Like Wildfire

In the beginning, Eli took special care to make me tremble. He knew the medical wrap bonding my wrists set alarms off inside me, scrambling my nerves and heightening my flight-or-fight response.

"What a strange little thing you are. The way this makes you shake all frightened." He unraveled the self-adhesive wrap around my wrists. "And my hand," He placed his palm against my cheek, "Striking your face makes you want."

"I'm not scared." I whispered, my voice betraying me to his delight. I felt the heat simmering from his desire, stoked by my anxiety.

"Good. Fear spoils the meat." His fingertips trailed my face as though trying to memorize the details. Touch traveled down my temple to the peaks of my cheekbones.

When Eli waxes poetic, he'll marvel at my helplessness beneath him.

"There is something so obscene about slapping a pretty face." He remarked once. It was meant to be a compliment. It wouldn't do to woo me without inciting a surge of fretfulness.

His touch learned the contour of my jaw, his thumb brushing over my lips. They parted for him as he probed into my mouth, letting a single syllable drop low in register from his throat.

"Suck."

His thumb pressed down on my tongue as he studied my face, bathed in amber tones from the candles I clustered thoughtfully on the bureau and nightstand in anticipation of his visit. I felt a prick of self consciousness about them- a silly gesture, as though the night would be filled with love making and romance.

I accepted his thumb like he's offering his cock to my mouth, teasing it the way I would if he was threatening to fuck my throat. The anchor of this thumb inside my mouth turned my face to profile. He watched my cheeks hollow out and his fingers grazed the skin of my neck, tracing down to my collar bone. He exhaled, as though he carried something heavy, a groan that implied suffering.

"Open your mouth" He encouraged, poking inside, hooking my canine in the pad of his thumb and wrenching my mouth open. He peered inside, studying the pristine bones with one exploratory digit and it invites a cagey feeling, like I was a large cat in a zoo having its teeth checked. I bit down on his thumb and he cursed, I expected him to pull his hands away but he looked down at me patiently, waiting for me to release him. I slowly relaxed my jaw. His handsome face held, more amusement than irritation. His cool demeanor set me reeling.

"I'm sorry." I offered for my temporary lapse of insanity.

"What are you sorry for?" He seemed delighted with that fact that beneath him I'm quailing.

"I bit you." I clarified, feeling silly. "I'm sorry I bit you."

"You don't like being on display? Don't like being inspected?" He asked, yanking the strap of my bra over my shoulder. He tore at the cup, pulling my breast out to the cool air. Pawing at the meat of my tit, my nipple hardened at his touch. His fingers lingered for a moment to pinch at it before making quick work of the other strap, pulling my bra beneath my breasts. I let out small yowls of protest at his roughness.

"You like being treated like a piece of meat." He stated, leaning down to take my left nipple between his teeth, reveling in my conciliatory mewlings. He trapped the small nub between his teeth and pulled back, letting the weight of my breast and gravity aid in my torture. My back arched, my body pushing closer to him, trying to alleviate some of the pain. Finally releasing, he pushed his fingers up against my panties, the last meager barrier of protection against him.

He whispered mockingly, "Sorry I bit you." as I caught my breath, his rhythmic rubbing of my clit through the scrap of delicate fabric making my hips jolt up to meet him.

"You're a bad girl." He admonished, and my breath caught in my throat as he reached down to bite my neck, bearing down on the sensitive flesh.

"Yes." I conceded, prickling to appease him.

"Such a bad little thing. Doesn't know how to behave." He pulled his hand back and slapped the damp fabric of my panties. My need mounted fiercely, a bright peak of desire inside me.

"You never learn, do you?" He slapped me again, hard.

"I'm sorry." I gasped.

"You will be." He spat, pulling off of me and kneeling on the bed before me, grabbing my bound wrists and unraveled the restraint.

Laying there on my back, I felt an ache- wishing for his weight on top of me once more. Fingers working quickly, he threaded his grip around my ankles and pulled me lower on the bed, easily folded my legs back, grabbed at my panties, and roughly dragged them off of me. I tried to calm the alarms sounding in my mind clashing with the desire warring inside me. I ignored the compulsion to pull my legs together to protect myself.

"Stay just like that." His tone unwavering. "You keep those spread." For good measure he slapped at the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. I gritted my teeth, waiting as Eli quickly unbuckled his belt and in a fluid motion, pulled the leather through the loops of his jeans. He doubled it over and paused before swatting at me.

