“Please remove your clothing from the waist down. There is a sheet for you there on the examination table to cover yourself with. Press the green button on the wall when you are ready for the doctor to come in,” I say into my full-length mirror that stands next to my closet door, giggling as I pull the string on my scrub bottoms. It’s the usual spiel we give our patients at the beginning of their appointments.

The blue fabric falls to my feet and I step out of them, reaching for the hem of my top and lifting it over my head before letting it fall to the floor. Seeing myself standing there in nothing but my colorful lace lingerie—the only thing I wear because Xander always loved his little bird’s feathers to be bright and lovely, the opposite of the whore he was married to—my eye twitches, seeing the pool of clothing at my feet.

“Nothing but perfection, Lizith. You must not disobey,” I whisper as I gather up the scrubs and rush them out to the hallway, tossing them into the washer. My strict routine has been thrown off by coming home from work early. The anxiety lessens as I make my way back into my bedroom, perching upon the edge of my mattress as I reach for my phone.

Sliding my finger across the glass, I open Glow, my period tracking app, on my phone. The calendar pops up, and I see my last menstrual cycle began nine days ago. I gasp, closing my eyes as I hold the cell to my chest, careful not to disturb the syringe still hugged between my breasts as I fall backward onto my bed.

“Please, God, let this work,” I whisper, and then my eyes snap open as I recite to the ceiling. “Depending on the number of days in a woman’s cycle, which is an average of twenty-eight days, she will normally ovulate on day fourteen, counting the day her period starts as day one. Sperm have an average life span of seventy-two hours. Most die off in the acidic vaginal canal after twelve. But once they are in the right cervical fluid, they can be found with weak motility but still alive for up to seven days inside a woman’s body.”

Five days. I don’t ovulate for five more days. So there will be no taking the easy way into this.

I sit up, pulling my purse over to me, my jaw ticking at the fact I hadn’t placed it in its proper spot on my couch even as I pull the glass container, pill bottle, and syringe out of its depths. I stand, lining all the items up on my nightstand, before pulling the catheter and speculum out of my bag, setting them on the foot of my bed. Satisfied, I take my purse out to the living room and put it in its rightful place on the couch cushion closest to my front door.

I breathe a sigh of relief as my body relaxes, knowing my master’s good little bird fixed her mistake. I prance back into my bedroom on my toes before stopping in front of my nightstand once more.

Pulling the cap off of a syringe, I stick it into the glass container, all the while narrating, “Gonadotropins are hormones—luteinizing hormone, also known as LH, and follicle-stimulating hormone, also known as FSH—that can be given in an injection to stimulate a woman's ovaries to produce follicles, which contain an oocyte, better known as an egg.” I take the prepared shot and walk over to my full-length mirror, tracing my fingers over my stomach, below my belly button. In a trance, remembering Professor Stine’s speech word for word, I continue, “Gonadotropins may be given to women as a fertility treatment if she does not ovulate, or if she ovulates irregularly, in order to stimulate development of a single follicle and ovulation of a single egg. It may also be given to women who ovulate normally. The injection may improve the chances of becoming pregnant by stimulating the ovaries to produce more than one follicle.”

And with that, I stab the needle into my stomach, pressing the plunger with my thumb, biting my lip as I savor the sting. I dispensed way more than what would normally be prescribed to a woman for fertility treatment, and I’m not entirely sure this will work to bring on my ovulation faster, but it can’t hurt.

I walk into my bathroom and properly dispose of the syringe before flouncing back to my nightstand. I pull open the top drawer and grab one of the mini bottles of water I keep there for when I get thirsty in the middle of the night, twisting the top off and placing it on the table. I open the pill bottle there, pouring a number of the pills into my palm. “Clomiphene citrate is a synthetic medication that is available in pill form. It is often used as a first-line therapy for women who do not ovulate and exerts its effect on the ovaries indirectly by stimulating the body's own hormones.”

