Chapter Four

He put actions to words, reaching down between his legs to position the weeping head of his cock to the same small, welcoming groove his finger had just explored. The touch of that gloriously damp, soft skin made it very difficult to control himself. Sabin couldn't keep from parting those lips very suddenly, with a thrust that he had intended to be gentler and stop at her entrance. But his body wasn't having it. What it had sought and wanted and come while fantasizing about so many times in the past was right there, in front of it, and his cock had a mind of its own, plunging heavily into her all at once, and finding its natural seat within her in a matter of seconds.

Sabin was swearing in what was left of his mind at how he had just taken her, feeling her tense at his possession, her body clamping around him as if to keep him out, but she was no match for his intentions.

He forced himself to lie still, feeling her incredible tightness quivering around him as he lifted himself off her—although not out of her by any means—by planting his palms on the mattress next to her slim shoulders.

"You can put your arms down, baby. Are you okay?"

His tone was so strained with the nearly impossible act of keeping himself still that she could barely recognize his voice, and Honey knew that he was barely hanging on to his control by a thread.

And she was okay. He was enormous, but her body was accommodating him—not that he was giving her a choice about that.

What was left of his intellect wondered if this would mean that she wouldn't be able to climax for him, which he felt would have been a terrible loss.

So, as his body made him move within her, drawing himself all the way out, then—after a few attempts not to—slamming himself into her with incredible power, his finger found her soaked clit again, and he simply lay it there, over the very top of it, knowing his movements were going to brush the pad of his finger against her, whether she wanted it to or not.

Eyes that had been shut when he'd taken her so abruptly flew open. "You—you don't—ha-have to d-do that," she barely got out between thrusts.

"Oh, but I do, Honey. I do, " he ground out.

Despite the cries of pleasure that he was drawing from her, he was surprised to hear her try again to dissuade him. "I-I don't w-want you t-to," she breathed, clinging to his shoulders as if he was the only safe thing in a very turbulent storm.

That tickled his more evolved brain, but there wasn't enough of it left at the moment for him to puzzle it out. His hindbrain was in the driver's seat, and it answered very primitively and very simply, with an order he expected her to follow, "Come, Honey."

And, oh, dear God, she was going to! He had driven her past any shred of control, past any ability to corral her own body into doing what she wanted. That unholy combination of his finger and his cock was going to kill her, and he was going to split her wide open before this was through. And she didn't want either experience to stop, no matter what. That familiar feeling coiled deep within her, bringing the inevitable with it.

Her head thrashed back and forth, and she chanted her denial helplessly, "No, no, no, no, no," as it happened to her anyway.

It was the most violent thing that had ever happened to Honey. She literally screamed bloody murder when her peak first slammed into her—much harder than he was. She grabbed his shoulders, digging her fingernails into his back and growling with the force of it, a helpless victim of her own raging inner storm.

Surprisingly, he was still pumping into her, while wearing a triumphant—not slightly—evil smile.

"Again," he groaned.

She didn't think she could, but her body wasn't listening to her anymore, and a moment later, she stiffened and screamed again.

His smile only grew wider and more demonic each time she gave him the ultimate in submission—her reluctant orgasms.

"Again," he demanded, not sure whether he was going to be able to accomplish that before he shot his own load deep within her.

But he had created a sycophant of her body, and it obeyed his commands.

Just as his own desire coiled at the base of his spine and he knew he was seconds from completely losing it, she arched beneath him again, her scream only slightly less loud than the others as her breath hissed in through clenched teeth and he felt her spasm powerfully around him.

That was more than what he needed and every faint veneer of civilization dropped away from him as he grabbed her hard enough to leave fingerprints, holding her still so that he could pump his spunk into her for long, mind blowing moments as he jerked spasmodically over her. He didn't—couldn't—stop until he was completely and utterly empty, before collapsing down on top of her, as if his weight wouldn't crush her completely.

Sabin couldn't move. He didn't want to move. He desperately hoped he didn't need to move.

But then he felt an insistent tap on one bloodied shoulder that bore the crescent shaped marks of her fingernails in many different places, which he knew he would wear proudly as battle scars for as long as they lasted. Then another one, even more insistent.