"You're going to show me what a sorry little slut you are."

I tempered my breathing, heart beating wildly, waiting for him to strike. He took my hand and pushed his belt into my grip. I searched his face uncomprehending, then all at once I realized what he wanted.

"Eli, please."

"Please what?" He pushed back. "You like being punished so much, show me how sorry you are."

"I . . .no." I shook my head. " I can't do that."

"Do you want to cum for me tonight?"

"Yes."

Conflict surged in me. I was excited. I could feel myself begin to drip onto the bed sheets beneath me and the heat of the embarrassment on my face. I hit a wall where I wanted to do as he asked, but couldn't act. That last stitch of resolve remained stubborn. I clung to it, frightened that once it dissolved I might do anything he asked.

"Here, let's start with one on your left thigh." He tapped where he wanted me to aim, his tone shifting, seeming to acknowledge my nerves.

I arranged my grip on his belt, testing the way it felt to swing it a little, feeling its heavy heft in my hand.

"Right here." He urged, pulling back to watch.

I swung the belt down onto my thigh.

"Was that so bad?" he smirked.

"No." I admitted

"You make things so much harder than they have to be, don't you?"

I blushed, unable to defend myself.

"Tell me, what was that pain, one out of ten? A "two" maybe? A "three"?"

"Two." I confirmed.

"Try a 'four' on your right thigh. Then alternate between them." He counseled, nodding in approval as I brought the belt down on my inner thigh and felt him run his fingers over the light sting. He moved his hand away and nodded in encouragement as I brought the belt down, alternating between my thighs. I felt the sting grow more pronounced as I continued on. That smarting pendulous motion became easier as the embarrassment of the act faded.

"Now right here." He lowered his hand to rub over my wet, exposed pussy. I arched at his gentle touch, fighting the urge to beg for more of his fingers against me. He groaned a little at the feel of my parting flesh under his fingers. "Right here." He repeated, retreating.

I closed my eyes and brought the belt down between my legs, letting out a gasp at the bright, stirring sting.

"What was that on a scale of one to ten?"

"Hmmph." The pout was genuine, but I stalled under his impatient look. "Five."

"Five out of ten isn't quite a punishment. A little harder."

A whine escaped, feeling the hard sting of his leather belt catching on my sensitive clit.

"There. That's where I want you hovering. Right there. Six?" He searched my eyes, brushing my hair out of my face.

"Yes. I think so." I mewled.

"You keep it right there. You can do it harder but don't you dare go beneath a six."

"Eli, please!" I begged.

"You love it you dripping little mess. Now, do as you're told."

Despite the humiliation I felt under his intent look, I could feel an undeniable pleasure-pain growing. His hand reached out, rubbing the underside of my thigh, as though he were trying to soothe an anxious animal. I quickly found a rhythm, slapping my exposed pussy, punctuating the painful strokes with a symphony- sighs of sublime suffering.

I watched as he unbuttoned his jeans. The dark denim contrasted with his skin. I admired him, in that moment, the lean lines of his body and the strength to his presence. There were moments where I saw him in his entirety, like I was looking at him for the first time, and felt this giddy flush of magnetic attraction to him. He pulled his hard cock out, gripping his shaft and jerking it off. He had this wolfish intensity about him, energy absorbed in watching me. Trapped in his stare, I reminded myself that I trusted him.

"Again." He urged. "Again." His voice was pure lust, he could've been calling "Encore!"

"Eli?" I felt a strange panic at the pleasure blossoming. The steady rhythm of mixed sensations made me twist my hips, feeling myself grow closer to the edge.

"Oh fuck." He rasped. "You're going to cum like this." He groaned low from the back of his throat, his hand moving faster on his cock.

"But I don't want to." I whimpered.

"Don't you dare stop!" he spoke through his teeth.

"Please, please fuck me?" I felt trapped there, sustained in that transient state. I needed something, just an inch of friction would be enough to push me over the edge.

"Not yet." He pressed. "Hurt yourself for me, Sasha. Bruise your sweet little clit."

My eyes shut tight as I swung the leather back and felt a searing hurt wake me up a little through my lust. I could feel myself grow accustomed to it, pushing through a thin barrier of what I wanted over what I thought I could handle.