I toss back the medication and swallow them with my water, replacing the caps on each of the bottles. I take the pills, the glass container of hormones, and empty water bottle into my bathroom, carefully lining the prescriptions up in my medicine cabinet attached to the wall, and throw my trash away, smiling at what a tidy and perfect little bird I am for my master. I think back to a time when I wasn’t so neat, just a messy freshman in college with her things strung around her off-campus apartment.

“My pet’s cage is filthy. When I return, I want your shit cleaned up and your nest perfectly straightened. Do you understand, little bird? I will not tolerate anything other than your space being as bright and lovely as you. If not, I will not hesitate to punish you.”

My punishment always equaled the severity of my indiscretion, so occasionally I’d leave my shoes outside their place next to the front door just to provoke a light spanking. But the pleasure I received when I was his perfect little pet far outweighed the dark indulgence of pain. So I did my best to keep everything obsessively clean.

Giggling at the memory, I twirl back into the bedroom and over to the mirror. Grasping both sides of the curved stand, I carefully slide it across my lush, perfectly white carpet, wincing as the feet of the mirror mess up the triangles made by the vacuum moving back and forth across its fibers. I will fix them later, because right now, the most important thing is lining the mirror up with the bed so I can see how to do what I’ve only watched trained medical doctors perform on other people.

When I have the mirror butted up against the mattress, I skip over to the opposite side of the bed, tilting my head to the side to take in my setup, and grin. “Very good,” I chirp, and then pull the pillows from beneath my colorful comforter, stacking them in front of my hips. Taking hold of my panties, I slide them down my legs then place them flat atop my dresser. I leave my bra on, as it holds the syringe full of Xander’s semen to my body, against my heart. Climbing up onto my bed, careful not to disturb the instruments at the foot of the mattress, I lie back, propped up with my pillows in order to see my reflection. I spread my legs, seeing my pussy lips glisten with arousal knowing I will soon be once again full of my master’s cum.

I reach for the speculum and, watching in the mirror, I insert it inside myself. “The doctor will use a speculum to hold open the patient’s vagina in order to get a clear view of the cervix. Depending on the tilt of the uterus, this can determine whether it will need to be manually readjusted in order to reach the opening. The catheter will then be inserted through the cervix, and using an X-ray, will be fed into the uterus until it is lined up with the fallopian tube expected to drop the follicle for that cycle. The washed semen will then be injected through the catheter.”

Carefully, I get the speculum adjusted, cranking it open as far as I can stand so I can see what I’m doing. It’s uncomfortable, almost to the point of pain, being spread so wide, but I know my effort will be worth it if this works. It takes me a few tries, but I’m finally able to insert the catheter through the tiny opening of my cervix, but without an X-Ray machine, I have to just pray for the best when it comes to the placement deep inside me.

I let go of the thin, clear tube and grasp hold of the syringe between my breasts, feeling its warmth in my cool palm. I tug the cap off and close my eyes, pressing the plastic filled with Xander’s cum to my lips in an emotional kiss. “I’ll give you what she won’t, my love. I’ll make your dreams come true and give you the child you always wanted. It’s up to me to help you keep all your promises she forced you to break,” I breathe.

Attaching the syringe to the open end of the catheter, I take a deep breath before letting it out and completely relaxing, and press the plunger. I melt into my pillows propping me up, my body going dead weight as I imagine the clear liquid swirling inside my womb. I feel my heart explode with love for Xander Stine, and through that overwhelming onslaught of emotion, I plead with my organs. “Please. Let this work. Give the man who owns you everything he’s ever dreamed of.”

I remove the catheter and speculum, and carefully lie perfectly flat on the bed, not wanting to take the chance of expelling any of the liquid gold from my uterus. I have to fight with all my might not to properly dispose of the instruments, knowing I can’t rise from my horizontal position just yet. So to distract myself, I remember back to Xander’s and my first time making love, when I gave him my most precious gift.