And finally, from beneath him, he heard her faint, "Get off me, you big oaf—I'm suffocating!"

He practically jumped to his left, barely able to get out one word with each gulping breath he expelled, "Sorry," gasp, "about," gasp, "that," then an even longer, deeper gasp as his lungs were desperate for air.

She didn't say anything more to him but that, getting up as soon as he was off her, as if she couldn't stand to be around him for another second, and bolting—while wrapping the sheet around her as if she was ashamed to have him see her naked—for the bathroom.

He wanted to follow her immediately, but he simply couldn't.

So, he called to her, instead, until his jellied legs decided to work again, "Honey?"

Nothing.

"Honey? You okay?"

Silence.

He might have to get to her on his hands and knees, but, if that was what it took, then that was what he'd do. He didn't like at all that she wasn't responding to him.

And she'd damned well better not have locked the door, or she was going to find out quickly what it was like to get into real trouble with him.

Sabin managed to make it to the door in a somewhat upright—if not completely—position.

"Answer me, Honey. This is not funny, nor is it something I'm going to tolerate from you," he warned in what might have been a more edgy way than he had intended, but he was pretty knackered and amazed he was able to be upright at all, much less conversational.

The door was not only open, it wasn't even really closed tightly, so he just pushed it open, to reveal that she was sitting on the toilet—with the seat down—crying her eyes out.

As soon as he entered the room, she turned away from him, still weeping, every sob ripping his heart to ribbons. Seeing her like that brought him to rights with each step he took towards her.

When he reached her, without so much as a by your leave, he leaned down and picked her up in his arms.

"Put me down!" came her wasted, watery order.

He didn't bother to acknowledge it in the least as he brought her back to where he wanted her to be—on his bed, held tightly in his arms.

He didn't make her talk to him—at least, not at first. He simply held her and let her cry it out on his shoulder, no matter how much it was killing him to hear her weep that way. The last time she'd cried like that on him was when she'd had to put down a cat of hers that was practically her son. He'd held her then, too, just like he was now. Although, naked was much better.

When she'd come close to crying herself out, she tried to leave his embrace, but he wouldn't allow it. "Not until you've talked to me about why you were crying, sweetie," he stated firmly, kissing her damp cheek.

"I don't know why I'm crying!" she wept.

That was not the answer he was expecting. He'd been prepared to hear that he'd hurt her and didn't know it or that she'd felt uncomfortable about how he'd taken her so abruptly—something like that, he could deal with. But where could he go with 'I don't know'?

He kept his arms around her, and her body close to his, essentially surrounded by him. Eventually, he turned them onto their sides, assuming the big spoon role as she practically disappeared into his embrace.

As hard as it was for him to say—and even more so to feel—he did it anyway, for her sake, as he stroked her arms and rubbed her back in what he hoped was a comforting manner. When he spoke, Sabin kept his words low and soft. "That's okay. You don't have to know why you're crying. It's okay to just feel." He hesitated then said, "It was a very powerful experience for me on a lot of levels, too."

The volume of her crying rose when he said that, and she clung to him more tightly, so he thought he might have found a clue.

As much as he wanted to know everything about her, especially everything she thought about their lovemaking and him and their relationship, he didn't want to push her, and he knew that sometimes, the best thing he could do was just be there and not demand explanations for everything.

So, he continued to hold her for a long while, as her sobs faded to hiccoughs, and then he felt her relax entirely against him, and Sabin knew she was asleep.

And no wonder. He was barely beginning to recover from them coming together like that, and he'd only come once to her three times! He couldn't help but feel inordinately proud of himself at that, especially since she'd thought she might not climax at all!

***

She slept like the dead until the morning. He knew, because he was with her through most of it. Oh, he'd gotten up a couple of times to take care of something that had niggled at him while he lay in bed with her, but he still couldn't see the novelty of having her waiting for him in his bed wearing off any time soon for him. Or for her, he hoped with a frown.

For long hours, he'd turned on the soft lamp on his nightstand and simply lay there watching her, knowing that she would have been totally creeped out by that idea. But he couldn't help himself. He'd imagined her there, sleeping in his bed after he'd worn her ass out—in every possible meaning of that phrase—so many times in the past that he was worried he was going to fall asleep and wake up to find that it was yet another fevered day—or wet—dream. Sometimes he even reached out to trail his fingers ever so lightly down the perfect line of her spine.

