Little Elephant

"No, start with your skirt."

Her eyes meet mine before dipping to her waist. I hold my breath while she flips the button open and lowers the zip at the side. Colour gathers on her cheekbones as she steps out of the skirt.

"Stockings? How did I not know about this?"

"You were hardly awake this morning when I got dressed." She licks her lips unconsciously. "I've been thinking about you all day."

I walk her until she's trapped between me and the back of the couch and push my hand between her legs. Her intake of breath, and her hot, wet heat are like more gifts for me. I push my thumb onto her clit with just enough pressure to make itself felt, but not enough to give her what she needs. It elicits a muted sound from her.

"How does that feel?"

"So good."

The throatiness of her reply surprises me, telling me she's far more turned on than I thought. I press with a little more pressure, feeling the give beneath the soft fabric of her underwear. "Are you wet for me already?"

She drops her head, expelling the confessed, "Yes," into the crook of my shoulder.

I groan, unable to stop myself, the rush of blood almost dizzying. "Stay here," and I step away to turn the gas down under the pot and find a condom.

+++

When he returns, he's transformed from domesticated Ben to dominant Ben, his body language roughened, and every cell in my body reaches for him. I hadn't lied to him when I'd said I might enjoy this side to him, but I hadn't known just how much. It's shocked me at times, but more often, I've loved it. Loved relinquishing control to him.

I let him turn me until I'm facing the couch. And I let him make me wait. The warmth from his body is barely discernible, yet just enough for me to anticipate his approach, to wonder where he will touch me first; how hard or how gently. My thighs are already trembling.

His hands plant themselves on top of the couch, either side of me, one palming a condom. I touch it with my index finger.

"We don't need these anymore."

"What?"

I half-turn to find his eyes, brimful of questions.

"I went to the doctor before Christmas. And it'll be safe now. More than, really. I was being cautious, you know," and I almost laugh at the confusion of expressions running all over his face.

"You're on the pill?"

"Yes."

"Why -- how didn't I know that?"

"I wanted it to be a surprise. A gift."

He envelops me, dousing me with his heat. The press of a kiss to the side of my face; the lift of his hips; it's enough to drive a girl crazy. I push back, earning myself a harsh grab from both his hands.

"I love you, Nella, and don't ever doubt it." He slams the words into me, breath harsh and fingers tight.

I sway when he uses his feet to push mine closer to the couch, feeling the strength of his grip deepening, tenderising, my flesh. I'm already slipping into that place I've only ever found with Ben -- where my brain shuts off and I'm stripped down to my most fundamental emotions. My breathing is already erratic as he starts yanking at my underwear. I turn to see him. His eyes look dangerous, the left especially so, as if it's been slashed open with the nib of an ink pen. He holds my gaze, still working my underwear down my thighs, my anticipation rising with every inch he progresses, until he's satisfied they're sufficiently out of his way. I breathe in, holding it in.

"Yeah?"

I so love the way he asks -- halfway between a declaration and a threat. There's no need for me to reply. His hand's already sliding high. He pauses.

"How're you so wet already?"

I squirm, trying to find more of his hand. "I've been thinking about this all day. And," I squirm again. "I might have done some preliminary work before leaving Chambers."

His body tightens, crowding me closer into the back of the couch, his hand diving so quickly, it sends me up onto my tiptoes.

"Oh, you clever girl."

His fingers test me and I'm already chasing after them, because I really did prep myself for him. He mutters obscenities into the back of my head, clearly caught by surprise. I push myself over his hand, begging in every way but words, but he removes it and I all but crumple in disappointment. He fumbles behind me, hasty, clumsy movements, until the glorious slide of his cock, both of us moaning at the shocking nakedness of it.

"Oh Ben," after which I run out of words.

"This feel good? This is what you want, is it?" the shake in his voice brings me right to the edge.

I reach for him, registering the way his cock twitches under my touch, before guiding him to my entrance. He groans.