* * *

My eyes water after my third spanking for tempting my keeper. I shouldn't talk to boys just to get attention from Xander when he isn't spoiling me. He has played me like a fiddle, bouncing me back and forth like a stress ball between his heavy hands, making my mind go crazy and my heart rattle loose.

I love him.

I have loved him since the first day he tempted me with the hiss of his tongue and the cruel enticing words that dripped from those lips. The lips that have only ever kissed me, nothing more. Lips that have never touched me past where I speak of all the ways I would love him and worship him if he would just let me.

I’ve begged him to be my first touch, but he keeps pushing it off, telling me I’m not ready to break yet, not ready to be numb inside. “I’m not ready to watch the light leave your eyes or the sanity leave your mind. I will destroy your heart, Lizith. But first I need to make sure my bird can handle her wings being broken.”

I am ready, and today I tempted the beast, poked him with a stick, and now he’s angry. He’s fuming, and hell is wreathed in a cloud of smoke around him.

“Dominic, stop!” I giggle louder, just a few minutes until class starts. My classmate, who has drooled at my feet since the first day of class, is sadly the pawn in my twisted and petty little girl games.

My keeper hates games.

I’m not sure what Dominic says, but when he laughs, I join in, using it as a way to get Xander’s attention. I bite my lip and take the tip of my finger, trailing it up the length of Dominic's decent-sized bicep. It is a hot dog against a slab of succulent meat compared to Xander’s. He is nothing compared to my owner.

I peer over and he isn't looking up from his desk. My entire body erupts in goose bumps, both an indication of my annoyance and arousal. I’m turned on that he isn't giving me the attention I’m looking for. He’s made me crazy.

I used to be such a nice girl. A normal girl. Now I’m stumbling foot over foot to gain attention from the man with enough danger in the tips of his fingers that it should make me run. I used to spend every night playing violin, or drawing in my notepad. But now I spend it naked, in the middle of my bed, reading poems of a dark nature with words of dangers in love and ownership.

He towers over me those nights, touching himself while I softly whimper the words of wishes that I desperately want to feel and not just hear and wonder. Before he leaves at night, he binds my hands behind my back and kisses me from the top of my head, down between my strained shoulder blades, along the thin trail of my spine, and over my wrists and fingers. Xander whispers praise against my butt, biting the skin and bruising it.

“I couldn't write enough words of perfection about your body. I couldn't even scratch the surface on the art that is your faultlessness.”

Whenever he says those words, I melt, cry out, and whimper in my agony. I want him to show me what he means. I want actions that substantiate what he says. He’s killing me, and I just need him to stop tormenting me in daylight and in the darkest parts of my desperate dreams.

“Lizith?” Dominic calls out to me and regains my attention. Turning back to him, I give him a fake flirtatious grin. That grin is my keeper’s favorite, and I think he felt the shift in the air, because from the corner of my eye, I see his head slowly lift. The static in the room that is our connection awakened him. The kinetic energy told him that his little bird shared something that is only his.

Finally.

A perk of sitting just a few feet away in the front row—and today, I wore no panties under my skirt—is Xander will not be happy when he notices this. I bat my lashes and bite my lip, repositioning my legs, making sure he gets a glimpse. I lean in closer to Dominic and hear Xander growl.

“Class is cancelled. Everyone out!” He stands, owning the room with his booming presence. Xander’s hand balls and slams down on the desk, and I jolt with the thundering sound.

I have upset him, and now instead of gaining his attention, he is making us leave. I scold myself, slapping the inside of my thigh. No one sees this gesture as they all pile out, and are excited that they don’t have to stay. Dominic is busy packing up his bag as I stand on wobbly legs, my heart racing and my face reddening with shame.

“I don’t have another class after this. How about we grab some lunch?” Dominic asks.

“I can’t. I need to um… I need to study.” I look over and watch Xander breathe deeply, his eyes penetrating me. He’s daring me to say yes; he is challenging me to let another man entertain his bird.

“We can study together, maybe over dinner?” he attempts again, looking over to where my eyes are traveling. My head is down and I already feel my knees going weak, ready to apologize. I went way too far.