Now that she was his, he was going to do his damnedest to keep her, although he had a feeling that the first thing she was going to do was to try to put distance between them, to pretend that this was just an aberration, and to get them back to just being friends.

But he wasn't going to let her do that. He'd be as honorable as he could with her, but if it came down to it, he wouldn't hesitate to fight dirty, either. Having her be a little unhappy with his tactics for a few days, would be more than worth it. She was worth any price to him.

And Sabin was pretty sure he could cajole her—one way or the other—out of any snit she might be in about his behavior or whatever it was that had triggered her tear storm last night.

He knew she was a morning person who usually rose any time between five and seven—usually six or so—so he made certain that he was in bed with her, wanting to be there when she awoke. He'd arranged himself on his side, watching her as she slowly came to consciousness, starting out on her side, facing away from him, then lying on her back for a while, still mostly asleep. But when she turned on her side towards him, yawning and stretching, he knew that she was almost fully awake—and he made his move.

Honey found herself pressed firmly onto her back, ending up lying horizontally across the mattress as he pulled her down. Sabin was between her legs and inside her before she had a coherent thought, his mouth claiming hers in a very passionate kiss before he lifted his head and smiled down at her.

"Good morning, little one," he murmured, spreading his own legs, and taking hers with them, rendering her obscenely open and vulnerable to him as he began to fuck her.

He was too much for her in so many ways—too big, too overwhelming. He never had been before, but in intimate situations, Honey felt bowled over by him, regardless of the fact that he had always been everything she'd wanted in a man. Her hands automatically came up to press against his shoulders, and he stopped immediately.

"Sore after last night?" he guessed, still buried deep inside her, but no longer moving.

"Some, but no."

He liked that she was being so honest with him.

"Not feeling very well? Hurting elsewhere?" he guessed, looking genuinely concerned and as if he would jump off her at a moment's notice if she but hinted that she was going to answer yes.

But she shook her head. "No."

"Good. Now put your hands above your head, sweetheart, and find something you can hold onto. You're going to need it."

She dutifully put her hands over the edge of the bed, but she couldn't find anything to hold onto, at first, as he was plunging into her, his cock rubbing against that very sensitive spot within her. Seconds later, though, he withdrew, and Honey tried to sit up.

"No, baby, lie back down. I'm nowhere near done with you."

She was too tired and out of it to argue with him.

With that, he slid down her body until his mouth was level with her bare crotch.

As he held her legs open with very little effort on his part, Sabin trailed a finger over her clit—making her jump suddenly—then down to an entrance that was already leaking her tribute to him all over his very expensive sheets—not that he gave the slightest of fucks.

But she did. "Sabin, no!" she whispered urgently.

"Why, no?" he asked, pausing.

She really didn't have an answer that she knew he would accept. "Be-cause!"

Two fingers—not crossed to make themselves smaller—were pressed into her at that moment, causing her outburst. As he continued to fuck her vigorously with them, the thumb he had already dipped in her juices sought and found her clit and began to rub it in a much more demanding fashion than he had last night.

She was barely awake and had fewer defenses against him than she usually did, and her train of thought where she was going to object to what he was doing had been utterly derailed—by someone she suspected was a master derailer.

Honey had meant not to see him this morning until she'd gotten dressed, and then only in another room of the house—almost any other room would have done.

But now here she was, getting finger fucked and utterly helpless to do anything about it—especially since a large percentage of her never wanted it to end!

"S-s-stop, S-S-Sabin!" she barely managed to get out.

He didn't stop. He didn't pause. He didn't even slow down.

But he did catch her in his very intent gaze. "If you can give me a real reason why I should and not lie to me, which, would, of course—and will always—get you into deep trouble, then I will stop immediately." Sabin waited for her to respond to him, watching her even more attentively than he had been, and that was saying a lot.

But nothing came forth from her mouth—other than those little gasps she made that he was already obsessed with, the occasional, "Oh—my—God!" and assorted groans and moans as he watched her turn her hands around in order to grab a tight hold of the edge of the mattress.

