my wrists together in one hand, barring them one over the other on my lower back. That was when I understood the position: I was totally and completely helpless, not tied up in any way, but just as completely dependent on him. He had my hair in one hand, my wrists in the other, his c**k impaled deep inside my quivering pu**y, his bullet vibrating wildly in my ass**le. I was bent almost double, unbalanced. My tits hung free, swaying as he started to rock into me. He pulled me back with both hands, pounding deep and then pushing me away so his c**k nearly slipped out, only to slam home again.
I couldn’t scream, could only manage a whimper. I wanted to struggle, hating this total dependence on him. But I didn’t. I widened my feet farther apart, enough to feel as if I was stretching my thigh muscles, bending over even more, giving him more of me. It was an intentional decision to trust him, to let him dominate me, own me, control me. I tilted my head to one side, and was once again mesmerized by the sight of his powerful thighs tensing as he pushed in, his ass muscles clenching with his thrusts, his c**k glistening as it slid out, my butt shaking as he slammed into me, my boobs swaying pendulously with each hard stroke. He caught me at the apex of each thrust, rocking me forward with the impact of his hips, pulling me back into him with my arms and hair. He never jerked to cause pain on my scalp, never shoved at my bent arms, using just enough strength to keep me balanced.
I felt it building inside me. It had been all this while, tension and energy piling up within me, the vibrator in my ass ratcheting the pending orgasm to violent intensity. Each stroke of his c**k inside me pushed me higher, closer, and yet as I watched our bodies join, the most intense feeling of all was the upwelling surge of emotion, my uninhibited willingness to give myself to this man, to let him totally own me, somehow, impossibly, finding life-altering pleasure in it.
I knew, in that moment, that I would never want anyone else. How could I?
My emotions were so intense I had to push them down or I’d start crying, and I couldn’t do that yet, didn’t want to, didn’t dare. I blinked hard and let my weight go, gave up all pretense of governing my own motion.
White-hot bliss powered through me, the ache in my body breaking open and turning to nuclear ecstasy. Yet still this wasn’t climax — this was merely the opening wave of detonations, the spark that would light the inferno. Roth’s thrusting was getting intense, pounding harder and faster, now merely holding me in place while he f**ked.
I needed to scream.
I pulled against Roth’s hold on my hair, exchanging the tug on my scalp for the room to open my throat enough to cut loose with a shriek that deafened even me.
“That’s right, Kyrie, scream. Scream while I f**k you.” He increased his pace, slamming hard and fast, an impossible pace, I would have thought. Yet he held it. “Let me hear it again. Say my name, Kyrie. Scream my name while I f**k you.”
“ROTH!” His name ripped from my throat.
“Not that name.”
“Val—Val…entine….” I could barely get his whole name out, the words broken as he drove into me. “I…I need to—to come. Let me come.”
“Not yet.”
“Oh, god…please….”
“Wait for me, Kyrie. Come with me.” His words were growled, low and harsh.
“Can’t…so close,” I panted. I felt the climax splintering through me, and I tried to hold it back.
“Don’t you dare. Not yet. Not yet, goddamn it.” Roth was pounding into me wildly now, all rhythm abandoned, just frantic, powerful, primal thrusts, his feet braced wide, every muscle tensed and delineated, jaw clenched, eyes roving the sight of our bodies in the mirror.
Our eyes met in the central mirror. His expression was dark and shuttered, but I knew he was hiding emotions every bit as powerful as those boiling inside me. Could he see into my soul? Did my burgeoning love show in my gaze. It had to. Of all the ridiculous, absurd, most inappropriate moments for it to happen, it was then, with Valentine Roth braced tall and warrior-strong behind me, f**king me with feral ferocity, that I fully accepted the fact that I was falling in love with him.
He chose that moment—the instant of my epiphany and my acceptance of it—to slow down, grinding deep into me, the veins in his face throbbing. Then he came.
“Now, Kyrie!” he bellowed, then groaned and pulled back, hesitated a single beat, and slammed home.
I screamed, wordless and ear-piercing, as I finally allowed the roiling nova of my orgasm to rip through me. I couldn’t say his name as I came, though god knows I tried, but I could summon no coherence, could only shove my ass back into him, scream all the louder as I felt his come jet hot and wet into me, stream after stream filling me and making my walls tense and clench around him, my ass**le clamping and pulsating. That orgasm was the single most powerful thing I could possibly experience. I felt it in the crashing of my heartbeat, in the throbbing of my tits and the clenching wrack of my core, the twisting exploding throb of my ass**le. I felt it from my fingertips and toes to the roots of my hair. My skin was tingling and my ni**les puckering so tight they ached, my clit burning as if on fire. Roth let go of my hands and hair, and bent over me. I slapped my palms against the mirror as high as I could reach, bracing my weight. He pinched my nipple and thrust his fingers against my clit, twisting and circling, his hips rolling his c**k deep inside me. The shattering orgasm somehow intensified at his touch and I screamed once more, pushed back hard and pulled forward, sliding his c**k in and out of me, my muscles clamped around it and not wanting to release it. The motion of his c**k was accentuated by a wet sucking sound as he pushed back in, and he growled, groaned, letting loose one last gush of seed. Yet another orgasmic wave hit me, and I moaned with it, and in that exact moment Roth pulled the bullet free of my rear channel, eliciting a shocked shriek from me as the sudden absence triggered yet another wrench of agonizing ecstasy.