Page 45 of Trade
“I don’t want to ever go back.”
His arm tightens around me.
“I don’t deserve this. I did nothing to earn it.” I don’t know if I’m talking about this beautiful place, the Outside, him, Bennett, or escaping the cage I didn’t realize I was in. Maybe I mean all of it.
He doesn’t answer for a long time. When he does, I’m surprised. “It’s not a trade, you know. Not really. It’s just given. You get it. It’s life. You take it, or you let it pass on by. Or it carries you away.”
“You’re a philosopher,” I say because my brain can’t sort through what he’s making me feel.
“If you say so. I’ll be whatever you say, Glory.”
“Yeah?”
He murmurs in my ear, his voice low and rumbly, “What do you want, Glory? Want me to carry you away? Or let you pass on by?”
He pauses and loosens his grip on me. My body heats. I give my head a little shake. He draws me back flush to his chest.
“You want me to take you, Glory? Or do you want to take me?”
That. That’s what I want. I nod. He chuckles.
We’ve floated out quite a ways, but he swims us back to shore in less than a minute. When we reach the shore, he carries me over the stones and sets me on my feet. I grab his hand and lead him over to a patch of soft, green grass at the base of an American beech.
“Sit,” I tell him and gently push his wet chest.
He smiles like it’s his birthday, drops to his butt, and rests his back against the tree trunk. He looks like a spoiled prince with his messy wet hair, legs stretched, and cock straight up in the air. He grabs it and strokes.
“Hands by your side,” I say.
He grins even wider, clasps his hands, and sets them on his stomach, a few inches above his belly button.
“Hey, I said at your side,” I say as I kneel to straddle his waist.
“You didn’t say please.”
Excitement amps up inside me, heating my blood so the breeze on my wet skin is almost a relief.
I bend forward so our faces almost touch. “Please,” I whisper against his lips.
“Whatever you want,” he says, but instead of lowering his hands, he grips my jaw and steals a kiss and then another. His tongue is demanding. He nips my lip with his teeth.
I grab his cock and squeeze, not too hard, but hard enough that he hisses and then groans in delight. “Okay, okay, Glory. Have it your way.”
But he still doesn’t put his arms at his side. He folds them behind his head, which accentuates his biceps and stokes my giddy excitement even higher.
I don’t care about how I got here or what happens next or the shoulds or shouldn’ts of it—he’s mine. I kiss him, ducking my head away when he tries to take over again. He chuckles.
“Okay.” He rests his head back in his clasped hands. “I’ll be good.”
“Yeah?” I stroke his hot, pulsing cock. His breath catches, and his smile falls away. His laughing eyes are burning now. “You’re gonna be good?”
He nods, his chest rising and falling faster while his gaze gobbles me up. He can’t pick a pleasure—watching my hand on his cock, or my breasts thrust as I arch my back, or my lips, which I’m sure are curved in a sly smile. I feel like the cat who got the cream. Or was it the canary? I feel like them both, like everyone everywhere who’s ever gotten exactly what they didn’t know they wanted.
I lift myself, notch him in my pussy, and sink down as slow as I can so he fills me inch by inch as the remnants of his self-possession fall away and feral hunger contorts his face. He isn’t pretty now. He’s on the verge of ecstasy, and he’ssuffering. He’s glorious.
“Don’t come until I do,” I command.
He doesn’t answer.