As he continued to drill his fingers into her in a strong, fast rhythm, he shifted just a bit. Sabin didn't think she'd even noticed he'd done it until he opened his mouth and fit it very carefully over the spot his thumb had been so eagerly worrying, laying the flat of his tongue atop and around her distended bud.

He doubted very much if he would ever grow tired of seeing or feeling or hearing how she responded to such an action from him, and he heartily hoped that she would never react in any other way. She was so honest and open and animated about what she was feeling. He'd known that she would be exactly what he'd been looking for all along.

So many of the women he'd been with—even those with whom he'd shared very intimate preferences—tended to be somewhat blasé about sex. But not his Honey. She was as wonderfully expressive in his bed as she had always been at his dinner table, or on his couch, and he wanted more. He wanted every bit of her that he could possibly get, all for his own. If he could, he'd never let her out of this room, although he knew that his Neanderthal desires weren't realistic. But that didn't mean he wasn't going to have them.

Because he was so much bigger than she was, he could easily lay his an arm along each of her sides, curling his fingers over her shoulders from behind, such that she could barely move as his mouth ravaged her passionately, legs draped uselessly over his shoulders, bottom raised several inches from the mattress with his efforts.

"S-S-Sabin!" she breathed, panting furiously as he drove her closer and closer to her end.

"Yes, baby girl?" he asked, refusing to raise his head much at all, his speech vibrating against those delicate, highly overwrought tissues as his lips brushed teasingly against them, not giving her the kind of pressure that she needed to get anywhere, but keeping her on the edge.

"Please!"

"Please what, my dearest girl?" he asked as if she wasn't about to die right in front of him.

"Oh—God—please!"

"Ask me nicely for what you want, and perhaps I'll allow it."

Her head shot up at that. "Perhaps?"

"Perhaps," he restated in a murmur, letting his tongue take a long, slow swipe over her as she shuddered violently in his arms.

It wasn't as if she hadn't been in this situation before, as a submissive. She definitely had. But this time, it was him. Sabin. That meant it was much—much—more important to her than it had been with anyone else in the past. With other lovers, she would have known exactly what to say to him and exactly how to say it.

He knew her better than anyone else on the planet, and she would have said that she knew him to the same extent.

But, finding herself in this very powerful situation with him, Honey wasn't at all sure of herself, and that was not at all how she liked to be around Sabin. Except on very rare occasions, she had always taken care to present herself to him as somewhat quirky—which she knew he put down to her being an artist, of sorts—but always dependable and solid and never flighty or overly emotional. And certainly, never vulnerable, especially not to or with him. This experience was turning all of that upside down. She felt as if he'd split her open in more than one way, and now she was—literally and figuratively—laid bare for his delectation.

Since she hadn't said anything in a minute or two, he lifted his mouth away from her completely. "Well, I guess that you're not all that interested in—"

"Wait! No, please—Sabin!" she wailed anxiously.

He hesitated but didn't put his mouth back where she most wanted it. Instead, he raised his eyebrow at her expectantly, which was a look she was rapidly coming to hate.

"Please, S-Sabin, please m-make me come!" she whispered haltingly, blushing furiously.

To her great relief, he smiled indulgently at her. "Of course, Honey B., of course. But I do think that calling me Sabin is a bit presumptive on your part, don't you?"

"Master?" she suggested eagerly, but he frowned and shook his head.

"I've never been comfortable being called that. You're not my slave; you're my submissive."

"Mr. Northrup?" she tried again.

"Too formal, for we know each other so well. No, it needs to be something that would come to you naturally and yet denote respect. I think 'Sir' will work nicely."

She'd never called anyone that, she told him.

"Good—I like it even better, knowing that."

Still, he remained much too far away from her throbbing clit, looking at her expectantly.

"What? What should I do now?" she asked desperately.

"Why, say it again, sweetie. Correctly, this time," he admonished lightly.

Why it should stick in her throat so, she would never know, but she managed to get it out—just barely. "Please, S-Sir, please make—let—me come!"

