I Like Your Eyes Wide Ch. 02

*A dark smile passes across his beautifully haunting face and he kisses me tenderly, roughly, owning my body with the slightest touch.

"Get on your knees," he whispers.*

**Chapter Two**

I do as I'm told. The carpet is soft beneath my knees as I sit on my heels with eyes to the floor, my hands behind my back. I see the faded cuffs of his jeans, his bare feet beneath. It's a scene from my deepest fantasy, my farthest dream, but I'm living it here, in this bedroom, with him.

He paces in a circle around me. "Someone knows how to beg properly," he chuckles, patting my hair with a heavy hand. I keep my eyes to the floor. I am dangerously wet.

He gets on one knee before me and uses his finger to lift my chin.

"I want you to tell me, sweetheart," he growls, "have you ever been anyone's little slave?"

Bashfully I look away.

"No." My nervous reply carries the weight of my fear - and my hope. He grabs my chin roughly.

"No sir," he chastises, his face inches from mine. I gulp.

"No, sir," I whisper.

He nods approvingly.

"But you've wanted to. Haven't you, sweetheart?" he asks. He knows. My eyes widen, as do his, when I say the words we've both been dying to hear.

"Yes, more than anything. I've always wanted to."

"Yes, of course you have," he murmurs, stroking my cheek. "I can see it in your eyes. I can tell just by looking at you, in that dress... With that smile... With your every movement. You beg to be owned."

As he speaks, he takes the palm of his hand and traces my side, down to my hip, to my thigh.

"You're going to be my little slave tonight," he promises. I drop my eyes properly, the command implicit in his words.

"Spread your legs, slave."

I do. My legs flicker in the candlelight, my boots and legs coated with the juices that have escaped my panties. When he reaches between my legs and traces my thigh, I jump with pleasure at his touch. My eyes downcast, I see his sturdy hand and the dark hair on his forearm disappear between my smooth white thigh, beneath my white lace panties.

He begins to stroke my slit slowly, tracing up to my clit and back again. His touch is so slight that I could be imagining it. My breathing quickens. The slightest moan escapes my lips.

"Do you like this?" he whispers in my ear.

"Yes, sir," I moan softly. My chest rises and falls rapidly.

"Look at me, slave" he commands. I raise my head. He holds my gaze as he strokes me back and forth, tantalizing me. His eyes are pitch black in the flickering candlelight. He suddenly slips a finger deep inside of me and I gasp.

"Good girl," he whispers, moving his finger masterfully inside of me, grazing my g-spot with every motion. I am breathing heavily now, and the sound of my panting melds with the sound of my juices as he moves inside of me.

I still don't look away.

"This body is mine, little slave," he says. "Do you feel this pleasure? This is just a taste of what I'm going to do to you."

I moan.

He smiles. "Your little body has so much to learn about being owned. Your tight little pussy has so much to learn..."

He slips another finger inside of me and I cry out.

"You've never been touched like this before, have you slave?" he whispers.

I bite my lip and shake my head. He begins to finger me harder, and my legs tremble beneath my weight. His eyes are absolutely glaring, daring me to look away, but I know I can't, my body can't handle the sensation -

"Beg me to come, slave," he commands, his hand again picking up speed. "Beg me to come."

My pants have turned into one continuous moan. I quiver furiously, perched upon my heels.

"Please, sir," I moan, "please..."

"Please what?"

"Please sir, please let me come!"

I am dangerously close to the edge. I feel tingling in my calves, in my abdomen, and my pussy begins to tighten around his fingers.

"You want to come, little slave?" he asks. I groan in response.

His fingers move rapidly.

"Come. Come for me," he commands.

I cry out as my entire body clenches. My pelvis arches forward as I toss my head back in ecstasy, my pussy clamped tightly around his fingers in waves of electric pleasure. The fierce sensations wrack every muscle in my body.

What feels like hours later, my body relinquishes its tired fight. My head and shoulders drop before me and my moans have died to a steady, deep, heavy panting. His fingers are inside of me still.

I can feel his satisfaction.

