Tommy sighed as he sat on the edge of his bed. It had been a long day of work, and nothing interesting — fucking numbers and odds and cheques.
And to make matters worse, it was like his brain had decided to stop fucking working.
Or maybe it was the lack of sleep. Sleep, which had always eluded him enough, was now nigh on impossible.
Not to mention, he'd struggled to eat for days. Funnily enough, ever since Kimber had been in the house, his body seemed to be going haywire.
He first noticed it when he'd cuffed her to the bed. He couldn't help a small smile at the memory of her outrage. But then he remembered the way her body had felt pressed against his, how soft her skin had been as he ran his fingers up the length of her arms...
Fuck's sake. He was growing hard now, just like he had then. But the memory was unrelenting as it replayed in his mind. Her eyes, round with surprise, her fluttering lashes, the way her lips parted slightly as his gaze flickered to them...
The clink of metal had returned him to his senses just as quickly as it had her. And if he was honest, Tommy almost regretted slipping the handcuffs around her wrists. He wondered for a moment what might have happened if he hadn't, if he'd held her wrists there with his bare hands instead.
He grew so hard it became painful, an aching throb stretching his underwear. He hadn't stroked himself in years, not since returning home from France. He didn't think such a thing would be possible anymore. He'd fucked women, yes, but never thought about them on his own, never fantasised about them like this...
But what if it wasn't his hand that pulled his waistband down, but hers? The thought sent another pump of blood rushing to his cock. He imagined it for a moment. Pictured her beside him, the handcuffs lying forgotten on the floor. Her father didn't exist. All that existed was them, and she wanted him, craved him just as badly as he desired her.
He pictured what her body would look like if she slipped out of those baggy gowns. Every stretch mark across her hips, every inch on display for him. A soft groan escaped his lips as he ran his hand along his length at the thought. Fuck, it felt good. It had always seemed so pointless before.
She made him so weak, even if he would never show it. Always having the last word. Always disobeying him. It rattled him. He wanted to make her finally submit. To finally trust him and give herself to him, to stop fighting. He pictured it — he tells her to lie down, and she does, her bare back across the cotton sheets. He tells her to spread her legs for him and she obeys. He tells her to bring her hand to her clit and rub. She does it, and she tilts her head back and moans, her finger slowly working her clit until she trembles for him. Begs for him.
She whimpers his name between her perfect lips.
He was so close now, furiously fisting his cock. In his mind, she notices. She gives a small smile and leans forward, moving her hands to his hips. She guides him in towards her and takes his cock in her own hands, positions him at her entrance.
"I need you to fuck me, Tommy." Her mouth drops open as he pushes against her. "I need you so bad."
She cries out as he pushes inside her, and that was all it took. The knot that had built inside of him unravelled, swelled, burst, and exploded out the end of his cock. He fought for breath as he came, splashing everywhere from his hands to the walls. Every groan and pant brought another wave of orgasm. Holy shit, he'd never came like this before. He never knew it could feel this good.
"Fucking hell," he muttered, leaning against the wall while he recovered.
It couldn't happen again. He was a fucking idiot. It wouldn't happen again. He would simply have a greater measure of self control.
Even as he thought it, he was already looking forward to the next time.