Chapter 10

The day had been a total shitshow. I was beat to hell, my body aching in places I didn’t even remember existed, and my mind felt like a tangled mess of loose wires. And then there was the house — messy, noisy, chaotic. Grocery list forgotten somewhere, dishes piled in the sink, clothes tossed everywhere. I didn’t have the energy to even think, let alone do anything about it.

“Honey, I’m home!”

His voice filled the living room, upbeat as always. I was slumped on the couch, still in my work clothes, shoulders sagging, eyes heavy. He walked in carrying grocery bags and, of course, a bottle of wine. That wine was a subtle hint, almost like our secret code. When he brought wine without a reason, it meant he wanted more — affection, skin, desire. Sex.

But today… today just wasn’t happening. I felt awful about turning him down, but what I needed most was a hot shower and eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.

“You okay? You look wiped out. Go take a shower, I’ll bring you a glass."
"Oh, honey… thanks. Could you handle the kitchen for me?"
"You got it.”

He smiled with that easygoing vibe that always calmed everything down, and started putting away the groceries like it was no big deal. I got up slowly, every muscle protesting, and headed for the shower — the one sacred self-care ritual I could still manage on my dragged-out days.

I stood naked in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection like I was searching for answers. The marks of the day were still there — dark circles, dull skin, a bone-deep exhaustion that seemed etched into every pore. I sighed. And that’s when the bathroom door opened.

He came in slowly, like he was respecting my space but inviting himself anyway. His eyes slid over my body with that quiet hunger he always had — a hunger that didn’t demand anything, just admired. I loved that about him. Always had. In his hand, he held a glass of red wine.

“You gonna drink this in the shower?” I asked, raising an eyebrow with a hint of teasing.

“What’s the problem?” he shot back, flashing that naughty grin he barely tried to hide.

“You’re just trying to get me drunk…” I joked, taking the glass from him “…but it’s not gonna work. Sorry, honey, not tonight…”

He pulled that fake offended face, like a kid caught red-handed.

“I didn’t even think of that, babe. No way!” he lied with the straightest face, and we both knew it. We knew.

I laughed, couldn’t help it. When he left, I brought the glass to my lips and downed half of it in one go. A little booze actually sounded like a good idea. It loosened me up, warmed me from the inside.

I stood there a few more seconds and finally stepped under the spray. The hot water ran over my body like a hug. I felt my muscles finally unwind, like my own flesh was saying “finally.”

At the end of my shower, he showed up again — like he knew the exact right moment to return. He came into the bathroom and started stripping with this delicious casualness. We had this thing between us… this easy, sweet, conspiratorial intimacy. Sharing the bathroom, brushing teeth side by side, one coming in as the other went out. No shame between us, just being there.

“Honey, I got the kitchen all sorted,” he said, now naked, about to step into the shower. “Take the wine to the bedroom and pick a show for us to watch cuddled up. Sound good?”

The way he said it, sweet and offhand, pulled a smile out of me. We shared a quick kiss, damp from the steam. And before I left, I paused in the doorway for a second, watching his back. Tall, fair skin, and that round, firm, soft ass that always made me want to take a bite.

I let out a low chuckle, trying to stifle the excited giggle that slipped out uninvited. Tonight wasn’t the night to send signals… but my body sometimes had a mind of its own.

Lying in bed, wrapped in the cool sheets, I held a fresh glass of wine while the TV scrolled through options that didn’t grab me. The titles blurred by. I just ran my fingers over the remote, waiting for something I didn’t even know what it was.

I heard the door click shut softly. He came into the bedroom and locked it — a quiet, almost innocent move, but I knew that signal all too well. He was just in his boxers, body still damp from the shower, with that casual air of pretending he didn’t want anything… but wanted it all. I took a deep breath and smiled, half defeated, half amused. His persistence was always sweet, and deep down, predictable.