"Please," I whisper. "I want it now. No more foreplay. I'm ready."

More obscenities pour out of his mouth before he shuts himself up by kissing the back of my neck, open-mouthed and hot, shifting his stance around me. As he positions himself, his crown just shy of engaged, he spreads one hand over my lower back in a slight downward pressure, mussing my shirt.

"This is gonna be fast."

I nod, biting down on my lip.

"This?" he pushes just enough to almost breach me, then retreats.

It wrings some kind of anguished noise out of me and I jerk backwards, trying to force him, but he catches me with a determined, crushing grip on my hip. I'm caught between pain and desire for a few seconds that pull me deeper into myself. I'm only half-aware of Ben dragging me backwards until my chest is almost parallel to the floor, of his muttered half-words and phrases, of the contrasting stroke of his left hand down my back and the unmoving grip of his right on my hip. I wait, shaking with the effort of staying in this position for him, with the energy needed to ignore my need to orgasm.

And sway again at the unexpected run of his fingertips over my appendix scar, skin crawling and muscles shuddering under his feather-light touch. I swear at it, then swallow my own words as he enters me in one powerful thrust that fills me to the very brim. I pant. We're both panting and through my own haze, I feel how much he's struggling for control.

Finally, he bends over me, his body a field of heat over my back, until his mouth is on my ear. "You fucking slay me with your trust, Nell," the words spilling out of him like salted tears.

It begins then; the first slow roll bowling me over and into oblivion. He swears, short and heartfelt, as I grip at his cock from the inside out.

"Wait for me," both order and plea, his voice breaking with the snap of his hips as he launches himself into the fray, rattling my bones, sending the couch into a sudden slide.

I grip it harder, knuckles whitening; toes scrabbling for purchase on the wooden floor each time he thrusts so hard it forces me almost off my feet altogether. But I can't wait. I can't stop the heave of pleasure from overwhelming me and dragging me into that otherworldly state; deaf to myself but alive to him. I fight to breathe, to stay on my feet, to meet his body. But all the control is his.

He alters his stance, his left hand curving over my shoulder to bring me closer, harder onto his cock. It's that thought which brings on a second heave and roll, this one harsher; more desperate. I scrabble for a toehold, but lose it, over and over.

"Ben," I beg and writhe.

The sting of his slap chases through me. The couch slides again and Ben grabs at it with his hand, losing his rhythm for a few messy thrusts until he halts so forcefully I lose contact with the floor completely.

"Ah. Aw fuck, here it comes."

He lets out a low shout as he grinds into me, and again when my body replies with another clench and roll. After that, I'm only dimly aware of falling, Ben's arms wrapping around me.

When my brain starts to clear, I open my eyes to find I'm on the level with the floorboards and the scatter of my clothes, Ben still pressed up behind me.

"Jesus, fuck, Nell," he pants, then laughs, the sound a crack of electricity, pulling me closer and moving himself just enough to remind me he's still inside. "Fuck, it feels so good to be able to stay here," he moves again with a quiet groan, the slick sounds of us loud and all around.

I should be too sensitive but it feels delicious instead. I adjust my position to hold him more securely.

"Come here."

I twist my head to take his kiss, the press of our skin augmented by our sweat. I moan, still overcome at the power of his sex.

"Ok?" The black slash in his left eye seems huge.

"Yes. More than ok," the dip in my voice giving me away.

He hugs me tighter.

"I love you, Ben."

"Yeah," with a deep, happy-sounding sigh. "And, 'Nothing else is.'"

We lie there, on Ben's hard floor until I shiver at the sudden slide of heat as his cock and come leave my body, and at the chill of the air. His hand moves between us, rolling into our combined juice, then retreats. The sound of his lips snags my attention. I sit up.

"Did you just lick your own fingers?" I ask.

He stares up at me, the picture of insouciance. "Yeah, so what if I did? Wanted to know what we taste like together."

