Then he walks me backward slowly, carefully, his hands steady on my hips, guiding me, and I trust him completely to keep me safe, to not let me stumble or fall. I can feel the space opening up around us as we move, can sense we're crossing the room though I have no idea where we're going until I feel the cool wood of the desk against the back of my thighs.
The desk in front of the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city, I realize, my heart racing. The window where anyone looking up from the street might see us, might see my silhouette. The thought sends a thrill through me, makes heat flood between my thighs, makes me press closer to him.
"Turn around," he says gently, his hands on my hips helping me, and I obey, turning so my back is to him, so I'm facing the window I can't see. "Bend forward for me. Hands on the desk."
I obey, leaning forward slowly, my palms finding the smooth wood surface. The desk is cool against my heated skin as I bend further, feeling my spine curve, my ass lifting, and I can feel how exposed I am like this, how vulnerable.
"More," he says, and his hand presses between my shoulder blades, applying gentle but insistent pressure until my breasts press against the cool wood and I gasp at the temperature shock, my nipples hardening painfully against the surface. "That's it. All the way down. I want you completely bent over for me."
My hands reach forward automatically, gripping the far edge of the desk for stability, for something to anchor myself to, and I'm breathing hard now, my heart racing, anticipation and arousal coiling tight in my belly.
I can feel how exposed I am like this, bent over with my back arched, my ass in the air, my thighs slightly spread. The cool air from the window kisses my heated skin, and I'm hyperaware of every sensation—the temperature difference, the vulnerability of the position, the way my heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
His hands run over my back with reverent attention, starting at my shoulders and sliding down my spine slowly, tracing each vertebra, learning the curve of my body. Over my lower back, over the swell of my ass, his palms warm and slightly rough against my skin.
"Isabelle," he says. "You have no idea how perfect you looklike this. How much I want you. How hard it is to go slow when all I want is to be inside you."
"Thendon'tgo slow." I arch my back more, offering myself to him shamelessly. "I don't need slow right now. I need you. I need to feel you."
His hands grip my hips, his fingers digging in slightly, and I feel the thick head of his cock at my entrance, hot and hard and perfect. He doesn't push in yet, just rests there, the pressure maddening, and I try to push back but his grip holds me steady.
"Please," I whimper, beyond pride, beyond caring how desperate I sound. "Alex, please, I need you inside me."
"I know," he says, his voice strained. "I just want to remember this. You trusting me like this. Giving yourself to me like this. It's everything."
After another moment, he lines up his cock at my entrance, and slides in slowly, so slowly, and I gasp and moan as he fills me inch by inch.
His cock fits me perfectly, like my body was designed specifically for him. No other man has ever been able to make me orgasm from penetration alone, but his cock hits some spot inside me that lights me up like nothing else ever has.
He thrusts deep, gripping my ass and pulling me back onto him, his fingers digging into my flesh.
"Fuck, Isabelle.” His hands are all over me, running up my spine, gripping my hips, claiming every inch of me.
I have never felt so at his mercy. No one has ever made me feel safe enough to let them have me like this, to let them see me completely undone. I feel euphoric and completely lost and I cry out his name.
He suddenly pulls out, but then he's spinning me to face him, my legs automatically wrapping around his waist. He yanks the blindfold off in one quick motion and I gasp, blinking in the low light, looking up at him.
His eyes are dark and hungry and full of so much emotion itmakes my chest hurt, makes my throat tight, and he enters me again without warning, quickly and urgently. He tangles his hand in my hair, forcing me to maintain eye contact with him, not letting me look away or hide behind closed eyelids. He presses his forehead close to mine, our noses almost touching, breathing each other's air as he thrusts into me, sending waves of pleasure over and over through my entire body, building and building.
"Alex," I whisper, feeling tears starting to form as the sensations and emotions threaten to overwhelm me completely, as everything I've been holding back comes rushing to the surface. "Alex, I love you."
I can't help it, whether it should be said during sex or not, whether it's the right moment or too soon, it's so completely true that holding it back feels impossible.
He thrusts even deeper, holding himself there for a moment, pressing me flush against him, our bodies completely connected with no space between us, and he cups my face with one hand, his palm warm and gentle against my cheek. He smiles down at me, open and tender and full of everything I've been too afraid to hope for.
"I love you completely, so much, Isabelle," he says, his voice breaking slightly on my name. "I've loved you this whole fucking time."
He moves inside me again, and the fullness combined with the overwhelming vulnerability and feeling so completely loved and seen—actually seen for who I am and loved anyway—makes the tears fall freely and I pull him down for a desperate kiss. He kisses me back, swallowing my moans as he keeps thrusting, our mouths moving together, tongues sliding, sharing breath.
I lean back against the desk and he follows me down, pinning my wrists above my head with one hand, thrusting harder and harder, and the waves of pleasure build. We cometogether, harder than ever before, him groaning my name and me crying out his, both of us shaking and clinging to each other.
We stay like that for a long moment, both of us breathing hard, neither of us wanting to move or break the connection. He's still inside me, still holding my wrists gently above my head, his forehead resting against mine, and I've never felt safer in my entire life.
"I love you," I whisper again, because now that I've said it once I can't stop saying it, like the words have been building up inside me for weeks and now they're pouring out. "I never thought I would say that to anyone, but I'm completely yours."
"I love you too," he says, kissing me softly, tenderly, completely different from the desperate kiss moments ago. "And I'm just as much yours as you are mine. You have no idea how strong the hold you have on me is, how completely you own me."
I smile a little bit at that, my voice still breathless, shaky. "Really? Because I think you're the one who just completely destroyed me."