"You can take more." he encouraged, "You're going to cum for me, aren't you? Cum. Because I want it. Because I told you to." His voice grew tight.

"I can't." My eyes screwed shut in pleasure, feeling my clit pulse. It didn't feel like pain anymore, not exactly. The pressure and sensation burgeoning, flourished and overwhelmed me. My hips rocked, established in the pattern. The pattern made for an unstoppable force blooming and forcing me to acknowledge it.

I looked up at him, feeling panicked-on the cusp, overflowing with pleasure.

"Listen." He spoke through gritted teeth. "Listen to me! You think you can't cum like this, but you can. You will." He locked eyes with me with such ardor that it almost made me look away, like looking directly at the sun. "Ignore the part of you that is scared, the part of you that's saying you can't."

Eyes locked on his, I was in awe of his intensity, his certainty. His conviction held me captive, it was a kind of sexual Stockholm syndrome. Despite my doubts, I began to let go of my trepidations and believed him.

"You're mine, do you understand? Say it. Say you belong to me."

"Yours. . . I'm . . . I'm yours." I felt myself teetering at the edge of something unknowable.

"Damn right you are. Now cum for me!"

I could feel the cry that escaped leaving my throat, something animalistic and raw. A dam burst and I sobbed with pleasure, my eyes shut, unable to look at him. I went blind for a moment, my body trying to make sense of the intensity. Senses awakened to a hyper-sensitive state.

Eli moved in over me, pulling the belt from my hand and tossing it aside, swiftly pushed the full length of his hard cock inside me. There was always just an ounce of pain at first from the thickness of the head of his cock making room for itself inside me, and that twitch of pleasure that tugged at his lips for making me wince.

"That's it." His hands gripped my hips, pulling me harder onto his girth and making me cry out again. "Keep on cumming for me, cum on my cock!" He pumped into my tightness, stretching me, working himself in hard, fast, determined. It was as though my mind was trying to shut out the sensation at it all being too-much. With each violent thrust, he kept calling me back, inviting me back into the rush and the sickening thrill of our dynamic. He wouldn't let me recover.

"That's my girl. There she is!" He called out, seeing the grimace of need on my face, pulling his cock back to thrust hard into me over and over again. He humped against me, dragging his cock up against my g-spot.

"Please! Please I'm so sensitive!" I mewled, coming back down to earth, the raw, sensitive flesh of my cunt throbbing and the fabric of his jeans harsh against my skin.

I begged him to stop, but felt a sort of relief at his insistence. A bewildering moment, a question of what I could endure. I watched him working into me and anticipated the hard thrusts. With his unrelenting way, I was forced to experience it. Again, I was forced out of my own way and was made to feel wave after incredible wave of too-much sensation until it was one sustained note of pleasure.

"Take it." He gritted his teeth, moving his hands around my ankles, the grip unforgiving as he drove into me repeatedly. "Be a good girl and take it!" He ignored my squeaks and complaints of hypersensitivity. "Fuck!" He called as he thrust hard into me. I felt him erupt inside, flooding me with his cum. He cursed and praised me in equal measure, holding me tight to his body as he emptied himself inside and collapsed on top of me without pulling out.

I held him close to me, feeling his heart beating wildly and feeling an undeniable swell of affection in my chest. It was exhilarating and terrifying. The vulnerability of being exposed, him dragging me through the doubt and trepidation into something so powerful. It was like he could see something in me that I couldn't see in myself. I tried to catch my breath and ignore the pang of anxiety that inexplicably washed over me in that revelation. I looked down at him clinging to my body as he caught his breath. He held me tight like a drowning man clinging to a life preserver. I tried not to look at him through new eyes.

* * *

I try not to glance at the clock, knowing he's going to leave soon. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I watch him get dressed and admire the way his bones and muscles work under his skin as he moves before he covers himself up.

"You really should unpack your things." He acknowledges, finding his shirt at the foot of the bed and pulling it on. "It's been a few weeks. I meant it when I said you can stay as long as you need to."

"I don't know, I won't be here much longer..." I tug at my sock, pulling it back up my calf and folding it right under my knee and adjusting my bra to cover his bite marks.

He glanced over incredulously as he buckled his belt. "You're passing up free rent in this city?"

I think to remark upon the word "free," and think better of it. "I'm half sick of shadows." I quote.