His smile was almost too self-satisfied for her comfort. Sabin was thinking how much he liked her little self-edit to "letting" her come, as if she was acknowledging the fact that the decision was his and his alone. "Of course, Honey. There is little I enjoy more than making you explode in my arms, whether you want to or not."

If she wasn't so terribly close, she might have objected—respectfully—to how he'd phrased that, but Honey wasn't about to jeopardize the climax she had to have!

His mouth found her again—even more eagerly than before. Big fingers curled over her shoulders, and she couldn't help but wiggle against the confinement, which he then tightened so that she couldn't even do that. Her own hands had the mattress in a death grip as he began to bring her back to that spot just before the point of no return, but not before he pressed something hard and thick—but not as thick as he was—inside her. It began to buzz dramatically as soon as he'd settled it fully within her, and it seemed to have been designed specifically to vibrate against that particular place inside her that was most susceptible to its charms. As he held it there, barely moving it in and out and very deliberately pressing it insistently against that sensitive spot, his mouth greedily devoured her.

It was as if she had two clits, and both of them were being over-stimulated.

Honey couldn't move; he was holding her fast, his big body keeping the vibrator in place as he relentlessly hurled her towards a twin culmination that she knew was going to be so explosive, so violent, so almost painfully pleasurable that she was just the slightest bit afraid of it—especially after last night. But it was coming—and so was she—regardless. There was no avoiding it. She doubted he'd stop even if she begged him to.

And when the wave broke over her, she thought she was going to pass out. Her body clenched and spasmed and jerked and arched violently, so much so that she very nearly dislodged both him and the vibrator. But he recovered quickly, tucking it back up inside her and continuing to pleasure her until he'd taken her to three more heights, each more unbelievably powerful than the last.

As she was still in the very early throes of her last orgasm, Sabin removed the vibrator and replaced it with himself, although he was much bigger. She seemed to have a harder time accepting him, even though she'd taken him before, but then, last night, he'd just claimed her in one stroke.

He deliberately took his time this time, and a large percentage of his enjoyment was watching his Honey B striving to accommodate him. She was almost freakishly tight, and he knew it was going to be a challenge for some time for him to keep himself from orgasming the moment he first entered her. He could still feel her clamping down on him with incredible strength, almost succeeding in stopping him in his tracks, but he always defeated her attempts to prevent him from possessing her, pressing, and pushing until his cock was snug inside her.

With his fingers over her clit again, he began to fuck her vigorously. In a complete reversal from what she'd been begging for moments ago, she began to plead with him not to make her come.

Seconds later, he watched and felt her being overwhelmed by the pleasure he brought to her, and it seemed to be some sort of a cue to him. He pulled out, flipped her onto her knees, pulling her hips back to him, and with a hard thrust, he began to take her from behind. Fingers pinched her nipples and held them tightly, each jolt of him into her tugging them painfully. Honey whimpered again, in a different register that was just as enticing to Sabin as the others had been.

Then he pulled her up, her back to his front, never missing a fast beat of his cock into her as he draped an arm diagonally across her, crooking his fingers over the front of her shoulder this time, as his other hand unerringly found her clit.

"No!" she yelled.

It wasn't until she saw his utterly evil grin in the mirror across the room from them that she even realized there was a mirror there.

"Oh, yes, my dear. I'm very much afraid that I'm going to have to make you come another three or four times before I come myself."

And he was at least as good as his word, bringing her off four times—in violent, shuddering spasms each time—until he began to heave himself into her and she came again, unexpectedly, on his cock, which had him trying to smile broadly and come at the same time. The come won out easily. Sabin collapsed over her, careful to catch most of his weight on his arms so as not to crush her as he had unintentionally last night.

They were both devoid of strength and breaths, dragging in enormous gulps of air until, long moments later, they were breathing more normally.

"You are magnificent," he complimented as he literally fell on to the bed on his side, facing where she was still crouched in on herself.

It only took him a couple of seconds to realize that she was crying again, reaching for her with a truly supreme effort. But she fought him off and headed into the bathroom.

It was going to take him another couple of breaths to be able to sit upright and then stand. They definitely should have started doing this when they were younger, he decided.

When he was about to open the bathroom door, she came out, fully dressed, and brushing brusquely past him.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, baldly wondering if he had the strength to stop her, since she seemed intent on leaving.

