Owned

"Dammit, you will give me more."

You are already stroking me into another orgasm, that easily and that fast. Your fingers pressing into me, finding that sensitive spot, easing over it. In heartbeats you have me writhing, twisting, hips bucking, crying out one long keaning moan that can only be described as animalistic and, in my own head, completely embarrassing. Keeping me right there, riding out the edge of the storm long and hard and full steam ahead. Making me flail, jump, beg and plead. One hand driving me, owning me, your other forearm pressing down on my forehead, allowing me no escape and no room to maneuver away from you.

Forcing me to take more from you.

To take all that you are giving.

To give.

Trembling and spent, sunk into a near exhaustive state, my mind completely empty of everything. Your hand on my head shifts, strokes into my hair, winding a handful around and between your fingers. The hand between my legs lifts, you bring it to my mouth. Your finger tip, drenched in moisture strokes over my lips, then between.

"Open." Your fingers slide in. "Taste."

Myself, you. The combination potent and, to my mind right then, near-deadly. I cannot open my eyes, cannot even drum up enough energy to draw my legs together when you repeat the movements twice more, scooping from me and then feeding the blend of my release and yours.

I feel your eyes on my face after I have licked your fingers clean, can feel your brain click on. My eyes open, focus, my head turns and I meet your gaze.

Your fingertip slides over my neck and throat, and I nearly lift my hand to check and see if I had really removed that collar, or if it had been there at all. I can still feel weight, almost substance. I shiver as you speak, your voice quiet and clear.

"It is still there, Gaelyn. You can take it off, throw it, hack it to pieces, burn it. You can try all you want to deny the claim. But you and I both know, it is still there."