“Lizith. I would like to speak to you about your recent paper.” Xander takes charge, and if I don't get Dominic out of here, our secret may be revealed. Dominic looks him over suspiciously.

“Rain check?” I know that will never happen, but getting him out of here is my sole focus.

“Yeah, sure. You gonna be okay?” He rubs my shoulder and my eyes squeeze shut. Touch, physical touch, is off limits.

“Yes, thank you. I will see you tomorrow.”

He leaves and the second he shuts the door, I fall to my knees and crawl to Xander, rounding his desk in tears. I feel awful that I punished him and broke our rules just for his attention.

“Xander, I’m sorry.” I get to his feet and keep my eyes down, looking at the shiny material of his expensive Prada dress shoes. Rounded at the tip, long and sleek, thick and powerful. Just like his cock.

“You did a bad thing. You want me to leave you?”

I peer up fast, my head whipping and nearly cracking, my heart rate speeding through all the red lights. “No! Please, sir. I promise I will never do that again. Don’t leave me.” I lay my head against his shin and wrap my arms around him.

“I wouldn't leave you. I would be ripped from you—in cuffs. You can cause me to hurt people, Lizith. You played with fate today, and you awoke the devil. You naughty little bird,” he scolds, leaning then to grab a fistful of my hair.

When his grip is firm, he tilts my head back and I enjoy the sting. It’s my apology. With calculated and stoic movement, he drops to his haunches and assesses my now red and tearstained face. I choke on my breath, aware of his presence and scared from his threats. I know Xander would break the hands of any man who touched what was his.

“How could you let someone touch you, bird? How could you let another man have the delicate feel of my belonging on their fingers?” he asks, his cock now bulging in his pants. I drop my head to steal a glance, but his grip tightens. “Answer me!”

The stark difference from his calm demeanor to his furious tone is daunting. I don’t know what to say anymore.

“I’m a mess.” It’s all I can muster, all that makes sense.

“The prettiest fucking mess. Goddammit. I want you at my place when I get home. Naked on the bed, Lizith.”

My stomach flips. It worked! I went against him, did everything that would upset him in order to get him, and I know it worked. Sometimes I just have to steal his attention if I want it. Because I know he will always reward me with thanks when I give him exactly what he wants—even if he didn’t ask for it.

“Yes, my keeper. I promise. I will be a good broken thing and will take my punishment willingly.” I try to lean and give him a kiss, but he turns me down.

Grabbing my chin in his hand, he paralyzes me. “I will kiss you when you learn how angry you have made me. Don’t ever do anything like that again to get my fucking attention, Lizith. Next time, I will break a man’s arms.”

I gulp, letting more of my tears fall. I hurt him, and now I am consumed with guilt. How could I hurt my love? “The apartment, or your condo?” I whimper. I much prefer the small, cozy apartment he has close to campus. The condo he used to share with his whore wife just feels so… cold.

“Condo. Now.” Silencing me, he stands, pulling our bodies apart. With shaking legs, I stumble to a pathetic stance and grab my bag, no longer looking back at him, because I caused waves and put a wedge between my love and me. I shouldn't have been such a bad little bird.

Hours pass, and I sit on his bed naked and cold, afraid and alone. My body shivers, my skin raised with a thousand goose bumps, as every noise I hear, I assume it’s him. I look over at the clock on his nightstand and see it’s nearing 7:00 p.m. Xander should have been home hours ago. My hands leave my lap in a slow trail to the black silk sheets adorning his bed. The sheets that wrap him up gently every night, encase his body, and shield it from the night air.

I’ve never wanted to be both a sheet and a nocturnal breeze before. Fighting for the ownership of my love, I would lace myself in satin and silk, and then I would lie under my keeper and wrap him in my arms. The effect of a cocoon protecting Xander, letting him know I am here forever, even if it were only as an object.