"Home. I have to write, remember?" she asked, looking up at him and managing to sound as if everything was all right.

But when he looked down at her, it obviously was not. Her face was blotchy red, her cheeks were wet, and her eyes were still full of unshed tears. Sabin was not about to let her go home when she was feeling like this. It went against everything he believed in, about how a man should treat a woman, how he should treat her, especially. His teeth clenched in agitation. She was using an argument he couldn't refute. He knew she needed to write, and he fully respected her need to, even though he knew she was using it as an excuse to get away from him.

As much as he wanted to go all Neanderthal on her and keep her here with him so that they could talk about what was going on with her, he knew he couldn't, realistically. Everything she needed to write was at her place. Reason number one to get her to move in with him as quickly as possible, he noted to himself.

With a heavy sigh, he said, "Give me a minute and I'll take you home. I don't want you driving in this condition—and I wish you would stay." He wisely didn't say that he was refraining from forbidding her to go, even though he really, really wanted to say it. He didn't think it would be very well received at the moment, although he knew that shouldn't have been a consideration to her Dom.

But this was real life, and he wanted more of what they'd just had, and he didn't think that that was the way to accomplish that goal. Sometimes one had to choose one's battles, even if one was a Dom.

"I'm fine."

His sharp, stern, "Stop," halted her on her way to the door, obviously leaving without a kiss or a hug or even a good bye. She couldn't wait to get away from him, and the realization made him feel as if he'd been kicked in the gut. And he knew very well how that felt, thanks to his severely misspent youth.

"No, you're not all right, or you wouldn't be fleeing from me as if your life depended on it. If you don't want me to drive you, then I'll have Teddy bring you home and Harry will drive your car to your house. That's the closest thing to a choice about it that you're going to get from me. I'm not going to let you drive in that condition, and I suggest you accept my offer graciously before I rescind it altogether, throw you over my shoulder, and keep you orgasming in my bed until you're willing to talk with me about how you feel."

She stared at him open mouthed, only just now realizing how angry he was that she was leaving—or maybe just leaving like this. But Honey couldn't care about that at the moment. She was in self-preservation mode and had to get out of here.

She should have known that he wouldn't just blithely comply with her desire to leave. He considered himself her Dom after last night, and although she thought that was probably the fulfillment of her dreams, she just couldn't deal with that—or him—right now.

It had all just been too much for her—the sudden, drastic change between them—and she felt more discombobulated at that moment than she'd allowed herself to be in a very long time, certainly in front of him.

Leave it to him to be so damned nice to her, even when she was practically running out on him as if he were a leper, when he was one of the most eligible men in the world and she most definitely wanted him.

"That's fine," she answered flatly, not looking him in the eye.

He was on the phone almost before she acquiesced. "Teddy? Grab Harry. I want you to drive Miss Honey home and Harry to drive her car for me, please."

It would take them a couple minutes to make it to the house, and they were going to be the most awkward minutes in her lifetime.

With a sigh, and as he ran a frustrated hand through his hair, Sabin walked towards her, surprised when she didn't move away from him.

"I don't know what I said or did to make you feel that you need to run from me, but I can see that you don't feel comfortable discussing it right now."

She stared at her shoes as tears began to dampen the front of her shirt.

Suddenly, she found herself in his arms, him hugging her and apparently not expecting her to reciprocate in the least.

Damn, his arms felt wonderful around her—warm and strong and rock steady. No matter how frazzled and/or out of control she felt, he had always had the ability to calm and soothe her, even against her will—like now.

But she knew what it was like for those arms holding her much more intimately, what those muscles felt like next to her own skin, and what an almost frighteningly powerful experience it was to dissolve into pleasure while beneath him, and it was throwing her off completely.

As soon as she heard Teddy open the back door to peep in and let them know they were ready, she snuck out of his embrace and barely kept herself from running out the door the older, smaller man was holding for her, without so much as a backward glance.

Not wanting to appear too pathetic, Sabin stood to one side of the big bow window in the dining room and watched her get into the car as Teddy held that door for her, too, texting him to let him know not to leave until she was inside her house and to text him when she was.

He texted back, deferential as ever, "What am I, an idiot?"