Just One Of Those Things

"Fuck me," she ordered, angling her hips forward and down, resuming the pushing, rocking rhythm of before. "Give me everything, you bastard. Fuck me. I can take it. Everything."

Phil snarled, slamming his hips up to meet hers, lifting himself from the chaise lounge by sheer force of effort. She cried out, her body arching back and away from him, her hands on his thighs to support herself. Her hair trailed back, brushing his knees, and Phil found himself desperately wishing that his hands were free.

He couldn't touch her, couldn't pull her to him to tease her nipples or taste the sheen of perspiration that dewed her throat. It was unbelievably, frustratingly, erotic.

"Fuck me, fill me – oh God, yes!" she urged, riding him harder, her thighs gripping his waist as he heaved up over and over again. The slick wet heat of her body coated the pearls and made them slide and twist about his cock, ringing it with a blaze of pleasure-pain each time he moved, and Phil shut his eyes on the ecstasy that chased through his belly.

Sophie writhed on top of him, almost incoherent, the wet pearls wrapped round the base of his cock pressing deliciously against her clitoris. He was so good, so beautiful, so willing... Feeling the tremor in her thighs build, she gasped for control, her right hand shooting out and closing about his throat.

Phil's eyes flew open in shock as her hand tightened around his neck. Suddenly he realised that she could strangle him, her fingers vice-like with determined strength; and he realised that, in this situation, a man was almost helpless to resist. He couldn't halt the rhythm of the fuck, the irresistible lure of pleasing the woman on top of him; knew he wouldn't stop, even if it killed him.

"Yes. Yes. Yes," she panted, her body shaking, her fingers digging into his throat, crushing his windpipe. Automatically he opened his mouth to gasp for air, then from some confused part of his mind he realised he shouldn't do that. He snapped his head forward with huge effort, struggling for consciousness as little lights flickered in the corners of his vision.

Sophie was vaguely aware that he was fighting her, his chin down to shorten his throat and to loosen her grip, and she was proud of him. He was angry, too, she realised, fucking her savagely now as if to punish her, and she wailed, grabbing at his bound wrists, anchoring herself to him. "Phil, Phil-" she cried, then was silent, shuddering the power of her orgasm through her open mouth.

Phil's head spun, the wash of unconsciousness dragging him under as her fingers clutched at his throat painfully when she crested; then her hand fell away and he could breathe once more. The relief, the sweet pain of air in his lungs again, coupled with the sight of Sophie helpless above him, crying his name, drove him into a frenzy of rage. Phil flicked his hair from his eyes with a toss of his head and drove up, into her, revelling in the shocked, breathless gasps she made as she struggled to come down from orgasm only to be forced to recognise his new dominance.

"Phil, please, oh God -" Sophie moaned, and she grabbed for the end of the necklace, slippery and wet, and tugged it, drawing it out of her body, unravelling it from his cock.

He yelled in triumph then, spurting inside her; then he collapsed back onto the couch, exhausted, panting for breath, his skin gleaming and his hair damp with sweat.

Sophie finally looked down at him, and met his eyes – burning, blazing silver-blue – with a shudder of remembered lust. They stared at one another for a long, long time, until their racing hearts beat more normally, and their breaths were no longer rasping, panting gasps.

Only then did she lift herself from him with a tiny sigh of regret, freeing him from the pearl necklace. It glistened with their juices, and she looped it over her fingers, offering it out to him wordlessly. Phil's tongue snaked out, licked at the pearls, then he caught them between his teeth and drew the necklace into his mouth, inch by inch, cleaning the pearls for her, his eyes half-lidding and his cock stirring again as he tasted her scent.

Sophie took the necklace from him and fastened it about her throat once more. Then she stood up and began to dress herself, still without a word to the man who lay on the couch, watching her. She swept her hair up into a loose knot and secured it in place with a few pins, then she walked over to the coffee table, picked up the letter-opener, and returned to the chaise lounge.

Phil made no sound as she quickly slashed through the knots that bound his wrists, and he gingerly rubbed both hands together, ignoring the sudden, sharp pain as the blood rushed back into circulation.

"Why didn't you kill me?" he asked softly.

Her eyes shadowed, deepening the hazel to a dark brown with what he thought was distress. "I don't know." She shrugged, the brief flash of confusion gone in an instant.

He tried again to reach her. "You said my name. How did you know, when I never told you?"

Sophie laughed. "Oh, that." She shrugged again, picking up her letters and moving to the door. "It's just one of those things."

She pushed open the heavy doors of the conservatory and left him, the clicking of her heels fading into a silence broken only by the cheeping of the finches in the golden cages above him.