I see small figments of his wife, Jacqueline, in this room and my blood boils to a full-on raging volcano. I know they separated before we started this and she is no longer living here; she left him for another man. And if I wasn't insanely crazy about him and completely possessive, I would slap the stupidity out of her. How could she leave Xander? How could any woman? If I ever lost him, I would spend a lifetime searching the depths of the oceans, the most frightening forests, and the darkest of shadows to find him once more.

I look over to the fireplace and see his wife’s picture sitting in the frame, and my eye twitches, my palms shaking a bit. I stand and scurry across the room like a cat and grab the frame in a rough grip. I look at her face, fake and despondent, a crossroads demon vying to steal my keeper’s soul. Xander isn't in the picture and I’m glad, because I would never damage anything that holds a piece of him. I begin to hum a slow, drawn out version of “Every Breath You Take.”

With great precision, I flip it over and slowly move the small black pieces holding in the back of the frame. When the picture finds my hands, I look closer, trailing my finger over the shape of her face. I wonder what would happen if I placed her perfume against the column of my neck, or if I traced my lips in the same red lipstick she wears. Would Xander like it? Is this the type of woman he desires? Does he miss her? I never ask questions. I only hear phone conversations when she is calling to bitch about something.

Does the defiance and the domineering behavior turn him on? Because she is a vile woman and it makes no sense. Am I just a pawn in their marriage? A form of foreplay? Will he take her back one day? She doesn't know me, but if she did, would jealousy bring her back?

“No, shut up, shut up. You're his bird. His love.” I shake my head violently, trying not to let the voice in my head that only started coming around when I fell in love with Xander take over. I snap, ripping the picture in half and dropping it to the ground with the frame. I walk back to the bed and curl into a ball. Xander is mad at me and he still isn't here. What if he’s with her?

“Lizith, what is this mess?” My keeper opens the gates of my self-imposed hell and pulls me back in, yanking me from my fit. I sit up and my hair falls messily over one shoulder.

“Xander, you came.” I swallow past the lump in my throat, tasting a bit of salt from the tears my mouth caught.

“I told you I would. Why are you crying? And why did you do this, Lizith?” He picks up the picture and I whimper, dropping my head in pain. I hate that he is coming to her aid, that he is bringing Jacqueline into our nest of sacred, tortured, disturbingly sick love.

“Don’t touch the picture. Don't touch her,” I whisper, and before I get a chance to look, he’s standing in front of the bed, where I am miserably waiting.

“Someone’s feeling what I felt earlier. A touch can sometimes be deeper than emotions and words. You touched someone else and it’s hurting you, because I’ve broken you enough to own you. Finally, you learn, little bird.”

His warm, calloused hand touches me, and I feel what he means. His touch could tell me what a thousand words can’t. He loves me and I know it. He owns me and he knows it. We are each other’s jugular vein, Achilles’ heel, and the heartbeat of our survival.

“Why are you holding yourself from me? It hurts, Xander. I love you. Don’t you love me?” I ask, crawling to the end of the bed to get closer.

“I don’t believe in love when it comes to you. Love is weak compared to what I feel for you, Lizith. I own you. I’m sick over you. You fucking got inside me, and I should push you away and do far worse than what I have already.”

I don't care if it’s only been a few weeks in his world. I have fallen in love with Xander, gone mad—completely insane—in a matter of days, and it is exactly where I want to be. And no one and nothing can ever slow me down or bring me back to reality. I’m in Xander’s world now.

“Make love to me. Till dawn. Ruin me, Xander,” I whisper, my lips drawing nearer to his neck.

“Until the dawn rises, the stars and the moon will witness the hours we’ll spend stealing each other’s breath.” Leaning in, he kisses my cheek, biting the dimple that appears from my thankful smile. He always knows when to dig deeper into himself in order to bring me back to the brink. He’s smart, so smart. Handsome and irresistible. “The night will watch two people become one. She will fall silent as she loses her breath, a dark voyeur peeking in while I make you a woman and take what is mine.”

