Page 103 of Cinderella Is Faking It

“Just. You. Do.” Each word was a promise for retribution, but I was having way too much fun to worry about what Delilah of the future might end up regretting.

I slid up his length, until his tip was just at my entrance, and when his hips writhed dangerously, desperate to thrust upwards, I slipped one hand around his throat and squeezed. He made a surprised, strangled sound. The second his lips parted, I slipped two fingers past them. “Suck,” I commanded, my voice much stronger than I would have thought possible. Beck obliged, his tongue and lips lapping at my fingers. I pulled them out a moment later and brought them between my legs, using the moisture to guide his tip into me.

“Fuck, Del,” he gasped, throwing his head back, headboard creaking against the strength of his arms.

Pushing my hands against his chest and my knees into the mattress, I tried to lower myself against the strain of his size, but my walls barely managed to stretch around him. I’d only gotten two inches, when my insides seized up against the sharp pain. I couldn’t do this. It was one thing to have him thrust into me, because he was in control then, and I didn’t have to worry about doing anything wrong. What was I thinking, trying to handle this on my own? I couldn’t even relax my goddamn vaginal muscles enough to take him in.

“You’re the only one who gets to tie me up,” he panted. “Just you.”

“Beck, I don’t- I just need a second.”

“You’ll never see me in a red ribbon again, so you better make the most of this,” he huffed, shooting me a big grin.

“You talk a whole lot for someone who’s tied down.”

“Should have gagged me.”

I gasped out a laugh and, in that moment, I relaxed enough to let him slide deeper. My eyes fluttered shut and I pulled up again, easing him out, before sinking down, another inch more than before. I did that until I had him inside me, buried to the hilt, feeling like I was about to burst from fullness, my entire abdomen tense under the aching pressure.

“Beck,” I whimpered, lips trembling.

“I know, sweetheart,” he breathed, chest heaving, “take what you want.”

I stemmed myself up, barely an inch, before sinking back down slowly. For a few minutes, the room was filled with nothing but the sounds of our labored breathing and the slickness of his cock being taken in by my warmth. Until my inner walls had adapted to his size, and I could move a little more freely, a low hum thrumming up in my stomach.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful, fucking yourself on my cock. This is-” His arms jerked, and he let out a string of curses when he was reminded, once again, that he couldn’t reach for me.

An unfamiliar, bubbly pleasure prickled in my chest. He was so beautiful, and I had him all to myself. “You’re mine,” I whispered, “all mine.”

“I sure am,” he responded.

“All of you.” My fingernails scraped over his chest as I tried to hold on with my faster pace, tried to keep myself steady when shivers started washing down my spine. My whole body felt like it was pulsing with the erratic rhythm of my heart. This was different from all the times I’d had sex just to show affection. Somehow, right here, every part of me aligned, heart and body and soul, and it was all for him, or with him, or because of him.

“Just yours, Del,” he hissed, his words barely piercing through my heated haze, and I came apart on him. The orgasm crashed over me, and I cried his name, nails digging into his skin. Until I collapsed on his chest, panting, when my muscles no longer supported my weight.

A strong hand wrapped around the back of my head, pulling my face up for a long, languid kiss that I was happy to melt into. It wasn’t until he rolled us over and gave a slow, leisurely thrust that my eyes flew open. “What?” I gasped and looked up to where he had one hand hooked into the headboard, but the ribbon was gone.

“You tied it with a bow, Blondie,” he chuckled, “we’ll have to get you a book on the art of tying knots.”

He could have gotten himself out of that the entire time. The realization washed over me with another shiver. Beck had given his precious control to me because he wanted to. He’d given himself to me. “Mine,” I whispered again, warmth bursting in my chest, and I pulled him to me for a kiss filled with that word.Mine. Mine. Mine.“Don’t pull out. I want you to come inside of me.”

A deep hum rumbled through Beck’s chest, but he just replied to my words with a single deep thrust.

We hardly slept that night.

When I blinked against the sun the next morning, Beck’s body curved around mine, his chest against my back. Our intertwined hands rested on my stomach and our wrists were still tied together with that ribbon. Just a bow. Not a knot.

* * *

“I mean,you’re a very busy man. You could be writing emails while I drive and we’d be home faster, so you would be back to your beloved computer,” I argued, frowning at Beck’s hands on the steering wheel. The only upside to him driving was the prime view of his flexing forearms.

“You lost.”

“Your hands are bigger.”

“Scissors beat paper, it doesn't matter how big the scissors are.”

“Fine,” I grumbled. “How about a trade?”

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