One Hot Winter Break (Yardley College Chronicles Book 2) by Sharon Page Page A

the orgasm. It starts to ease and he thrusts again. He’s beautiful with his black hair falling into his eyes, his mouth tense with lust. He fucks me hard and I fight the ropes to meet his every pounding thrust.
    I want to make him come. I want to make him come like he never has before. I try to nip his shoulders, his neck, try to lick his chest but he won’t let me touch him. He just pumps into me even harder.
    I can feel his tension, feel his strokes speed up. He’s almost there. 
    He’s driving in to me and my pussy is still clutching, throbbing, pulsing from my first orgasm. His shaft brushes my clit and it’s soooo sensitive I wail.
    But I’m not going to get there. I’m too exhausted from the last climax, from the ones on the plane. I was right at the brink, now I’ve tumbled back down. Knowing I’m not going to come makes me sob with frustration. But I can’t complain—how many times did I climax on the plane?
    “Do it hard, Jonathon,” I plead.
    He drives hard into me, plunges deep, then doesn’t move. He groans, deep and low, his hips surge forward and he bucks on top of me.
    “Mia.” He’s saying my name as if I’ve torn something out of him, taken something from him.
    His face hovers close to mine, his eyes are half-shut as he comes. I pull at my bonds to try to kiss him, but he draws back. He’s braced on his arms, muscles straining. Then he puts his fingers around his cock to hold the condom in place and he draws out.
    I have to admit I’ve learned something. Being tied up gave me amazing orgasms. But was it because of the enticing erotic idea of bondage, or because it forced me to submit and focus on Jonathon’s every delicious thrust?
    I draw in deep breaths as he throws away the condom, then leans over me and works at the knots that hold me. Finally, he growls, “Fuck.” He gets off the bed, opens a bedside drawer, takes out a red Swiss Army knife. He cuts the velvet ties at my wrists.
    He doesn’t say anything else. I don’t know what to say. It was cool being totally tied up after all? The fantasy element of this wraps around me and I don’t want to spoil it. After being able to talk so easily to Jonathon, now I don’t know what to say.
    I sit up as he cuts the rest of the velvet cords from my ankles.
    Then he leaves the bed. All having not said a word.
    Which unnerves me. I was tied up, so what was expected of me? Did I somehow fail these expectations?
    I know a relationship is about much more than being good in bed. That’s never enough. But I’m nervous. I’m a newbie at this—maybe I haven’t passed the bondage test?
    He stands, pushes his hair back. He looks troubled, which is making me nervous. I’ve done the most intimate thing I’ve ever done and I don’t want to be nervous.
    I rub my wrists. There are red marks on each of them. Until they fade they will be reminders of how hot it was to be tied up. I don’t want to ask, pleadingly, “Was I good?”
    Of course I was good. I’m done with the self-doubt. I’m tired of not feeling good enough. That’s how I felt all the time after the abuse. Like I was bad, unclean, wrong. Like I was complicit in something awful that I never wanted to do.
    I’ve done this hugely intimate thing, but I don’t know how to connect to Jonathon.
    “Was it good?” I ask, keeping my voice strong.
    “It was amazing.” Jonathon looks back at me. “Sorry. It was really intense.”
    So he went off somewhere in his head, left me behind, and that’s why he didn’t talk to me? I hear the waves rushing up on the sand, the lulling roar of the surf. And get an idea.
    I sashay over to him, being bold, hiding nerves. “We’ve done your thing. Have you heard of the movie From Here to Eternity ? I’ve never seen it, but I heard there’s a hot sex scene in the breaking surf. Now it’s my turn to get what I want.”
    I expect he’s going to point out I don’t give orders. But he surprises me.
    “Okay,” he says.

    ***

    But he’s