I crumble to nothing and fall deeper under his spell. He wiped away my insecurities with his poetic words and intimate touches. Xander is a man of great power and has complete influence over me. I have never been more sure of what my wants are, and in this life, Xander will be that want.

Placing his palm flat against my collarbone, he pushes me back onto the bed, my breasts lightly jostling with the motion, but his eyes never waver from mine. I watch him tower over me, eating me up with his heavy, dominant presence. I bite my lip and feel the jumble of butterflies dancing in my stomach. I’m going to become his. Right here and right now.

“You are fucking stunning. I’ve never fucked a body so goddamn perfect, never touched a woman so beautiful. You’re in control of me right now, Lizith,” he admits.

“Teach me how to be the perfect lover, Professor.”

“I can do that, but are you sure you know what this will mean?”

“Yes,” I whimper when his thumb grazes my nipple.

“Focus, little bird. I’m serious. Do you understand what happens after I take you?”

I gulp, suddenly afraid, my arousal dissipating. Am I ready? “No, sir. What will it mean?” I force my demeanor to turn sharp, matching him, trying to convince him, and myself, that I am up for the challenge. I cannot look weak in front of him. I must appear strong.

“You can’t ever run from me.” He leans in to bite the shell of my ear, his breath whispering against my neck and making me shiver. “You run to me when I call, and you understand my ownership over you.”

I nod, unsure—not of him, but of myself. I don’t think he understands what I am willing to do to keep him. “Are you sure you are ready, Xander? You may not understand the water you have tainted under my feet. You didn't calm my storm; you wreaked havoc on me like a hurricane,” I implore, and for a moment I think I see my defeat mirrored in his dilated blue irises.

“You’re coloring outside the lines, Lizith. Don’t try and overrule me,” he growls, but before I can whisper another provocation, his hand grasps my throat with purpose. I squeak out a sound barely above a whisper and he smirks, a low laugh leaving the depths of his wide chest. “Now I’ll show you what it’s like to be ruled, owned, and destroyed by love. Because you love me, don’t you, little bird?”

I nod, my airways seemingly restricted from the awareness of my love for this man, not just from his unshakeable grip. I am choking on my obsession and wringed lifeless by my insanity. The insanity this man caused.

“No more words now. You just listen.” As he drops his large hand from my neck, I gasp for air, trying to regain control over myself, but the moment I do, he takes me over once again. “Sucking cock isn't easy, pretty little baby. You have to be gentle with your keeper, and patient.”

I sit at the edge of the bed, my body following the gravitational pull that is Xander. It’s like it knows what it has to do. My feet touch the cold wood of his bedroom floor, a shiver moving up from my pink toes to the rest of my body, escaping at the tips of my hair follicles.

I watch him look down on me as he reaches behind his head and grips his shirt to remove it in one swift motion. His abs electrify my blood, sending a crackle through my veins. They are defined, so defined I’m scared I’ll cut myself on the rigid borders. They match his strong jaw—all his edges sharp.

“Remove my belt and release my cock, beautiful.” He pets me, running his curved hand over my head, through my hair, then down my cheek.

I nod, my shaking hands reaching up for the first time as a woman discovering her lover. The sound of the metal on his belt is deafening and it seems to echo against the silent room louder than my labored breathing.

“Like that, just like that.”

Finally, after what feels like a small eternity, but is really seconds, I have his erect length, thick and alive, in my hand. Xander is smooth, hard, warm, and everything a man with power should be.

“You look like a goddess holding me in your hands. The image of lust. Kiss the tip and taste my need for you, bird.”

I gulp again, this time blinking up at him, looking to him with unease. I don’t know what to do, because I have never done this type of thing before. “I’m scared,” I admit, coiling in on myself. I want him to love what we are about to do as much as I will. I don't want this to be a chore for him—the breaking in of an inexperienced virgin.

“You’re scared? Of what?” He grabs my hand and brings it to his lips, kissing each finger with purpose.

“I’ve never been touched by anyone like you. By anyone at all. What if I’m bad at it?”