"Look at me," he says. I drag my eyes to meet his, breathing deeply. A bead of sweat drips from my brow. He casually removes his sopping fingers and brings them to my lips.

"Open," he orders. "This is what it tastes like when you come for me."

I open my mouth and he shoves his fingers inside. Somehow, even in my exhaustion, I am ravenous for the taste of my arousal. I suck at his fingers until they are clean, my tongue coated with my own sweet taste.

I hardly realize how quickly my legs are shaking until he lays his free hand on my thigh.

"Stand, sweetheart," he says.

Knees quaking, I help myself up from the ground. The room is quiet and calm, the only movement coming from the same, burning candle. I'm surprised by its stillness, surprised that, if he and I weren't standing here right now, someone could walk into this room and never know what took place.

My panties are pulled slightly down to the left, my inner thighs gleaming with the sheen of my wetness. I'm shivering.

I look at him cautiously, fully clothed in his jeans, his t-shirt, his dark eyes, half in wonder and half in fear. Unsure what, if anything, to say. My nipples stand pert, hard as stone.

I returned to my feet a different person than when I left them - and he knows it.

He eyes me up and down approvingly, taking in the sight of my body, used and flush with pleasure. I see the heat in his eyes again - that solar flare - and know that he has, again, decided something.

He bends down and scoops my white dress off the floor. Nonchalantly, he hands it to me.

I look into his eyes, utterly confused.

"Put it on," he instructs.

I cock my head, uncertain. He nods. I take the dress from him and slip it over my head. I wonder if I did something to upset him, something wrong. Did I spoil everything by approaching him too eagerly? Did I fail a test I didn't realize I was taking?

I adjust the dress properly around my thighs, embarrassed of my nakedness and of my presence here. I suddenly feel naive, like a child wearing her prettiest dress for the wrong occasion. I don't know where to look, unwilling to meet him in his eyes, that dark familiar place.

Sensing my doubt, he suddenly reaches to me, pulling me into his chest, as his heavy arms envelop me completely. The warmth of his embrace is all-consuming. He puts his hand behind my head, holding me close.

I close my eyes. He gently pushes my hair behind my ear.

"You are mine now," he says darkly, softly. "You know that, don't you?" he asks.

I pause. Were I elsewhere, with anyone else, his words would have jarred me. The prospect of owning another person in body or in soul - a concept that would ordinarily revolt me - sounds positively intoxicating coming from his lips.

Even after only one exchange - one complete submission of power and total physical pleasure - I feel a devoted loyalty to this stranger. I feel his dangerous and beautiful hold over me in this moment.

I release a breath, my own decision fortified.

"I know, sir," I respond, my voice but a whisper. He takes me by the shoulders, staring forcefully into my eyes.

"You're so young, and there is so much you have to learn," he says.

As if I could ever forget. He holds me at arm's length, his strong, rugged hands clasping my shoulders entirely, and I'm astounded by how small I feel.

"Can you teach me?" I ask.

He nods and motions toward the bed. We sit on the edge, not quite close enough to touch. The mattress is soft beneath me and I wonder, fleetingly, how familiar this bed will become in the days and weeks to follow.

"I can teach you," he offers seriously, "but there are rules."

I nod. I've read enough stories to expect this.

"The first rule is honesty," he explains, eying me closely. "I need to know, with absolutely certainty, that you have never given yourself to anyone like this before."

I clear my throat.

"I haven't," I say. "I've had boyfriends, and... Not boyfriends... But they never - Well, sometimes I asked them to, but they never really... you know...did what you just did to me..."

I trail off into the quiet. My cheeks are flushed with embarrassment as I look to the floor. Obeying his commands are easy. Describing my sex life is harder.

"So you've never given yourself away to someone the way you just gave yourself to me," he interprets. His words, assured and direct, release a cascade of shivers down my spine.

"I mean - I've been touched before," I stammer. "I've - you know, had sex before, of course -"

He discards my words with a wave of his hand.

"No," he says. "Sex with boyfriends, hook-ups with strangers, none of them matter here. The experiences are not the same. The way you have given yourself to me - in body and in spirit - is different, from all of that. You agree."