"That's rather dramatic." He straightened himself, shoes tied, his lines still sharp. I caught him glancing at his reflection before he walked back to my side of the bed. "You're a bit much, aren't you?"

I shook my head a little, feeling exposed.

"Sometimes you're a bit much even for yourself." He asserted.

"Sometimes." I echoed quietly.

He tipped my chin up to him easily in his fingers. Watching my eyes widen, taking him in, waiting for him to kiss me with the fervor and wildfire he brings.

"God in his mercy lend her grace." He said, instead, with a sense of levity.

He's in and out, treating his condo like it's my place instead of his. He'll knock instead of using the key I know he has next to his own. I accused him once of fantasizing that I was more together than I really was. To hear him explain things, I owe him nothing but my company, but that feels like a farce. He visits and checks in on me, taking what he wants and for my part, I wait for him.

* * *

I met him in a hotel lounge, one of many I snuck into pretending I belonged. It was a talent of mine, infiltrating spaces I had no business being in with nothing but false bravado. I had next to nothing left by way of money, having burned through my savings since moving to the city, and was beginning to feel a sense of desperation about what I would do next.

He took a seat near mine, close enough for me to study his face discreetly if I glanced over the screen of my laptop. Strong features offset by sleek glasses. Though I liked his dark wavy hair and the spray of silver-gray about his temples, the words "carefully tousled" came to mind. I thought him vain, and It made me dismiss him immediately.

"Waiting for someone?" He had a drink in hand, an impractical looking glass. I thought it frivolous, trying too hard.

"Yeah. You." I shot back, heavy handed with my sarcasm. I was used to being preyed upon, having traveled alone. Standoffish was a second coat I wore, but it lit him up like it was a challenge.

"As if the heavens opened up and your prayers were answered." He responded, deadpan.

I felt a hitch in my heartbeat, his dark eyes catching mine. He looked like he just came from a conference, dressed to fit the pretentiously hip feel to the lounge. There was a distinctive charm to his features. He had a broad smile that made my stomach twist and a pronounced nose. His light olive complexion seemed a deeper tan in the low lights.

He sampled his amber-colored drink with great patience and won our staring contest. I buried myself back in my laptop screen.

"Elliot."

He offered his hand and I took it, feeling silly.

"Sasha. You're very formal."

"Force of habit when I meet someone new. What room is he in?"

"Who?"

"The man that's waiting for you." He smiled, and I caught myself from rolling my eyes.

"Room 418."

"Well then you must be in the wrong place." A look of faux concern dusted over him.

I looked up, exasperated. "And how would you know that?"

"The suites here are all named after trees." He replied simply. "My room, for example, is the Beech Suite."

"Oh. You've figured me out. Congratulations." I tried to hide my embarrassment.

"Thanks. The view is amazing, you should see it." He had something like amusement dancing in his eyes.

"So what are you doing here?" I placed my laptop on the seat next to me and crossed my legs, pulling up my black knee sock that had slid down my calf.

"Just here for the ambiance. Beats the minibar." He took another sip of his drink. "The scotch is good. What are you drinking?"

"Me? A long island." I said the first thing that came to mind. He fixed an appraising look over me and got up. I studied his sharp corners against the blue light magnified by the endless glass surfaces of the bar. I watched him chat up the bartender, as she worked. I watched her eyes follow him back to where I sat.

"For you." He presented me with a glass. "Vodka Cranberry, your new go-to drink. I mean, a Long Island? Really? Is this your first time in a bar?"

"Hardly. I just don't usually drink." I took a sip. "And thank you." I remembered my manners, raising my glass.

"You're welcome." He radiated a sense of self-assuredness that I admired. I hid in another self-conscious sip.

* * *

"So what are you really doing here?" He emptied his pockets on the counter of the Beech Tree Suite.

"Mostly here for the ambiance." I lowered my backpack onto one of the tall counter stools hugging the breakfast nook. I walked over to the large picture windows framing the nightscape and took it all in.

I felt his presence at my side, taking in the lights of the traffic and the city's liveliness muted.

"I remember the first time I took in this view." His voice far-away with the memory.

I waited for a story to unfold, but it never came.

"What do you think?" I felt his hand on my lower back. It struck me as familiar, but a comfortable closeness I welcomed.

"It's Incredible." I turned to look at him.