“Oh, Lizith, I hope you are terrible at it. I want to teach you how to give pleasure, but only to me. So the worse off you are, the more fucking pleasure I will take from it.”

“Does it turn you on?”

“You? Yes, Lizith, you turn me on.” I shake my head, dropping it against his palm cradling my cheek.

“No, does it turn you on to see me so broken? To hurt me? To demean me?”

His face grows stoic, his stare locking in on mine. “I will never demean you. Know the difference between that and wanting to make you mine, perfectly mine. As if I made you for me, directly from my fucking rib. I glorify you, bird. I. Fucking. Love. You.” He executes each word with a slow drawl, deep sounding, as if it were leaving his soul and floating from between his lips.

“Freedom,” I whisper. I can see he understands me by that one word as he nods. His declaration has set my soul apart from reality. I feel free to now love him the way he loves me. To be unafraid of who we are, to understand this love has no boundaries. We will never be like Prince Charming and his princess, or a queen and king. Better yet, we are the darker side of love, the kind you are told to run from. We are Bonnie and Clyde, or more accurate, Joker and Harley.

Xander removes all restrictions from between us, baring his body to my now naked form. I watch every muscle move, each tic of his jaw as he strips down for me. I lick my lips and bow my head like a broken bird waiting for her wing to be put back together.

“Give me those lips. Fuck me, those pouty little lips.” Starting with his fingers at my forehead, he drags them through my hair, gripping a handful at the top of my head, bringing me forward with whispers of love for me. And in a moment, I learn the real taste of my keeper.

The head of his cock touches my lips, the wet tip salty and powerful. I whimper, my eager mouth and even more fervent heart lurches forward as I suck the crown, my eyes lolling back as I do.

He hisses, and I open my eyes to see the first look of pleasure being taken versus given, and I now know what he has felt only ever giving pleasure the past few weeks.

Xander’s sudden expression of gluttonous desire spearheads my suddenly confident approach. Slowly, I relax my mouth and throat, my eyes watering and collecting tears in the corners as I take in a few inches. When I feel his shaft hitting the back of my throat, I gag.

“Slow and easy, bird!” he barks, turning back into the dominant. I back up slowly and hum my apology. “I didn't mean to yell. I just want you to go slow.” He pets me again, and if my mouth weren’t rammed full with cock, I would have bowed my head and blushed under his sweet praise. “Flatten your tongue, massage it against the bottom of my shaft while you suck, but give me your eyes, Lizith.”

I peer up and adjust my mouth to his liking. When I get a steady pace going and he has given in to his pleasure, he starts thrusting forward with tiny, calculated movements, fucking my mouth like I have only ever read about in the naughty books I own. I am living the fantasy of all those paperbacks that were once gripped in my hands, except Xander is real and better than any fantasy.

“So pretty, so strong and brave taking me for the first time.” He keeps going, his head slanted and looking down on me as if admiring a work of art. “I need to fuck you,” Xander growls, changing position without warning.

He drops from my mouth and suddenly moves me up the bed by my ass. His hands grip my plush, toned skin, and his face is within inches of mine when he settles me beneath him as he towers over me. I grab hold of his face and watch his eyes as they consume me.

Reaching between us, he finds my core, checking me, it seems, as he moves his fingers in circles around my clit then my opening. I cry out, the feeling incredible and the sensations heightening.

“You respond so fucking perfectly to me. Wet, warm, and ready. Do you like it when I play with your little clit?” he asks, and I nod, moaning louder when he pinches. “Fuck yes, you do. Taste yourself, baby.” He brings his fingers up from my pussy and I open my mouth to take in the taste. I never thought this was something sexy or appealing, but the look on Xander’s face when he feels my tongue touch his fingertip proves I was wrong.

“You’re ripe and fertile. I can taste it, sweet bird. Are you on the pill?” He licks the rest of me from his fingers, even as they’re still in my mouth. Our tongues touch around them, and I nearly orgasm from the eroticism.

“No, I’m not.”