"Oh my god," I mutter, pretending outrage, but bending down for a kiss at the same time. "You're filthy, Benjamin Nelson."

"Look who's talking?" his eyes silver with laughter.

I kiss him again. After that, the cold is too much. We pull ourselves apart to shower. I take it first, since Ben is still fully dressed whereas I'm shivering for being half-naked. Once I'm finished, I take over from him in the kitchen.

"Just let the rice simmer. It'll be almost done once I've showered," planting a kiss on my cheekbone before disappearing into the bathroom.

My eyes wander around the space, catching on the print Ben gave me for Christmas. He made it using cropped images from when he filmed me in the corset. Actually, no, most of the images are from when he'd removed the corset altogether. Like the cropped photos he's been texting me from the shoot with Joshi, each one is a close-up. The hairline around the back of an ear; a mole; the red marks from the top of a stay. Other, more intimate places too. Which is why it's still here in Ben's flat, since he hadn't wanted to make me open it in front of my family. Not that it's overtly explicit, since it takes a while for the eye to discern every detail, the images forming a random mosaic of parts. I love looking at it, imagining it's the closest I'm going to get to understanding how Ben sees me.

"Hey." He's still warm from the shower, cuddling me from behind. "We should take that over to your place," he tips his chin at the print.

"Hmm." I can't think that practically yet.

He puts a tube onto the countertop in front of me. "I thought you might want this? I was holding onto you pretty hard."

I turn in his arms to catch the dip of his head and the slow blush on his neck. What a contradiction he is. I kiss his face until his mouth meets mine. And -- after -- I turn back and push my pyjamas low for him to treat my sore spots, listening to his quiet noises of distress and possession while he smooths the cool arnica into my bruises.

"Will you be sore? I went hard, I'm --"

" -- not sorry. Don't say it, Ben. I'm not sorry, ok?"

He returns my pyjamas back into position with a soft snap on the elastic waist. "I love you, Ms Bergstrom. Very much."

"Good. Now, how about some food?"

We eat on the couch, after straightening it up, listening to one of Ben's esoteric playlists. I tuck my feet under his legs and he grumbles about their iciness.

"Want to watch something? Here, you choose," he drops the remote in my lap before picking up the bowls and glasses we've accumulated.

I choose something almost randomly while he moves around the kitchen, waiting until he's settling back next to me before pressing play. And then I remember the earlier call from Freja.

"Oh hey, I almost forgot. Look," I reach for my bag to retrieve my phone, letting him feel me up because, really, I love having his hands all over me. Sitting back, I hold up the phone. "Guess what they've finally chosen for the baby's name?"

He groans and covers his face. "I can hardly bear to look."

"Well look," and I hold the screen up for him to see.

His laugh is loud and shocked. "Frederick? They've actually gone for that, have they?"

"I know, right? I was in fits when Freja told me today."

"Unbelievable. Well, here's to Fred," he holds his glass of water aloft.

"Baby Freddy," I toast him back.

I pick up the remote.

"Hey, before you do that --" he stays my hand, "I want thank you for earlier. I don't think I realised what a major fantasy that was for me until you'd put it out there, you know?"

"You enjoyed that?"

His head drops onto the back of the couch. "You could say that, yeah," with a lip curl and heavy eyelids. "See?"

He draws my hand over his crotch where he's thickening and hot. I shape my palm around him. "Hm, yes, I think I do see."

He smiles, eyes bright with a lazy ambition. "But going bare? That was --"

I kiss him in agreement, because it's clear neither of us has the words to describe how good it was, never mind how many years we've spent trading them back and forth like currency. I boss him into position behind me so that we're both lying lengthwise along the couch, his front to my back, and press play on the remote. "Let's see if we can watch this film all the way through before getting naked again, shall we?"

"Huh. 'Shall we' -- how polite of you. Formal, almost," he mutters, and then we slip deep into familiar territory of old, the transition made all the sweeter and easier for the struggle we've had to get here.

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