1603, Part Deux

Part one is here and a very long time ago (sorry about that...), so I'll wait while you all go re-read.

Done? Ok... let's continue.

I've mentioned before how quickly Aiden's mood can change - one minutes he's the attentive, gentle lover of every romantic girl's dreams; the next he's the incredibly sexy, dominant male of every red-blooded woman's fantasies. He'd been hovering between the two so far, closer to dominant; and I fully expected him to be even moreso as we hadn't seen each other in months.

What he actually did was a bit startling. He laid me down, stretched out beside me, his fingers stroking along my side, and he talked.

I'm still shaking from the force of that freight train of an orgasm, and he's talking?

I couldn't tell you what we talked about. I have vague memories of his fingers repeatedly sliding up over my hip, along my ribs, skirting the outside of my breast, and up to my chin before making the return trip; but what we talked about? No idea.

When he cupped the back of my head, oh-so-gently, and kissed me, I was totally defenseless. When he rocked his hips against mine slowly, letting me feel the rigid length of him sliding along my belly, all I could do was press back against him.

When he slowly lifted my leg over his hip, opening me to his slow, nudging entry, I watched with wonder. When he started us rocking together in a delicious rhythm, slow and steady and easy, I was nearly boneless.

He made sure my leg was locked around his hip, then buried his hand back in my hair, urging my eyes back to his. Our foreheads touched and stayed together, blurring his face.

It was the very vanilla, look-me-in-the-eye, someone-gives-a-shit-about-me lovemaking that I had been so craving for so long.

When I came again, he held me steady, never breaking his rhythm. And when I opened my eyes again and looked at him, whatever he saw in them gave him the permission he had decided he needed. He slid out, stood up, and disappeared for a moment.

When he returned, he was carrying a handful of silky scarves. He carefully unhooked my corset (all those endless hooks!) and laid it aside; then, equally as carefully, bound my ankles to my wrists, using the third scarf as a blindfold.

From that moment, I was at his mercy. He did to me as he pleased. I was rolled and turned, and fucked, and spanked, and used, and caressed, and petted, and held, and fucked some more. He discovered that if he laid me on the bed so that my head hung off the edge I could take all of him in my mouth without gagging, so we played with that for a while.

Eventually, he pulled the blindfold off. He was sitting back on his heels, buried deep, my hips propped on his legs. I blinked furiously, my eyes adjusting, and he grinned at me as he untied my wrists and ankles too. He was well-pleased - slightly disheveled, and shining with exertion, but smiling widely.

He sank further into me, stretching his body out over mine, braced on his elbows, and moving easily.

What do you want?

I cocked an eyebrow at him - an unspoken 'What do you think I want?'.

My usual answer to this question was 'All of it', and he knew it. One good hard squeeze around his cock told him to stop fooling around. And he did.

Boy did he ever.

In a matter of minutes we were lying side by side, gasping for air, and waiting for the world to return to it's normal state.

Do you want me to stay?

You see, he had stayed with me before, when I visited his city. But I had never stayed with him - a whole different ball-game in his mind. He had told me before he arrived that he wanted me to stay the night with him, but I knew better than to assume, and I was prepared to go home if he'd had a change of heart. No hard feelings.

He wanted me to stay. So I settled in beside him, smiling as his hand slid onto my thigh, and was asleep almost immediately.

*****

In the morning, I got up and did my thing in the bathroom, getting ready to go to work. He insisted I leave my bag there - I was supposed to come back that night - and so I headed out for work, a smile on my face and a pleasant ache between my thighs.

That night, things went sideways. Again.

I won't bore you with the details, because they're not important; but, yet again, there was family drama. It was a situation that left me questioning the story (in my head) on several fronts.

If this is true, why are you still here, and not racing toward home in a blind panic?

And, if it's not true, what's with all the drama? This was the third time this had happened, and the second time it had caused our second night to be canceled. I was sincerely puzzled.

I had plenty of theories running around my head once I had finally been able to collect my bag and head for home, but just couldn't decide which was the real story. Was the drama for real? Did he just need to re-establish some distance?

I decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and refrained from questioning the validity of this latest crisis. Not only would it make me look like an unholy bitch if it was, in fact, true; but I had no business interrogating him even if it wasn't.

I wouldn't find out the whole story until a couple months later.