He lay down beside me with that careful touch only attentive lovers have. His body pressed against mine naturally, bringing warmth. Light kisses brushed my ear and trailed down my neck, like he was painting an invisible path with his lips. He talked about movies, shows, everyday stuff, like his hands weren’t saying something else entirely.

His fingers roamed over my clothes, bold but gentle. A caress that seemed to ask permission with every move. And even exhausted, even without real desire, I felt it. Of course I felt it. My body responded before my mind could catch up. Those touches knew exactly where to tease and where to soothe.

“Honey…” I whispered softly, eyes half-closed “I just wanted to chill tonight…”

He looked at me with tenderness, like he got it, but was still gonna try.

“Look, I just wanna help you relax… you don’t have to do anything, okay? I’ll just stay here, stroke you… give you some kisses… that’s it.”

I nodded quietly. That kind of affection I could take. It was the kind of comfort my body was begging for.

Then he kissed me. A kiss full of calm and intent, no rush. His tongue touched mine softly, lingering, making me forget the TV, the fatigue, the world outside. His breath tasted like wine and wrapped me in heat. I tried to pull back, break the rhythm before it turned into something I didn’t want… or thought I didn’t want. But he held me with his mouth, no force, just desire. A captivity of affection.

His hand grew bolder, fingers lazily tracing my belly, sliding up the curves to cup my breasts. The touch was almost a whisper, but it sent shivers I didn’t want to admit. My body started to give in, even as my tired mind fought it.

And then, without thinking, it slipped out…

“That feels good…”

He kept exploring my body with a patience that unraveled me. His lips moved from my mouth to my neck, landing like every inch of my skin was sacred. Each kiss brought a shiver. He knew where to touch, how to lick slow and then blow, leaving a trail of hot and cool that made my whole body react.

When he reached my breasts, he took his time. First, his mouth kissed the side, like asking permission. Then, his tongue circled my nipple in slow loops, wet, hot, teasing it with a softness that was almost hypnotic. He alternated long kisses and gentle sucks, so slow the pleasure turned into a kind of intoxication.

My eyes closed, muscles relaxed, and for a moment, I thought I’d drift off right there, lulled by the warmth of his touch, the texture of his tongue, the sweet rhythm of his breath on me. It was a kiss on my breasts, but it felt like a stroke to the soul. My body surrendered without guilt. I didn’t move, just felt.

Then, like he could read my body’s signals better than my words, he slid one hand down between my legs. His fingers found my panties already wet, hot, yielding. He pressed lightly, like saying: I know.

My body arched a little, an involuntary surrender. But I didn’t want to. Not yet. Even as my pussy said yes, my mind still held back.

“Honey…” I murmured, voice thick with desire and hesitation “I said not tonight…”

He didn’t answer right away. He felt the heat of my skin, felt my wetness saying it all, but he respected even that shaky “no.”

He pulled back for a second. I thought he’d stop, honor my pause. But then, without me seeing exactly what he was doing, he turned to the headboard and grabbed something from the drawer.

A soft metallic click echoed between us. And before I could process it, before I could really protest, I felt the cold metal on my wrist.

“Hey… what the hell?” my voice came out low, more surprised than pissed.

“Shh… you said you wanted to stay still. So I’ll make sure of it. Just a little.” He smiled, that gentle mischief that took my breath away.

My arms were raised gently, and the snap of the handcuffs closing around my wrists left me pinned to the headboard. My heart raced, not from fear — but from surrender. From losing control. I could protest, but part of me knew I’d already lost that fight.

And then, to my surprise, he got up.

“Hey… where you going?” I asked, confused and turned on.

He glanced over his shoulder, with that playful look, and just said:

“Gonna grab something… be right back.”

And he left the room, leaving me there, naked, cuffed, hot and totally given over — waiting.

When he came back, the dim lamplight outlined just his silhouette. In one hand, a fresh bottle of wine, in the other… nothing. But what really caught me was the absence of his face.

I strained my eyes, trying to make sense of it.

“You’re… wearing a mask?”

