I lay awake in Kristophe's bed, trying and failing to quench the thirst for him that dampened my thighs and threatened to leave embarrassing evidence on the sheets for him to find in the morning. I could hear him chastely snoring in his living room; such a gentleman, to let a guest displace him from his room for a night. Or was it deliberate torture? I might have suffered some tosses and turns if I had taken the couch, but at least I wouldn't have to know his scent (part cinnamon, part musk, part soap) on the sheets. Or see, in the dim light, the desk at which he had sat so many nights typing furiously about what he wanted to do to me. It would be foolish to harbor any hope of doing those things in person, of course; he was far too young. And despite knowing my secret desires and having proved online, over and over, the will to fulfill them for me, he had been surprisingly relaxed and restrained the whole visit. A polite host. Barely so much as brushing against my knees when he moved past me to get more drinks. Hiding that lithe, taut body under two layers of clothes despite the warm weather. Of course this only served to torment me the more. Maybe he knew that, maybe he was subtly punishing me for my so-cautious rejection of his youth and ...
... well, I would say "innocence" but it doesn't apply here. So just youth.
My reverie was suddenly interrupted with a hand over my mouth and another holding my wrists tight. My eyes flew open. How the hell had the door opened without my hearing it? "It's my apartment," Kristophe whispered into my neck as if he had heard my thoughts. I felt him insistently pressed against my leg through his boxers and my robe. "You don't think I know how to be quiet in it? The safeword is Popsicle."
Relief flooded through me; but when he removed his hand, instead of uttering the magic word that would allow us both to go back to our normal lives as if nothing had happened, I found myself whispering, "Please don't hurt me."
That wrenched a primal sound from him and he went even harder than I thought possible against my thigh. "You whore," he hissed. I gave him a couple heartbeats, then started struggling. I didn't scream, however; he had neighbors. He effortlessly stretched my arms above my head and produced a soft cord from somewhere to secure them with. It sent a shiver through me to realize he had planned this. Running his hand roughly down my body over my robe, he grasped my flailing ankles and tied them with two more cords, spread-eagle. He wasted no time crawling back up to suspend himself over me, grinning in dark triumph as I tested my bonds with all I had. My undulations nudged my robe looser while he patiently waited for me to spend my energy. His gaze settled on my chest where the robe was slowly slipping farther and farther apart. When I realized he was waiting for a flash of nipple, I stopped moving, embarrassed and breathing hard. He smiled deeper and kneeled up so he could use both hands to explore my body.
