The sound of his footsteps and my own shallow breathing were all that I could hear. On my back in the center of the bed, I was completely naked. My eyes were cinched closed. I’d been in the same position, deprived of my clothing and sight, for an amount of time I was incapable of comprehending.

Simply because he’d asked it of me.

He seduced me verbally at first, luring me closer with each carefully chosen word. When I was intrigued to the point that walking away was impossible, he crawled inside my head. I’d heard the word mind-fuck before I met him, but I had no idea of the complexity of the phrase.

I now had a full understanding.

Fascinated by his intellect, I mentally begged for more. He sensed my desire and fed me as if I were starving. He taught me things about myself. His understanding of human nature was second to none.

He was a compassionate man. And kind. Above all things, he was always kind.

The sound of his footsteps stopped. He’d been pacing the room for some time, and now that he wasn’t, the silence was deafening.

He drew a long breath, and then exhaled heavily. “Describe what you’re feeling.”

My throat was anxious and tight. I pressed my tongue against the roof of my mouth and then swallowed. “Courageous. I feel courageous.”

He cleared his throat. “What else?”

My response was prompt. “Curious.”

“Frustrated?” he asked, his tone inquisitive.

“No,” I breathed. “I’m not frustrated.”

It wasn’t an entirely truthful response, but it was appropriate. In the time that we’d been together, I realized there was a vast difference between what I wanted to say, and what I needed to say.

The sound of his footsteps followed my response, each one coming closer to the foot of the bed. The mattress heaved to accept his weight. Gently, he placed his hands on my knees. A hint of his cologne made its way to my nose. My body quaked in anticipation. The tension that had built within me could only be released from his touch.

I spread my legs wider, affording him room to do with me as he pleased. Barely capable of containing my excitement, I waited for what was next, knowing only pleasure would come my way.

He wasn’t simply my lover, he was also my protector. In his capable hands, I was always safe.

My mind raced as he wedged his upper body between my legs. With my arms at my sides, I clenched the bedding in my fists, but it did little to prepare me for what followed. He kissed his way up the inside of each thigh, taking time to make sure I knew exactly where he was pausing in his quest to bring me pleasure.

My body tensed.

His fingertips traced lightly along the surface of my skin. Starting at my hips, he followed the contour of my body’s edge. After slowly passing along my ribs, they came to stop on top of my breasts.

His breath against my throbbing mound caused me to suck air through my teeth. Before I recovered, he flicked his tongue against my swollen clit.

I shuddered in response.

He paused. My muscles soon relaxed. I collapsed onto the cool bedding. He pushed the tip of his tongue into my wetness, and then circled my throbbing nub with precision.

I struggled to remain motionless. As my reward, he cinched my clit between his lips and flicked it repeatedly with his tongue.

A tingle ran the length of my spine.

He lifted his head. “Are you paying attention?”

My response got tangled in my throat. A barely audible yes puffed past my lips.

He blew against my wet mound. I drew a quick breath. He inserted the tip of his finger. I writhed as he pushed it deeper.

He added another.

Every muscle in my body tensed. A shaking breath escaped me. Enveloped in my self-imposed darkness, I bit against my lower lip and tried to embrace the emotion that began to run through me.

With his fingers still inside me fully, he paused. “Sex isn’t simply an act that two people take part in,” he explained. “At least it shouldn’t be. If properly executed, sex has the severity of an earthquake.”

In anticipation of what was sure to come, I could feel my heart beating between my legs. He was mind-fucking me again. I needed to pay attention. I swallowed heavily, and then parted my dry lips.

“That’s uhhm. That’s an interesting concept.”

“It’s not a concept,” he said. “It’s fact. A person’s life becomes marked by severity. The severity of sex will certainly mark yours. Only sex can create life. That alone paints a clear picture of the severity of the act. If sex is executed without permission, the punishment for the crime can be death.”

“Taryn.” He withdrew his fingers. “Do I have your permission?”

There was only one response to give.

So, I gave it.

“Yes.”