He didn’t answer. He just stood there for a moment, naked, hard, skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat, breathing deep. That silence threw me off. He wasn’t him anymore. He was someone — or something — else. A faceless man, a character from some unspoken fantasy. A stranger.

He walked to the foot of the bed, and the second he tried to push between my legs, I fought on instinct. I clamped my thighs, pushed with my feet, strained even knowing I was cuffed and limited. It was my body saying not that easy. It was the game.

But he didn’t say a word. He just grabbed my hips firmly, no aggression, but with an authority that disarmed me. His strong arms pinned my resistance in a controlled way. And when his hands tore my panties with one sharp tug, I felt the cool air hit my hot, wet, exposed skin.

I gasped.

I was completely open, spread wide. And that just made me hotter.

He settled between my legs, pushing them apart, holding me open like flipping open a book he knew by heart. I still squirmed in fake denial, trying to push him away, but he didn’t back off — and I didn’t want him to. That was our game. My body said no, but my skin, my breath, my wetness screamed yes, now, please.

And then, he tasted me.

His mouth dove between my thighs with a silent hunger. His hot tongue found my pussy with precision, like he already knew exactly what to do — and he did. Long, devoted licks, wetting and parting, teasing my clit with slow strokes then fast, building that delicious contrast that drove me crazy.

My head fell back, moans slipping out even as I tried to swallow them. My hips moved on their own, begging, seeking more, deeper, harder.

“Oh… oh…” my voice came out choked, breathless “don’t stop… don’t stop now…”

I was close. I felt the orgasm building like a hot, electric wave, about to crash. But then… he stopped.

Just stopped.

He left my skin throbbing, my pussy pulsing in the empty air, and looked at me. The mask, the silence, the total control. I almost cried from frustration.

“Why did you…?” I tried to protest, unable to hide the desperation in my eyes.

He leaned in, mouth against my ear, and whispered with a sweet tease:

“You said you didn’t want to… and I’m gonna respect that.”

“Please…”

I begged without shame.

He said nothing more. He just climbed over me with the calm of someone who had all the time in the world. His body fit against mine like it was coming home. I felt the heat of his skin on mine, the delicious weight of him pressing down, and between my legs… him, rigid, alive, throbbing.

His cock brushed against me slowly, like a promise. The head pressed my swollen, wet lips, sliding between them in a lazy dance. It made me gasp with just that touch. The skin of his tip was hot and smooth, but firm, full of intent. I felt every throb like it was already inside me — and it wasn’t yet.

And then he entered me.

Slow. Too damn slow.

The tip parted my pussy like a petal blooming at dawn. And he pushed in inch by inch, burying himself with an almost reverent care. My body molded to him, hot and wet, enveloping, sucking, clenching. I felt everything. Every vein, every curve, every pulse.

And he stopped. When he was all the way in, he stopped.

Fully buried, he let me feel him there, filling every millimeter of me. I clenched instinctively, like my body didn’t want to let him go. I felt his cock stretching me deep, slow, delicious, like he was part of me.

“Oh…” it escaped my lips like a sigh, a soft moan.

I throbbed.

He barely moved, just a little. A short in-and-out, just enough to tease, to make my clit rub against him with every tiny withdrawal. It was more pressure than motion. More presence than speed. And it drove me wild.

Every time he sank in slow, a hot wave flooded me. My muscles trembled, my belly tightened, my breath hitched. It was like an orgasm brewing for hours, waiting for the right touch. And now, it was here — the touch, the weight, the rhythm, the man.

My whole body lit up, like a low flame suddenly caught by the wind.

And I came.

No warning. No fanfare.

It was a calm, deep orgasm, the kind that rises from within, no need for force or speed. My muscles gripped him hard, like my body knew how to thank him for treating it so well, so respected and yet fully taken. I shook all over, mouth open in a silent moan, eyes shut, heart pounding.

He was still inside, buried deep, hot, hard, still. I felt every detail of him even in the climax — the shape, the texture, the heat. It was like all the exhaustion I’d felt had finally melted away; now, like he promised, I was completely relaxed.