I nod.

"And you've never done that before."

I shake my head. He's right; comparing the two experiences seems ludicrous, so vastly they differ in pleasure, in intimacy, in passion. I gave myself to him physically, but it was more than that - and that is the root of my passion and my trust. That deeper something.

"Good. It's important to me that I'm your first. That innocence - it is important to me it is offered to me, and only me, completely."

I understand. I feel like a virgin again; this world is so unfamiliar to me. The idea is terrifying and overwhelmingly arousing. As I look at him from beneath my lashes, I know I could never find another person better to introduce me to my submission.

"The second rule," he continues seriously, "is you."

He meets my eyes and lifts his hand to trace my collarbone.

"If you are to be mine, there can be no doubts. No second thoughts. You will trust me entirely in this bedroom and beyond. You will willingly give yourself to me, in mind and in body, completely."

His hand moves to my neck, to my chest.

"And, most importantly, you will give yourself to the moment. You will relinquish all insecurity, all hesitation, all thoughts of past and future, and be only in this moment, with me, as I ask."

I blink, unable to imagine how I could ever think of anything else in his presence. The moment I walked up his stairs, the outside world faded into nothing. Here, thoughts of the bar - of my friends - of anything beyond these doors - feel irrelevant. All I can see is him, the silhouette of his shadowed face in the flickering candlelight.

"You will be mine when I pleasure you, as before."

I feel a deep twinge of arousal.

"When I punish you, as your teaching will demand."

Another twinge, deeper.

"And when I push your boundaries, more than you thought you could stand, to my pleasure and to satisfaction of your deepest desires," he concludes.

My mind races. I consider all the stories I've read, all the curiosities I've never been bold enough to entertain. I wonder the breadth of his desires; what he will have me do, what he will do to me.

My blush escalating, I hold his gaze.

"I will give myself to you and to the moment, every time," I promise breathlessly.

He allows himself a small smile.

"Good," he says, standing. He walks to the door and I take the invitation to follow. Our movements have a sense of open-ended conclusion as we make our way down the hallway, down the stairs.

"You work?" he asks.

I nod.

"But you're free tomorrow evening," he says certainly, opening the front door and turning to face me.

I reply automatically, unwilling to even consider the contents of my mental calendar:

"Yes."

"Good girl," he says, handing over another small piece of paper with his phone number. "We're going to dinner. I'll get you at seven. You will send me your address," he says.

I take the paper, already mystified by the whirlwind he has introduced to my life.

Lifting my chin in the way that is already so familiar, his eyes assume a commanding glow as he adds, "At dinner, you will wear nothing under your dress. And you will not touch yourself - tonight or tomorrow."

My cheeks burn; I wonder if his order is perfunctory, or if he sensed my desire to quell my insatiable arousal.

"Your command makes it even harder to obey," I retort in a murmur.

He smirks, then suddenly pushes me roughly by the neck back inside the dark hallway, against the wall.

I breath heavily, strained, staring helplessly at him, standing tip-toe.

"You will not touch yourself tonight or tomorrow," he repeats, his voice a warning. "Your body is mine at all times. Do you understand?"

His voice is calm, unwavering, but his eyes are wild with heat and control. I nod quickly, submissively. This is the essence of him, of us.

He releases me as I return, panting, to flat ground.

"You'll send me your address," he reminds me, gesturing to the paper still clasped in my hand, as he walks me again to the door.

"I will, sir," I reply, his title reinstated. He smiles knowingly and bends to kiss me lightly on the cheek.

"Goodnight," he whispers, his hand leaving fire on the small of my back.

"Goodnight, sir," I reply softly as I walk out the door in a daze, into the glow of the night. I don't turn back to watch him, and I don't hear the door close until I am safely down the path and on the street again.

It's hard to tell how much the time has passed. The sky is still black with a smattering of stars and the world is still quiet, bearing silent witness to my walk home.

7 Harris.

8 Harris.

9 Harris.

Obediently, I reach for my cell phone and reference the number on the small, folded sheet of paper.