“Fuck.”

I panic, thinking he is going to push me away and end this before we can really begin. “No, please, it’s okay. I’m not afraid. I can give you a life—I want to give you me. Everything.”

“Oh, sweet baby, you're too young right now to have a family, and I’m too selfish to share you with a child just yet. Maybe one day.” My stomach coils, the feeling of rejection closing in on me. “Don’t look so sad. I have protection.” Standing, he goes to his nightstand, and I smirk inwardly knowing I get to have him. I admire his backside, which is strong and defined.

He slides on the condom and drops to his knees. I prop up on my elbows to look at him, wondering where he is going.

“Easy, eager one. You need to learn patience. I’m just stealing a kiss from your lips.”

And with that, he closes his mouth around my pussy and my hips leave the bed, the room filling with my loud scream. “Xander!” I grip the sheets, praying they will have mercy on me, unlike Xander, and they will release my pleasure. It’s so much. Too much.

“Come here. Please!”

Moving back between my legs, he balances his weight on his knees and pulls me up to him, to straddle his waist. I do as he asks and I band my arms around his shoulders to brace myself for whatever he plans to do.

Dropping my forehead to his, I whisper his name one last time. “Xander.” And with slow measure, he takes my hips and slides me onto his cock. I feel it then, when he reaches my barrier, breaching me and breaking through. I cry, losing myself in the pain, aware I was nowhere near ready for this agony.

“Breathe me in and breathe me out.” Our foreheads stay connected, as do our eyes, while he leads me, breathing in and out with him as he goes deeper, inch by inch.

“And just like that, I’m in your blood, your soul.” He places his hand above my heart and slides all the way home, ending the pain so I can find pleasure.

Lying me back down, he thrusts into me hard this time, the pain still slightly present. It’s masked when he takes my nipple between his teeth and pulls, releasing it and giving me two fast thrusts.

“Oh, Xander. Never stop.”

“I won’t. Until dawn, remember?” Leaning back, he pushes into me, stationing his hand spread out over my waist and my stomach. I can see how small I look next to his large frame. He slides in and out of me, and I wish it was his cock pumping against me, skin on skin.

“Take off the condom. Please.”

He fucks me harder, ignoring me with purpose, because I see him fighting the urge. It’s insane, the thought of us having a child, but as far as I’m concerned, that is just semantics when it comes to our desire and my love for him. I would do anything to have him soul to soul, skin on skin.

“Xander, please, I want you to come inside me. Don't ruin my first time.” I bite my lip as he grabs my breast hard.

“You don't know what you are taunting me with. I want a family, Lizith, and you're dangling that dream in front of me like steak in front of a fucking dog.”

“Good. Take a bite, my keeper,” I moan against his mouth, sitting up trying to ride him despite my inexperience. I clench down when his cock hits my cervix, and that feeling is his cue.

“Goddammit.” Just like that, he lifts me off him, flipping me on my knees, and I hear him remove the condom. Looking over my shoulder, I watch as he lines himself up and slowly enters me.

“Oh!” We both gasp in unison, euphoria hitting us instantly. I’ve never been this close to anyone before. I have never known who I am as a woman more than I do now, skin against skin with the man who I feel is part of my soul. I was made for Xander, and Xander was made for me.

“Xander, I feel it coming. Please come with me,” I beg, his thrusts increasing in speed. His abs hit my back and I reach back to grip his hair, tilting my head so our lips can touch. With a dance of our tongues and one of his hands grasping my breast for leverage as his other reaches around to thrum my clit, we hit our peaks together.

“You’re my broken bird, my life, Lizith. Promise that I have you forever.”

“Yes! I am yours, Xander. My keeper.”

* * *

Dawn came that morning and even then we never stopped. He kept making love to me bare. I didn't become pregnant that night, but maybe now I will. I am keeping my promise and giving Xander the life he always wanted.

After a few more minutes, I leave the bed and clean up, ready to meet my keeper again and share our news. What a sweet homecoming it will be.