Free Play Me Real by Tracy Wolff

he backs away again.
    For the second time tonight, I wish my arms were free. If they were, I’d wrap myself around him, pull him close, touch him anywhere and everywhere. Claim his body the way he’s claimed mine again and again and again.
    He drops his mouth to my collarbone then, sucks hard at the delicate skin at the base of my throat. There’s no pain this time, yet when he lifts his head, eyes dark with satisfaction, I know he’s left a bruise right below the hollow of my throat.
    But when I turn my head, bare the other side for him, he moves away again. Spins me around so that I’m facing away from him just as I was the first night he made love to me.
    And then his mouth is on my shoulder, sucking another love bite into the skin right over my shoulder blade.
    He drops to his knees, leaves another bruise on my rib cage.
    My hip.
    The soft skin at the inside of my elbow.
    Again and again he marks me. Again and again, I let him. Until I’m covered with bruises. With hickeys. With marks of Sebastian’s possession.
    And that’s what this is, I realize. Sebastian is marking me. Branding me. Claiming me.
    The thought sends heat straight through me in such a rush that my knees buckle and I know I would have fallen if Sebastian hadn’t been there to catch me.
    But he is here—of course he is. He steadies me with one hand on my hip and another on my rib cage. And then he begins to stroke me, his long, calloused fingers tracing the line of my hip, the curve of my ass, the slight bumps of each individual rib.
    With each touch, I get more turned on. With each touch, I fall more under his spell.
    Until all I can see or smell or taste or hear or
feel
is him.
    Until all I want is him.
    Until all I
know
is him.
    By the time he’s done, my body is boneless, pliant, completely at his mercy. And he knows it. He takes advantage of it, touching and kissing, biting and licking me everywhere. Everywhere.
    My breasts.
    My back.
    My stomach.
    My hips.
    My thighs.
    My interlocked fingers.
    My ass.
    And finally, my sex.
    He shoves his fingers inside me, pulls them out. Thrusts back in again. Pulls them out. Slides back in. Then out. All the time, he’s circling my clit with his thumb, kissing my lower back, running his tongue along the seam of my ass. Sending me into sensory overload until my body trembles right on the brink.
    I’m almost there, moments from tipping over the edge. “Please, Sebastian, please,” I tell him as he strokes my clit once, twice. “I need—”
    “What?” he asks, as he slides a finger along my ass before pushing between the cheeks and rubbing gently at my anus.
    “You,” I tell him on a broken breath. It’s so close I can taste it, can already feel the pleasure sweeping through my body. “I need you.”
    And just that quickly, he’s gone. His mouth. His hands. His body. All removed from me as I stand in the middle of his living room, alone. Shaking with a need I can’t begin to appease. Can’t begin to control.
    I turn my head, try to get him to meet my eyes, but he’s up already, walking away. “What’s wrong?” I ask, when I can finally force the words out of my aching throat. “Why’d you stop?”
    “I’m thirsty,” he answers and I watch in disbelief as he fills a glass with ice. Then adds water. And finishes with a twist of lime. He takes a long sip, then holds the glass up. “Would you like some?” he offers.
    Would I like— “No. I’m fine.” I wait for him to return to me, to pick up where he left off, but he stays where he is. Slowly drains the glass of water. Pours himself a second one.
    I don’t understand what’s going on here, but my brain is still too fuzzy for me to think clearly. I try to figure it out anyway, but there’s no viable explanation. Nothing that makes any sense except that maybe he really is thirsty.
    And so I wait, head bowed, body trembling, arms still tied behind my back. I wait and I wait and I wait for what feels like hours. For what feels like