Chapter 139: Diogo

"Umm, I didn't think you were serious."
Her voice holds the slight edge of panic mixed with the sweet sound of her excitement as I raise her hands over her head and tie them to the frame of our bed. As I wind the rope through her wrists, securing them to the metal, her breathing grows heavier. Sweet song to ears that haven't had the pleasure in more days than I care to count.
She twists her head to look up at her hands as I finish the knot. "Why do you have rope in your bedroom?"
"Our bedroom," I growl, moving down her body.
"The question still stands." Her last word ends on a squeak as I slip my fingers into her pants and jerk them down her legs.
I look up at her, pinning her to the bed. "If my wife wasn't going to come back to our bed willingly, I was going to make sure she got here another way and didn't have a way of escaping."
Her jaw drops open and she flounders for something to say. I take advantage of her confusion by dragging her clothes off. She tilts her hips a little, helping me. Unless I want to destroy her shirt, I can't get it completely off, so I unbutton it, trailing kisses from her neck down to her navel and then shove the shirt back on her arms. When her body is completely, gloriously exposed to me, I sit back on my haunches and just look my fill.
Taran's body has changed subtly, matured. Her breasts are fuller, heavier now, filled with the sustenance that will ensure life for our young son. Her waist has thickened a little and there are stretch marks across her belly and hips. I trace my fingers over them feeling the new softness to her skin. Her face changes a little, losing some of the passion that'd been there moments ago as self-consciousness takes over. She's shy about her new marks, though I think they are beautiful.
I'm completely enamoured of this gorgeous body, the new scars of her resilience mixed with the beautiful curves that have always been there. A rush of sadness and anger hits me that I wasn't around to watch her heal, to touch each mark as it settled on her body, to kiss away her insecurities. She held me at bay, punishing me for something that I couldn't and wouldn't change. I should have forced my way back into her life, forced her to realize she needs me.
"What's wrong?" she whispers, her eyes large and vulnerable. She twists her arms, tugging at the binding.
I shake my head, now is not the time to release my pent-up frustration at missing these past weeks. Later we can talk, later we'll discuss how to go forward and never allow such a thing to happen again. For now, in this moment, worshipping my wife is my only job.
"Nothing... love," I assure her. The word 'baby' nearly leaving my lips, further ruining the moment. Unburying Stryker and taking vengeance on his body flirts through my mind as I lower my head so she won't see my expression.
I decide to show her with actions how much I've missed her, how much I love everything about her. I start at her feet, massaging and working the kinks from them one at a time. I'm surprised by the sensual moan of pleasure that leaves her lips. I watch her face carefully as I work. Is it possible that her feet are yet another pathway to her sexual pleasure? One that I will absolutely be exploiting in the future.
I'd never bothered to take the time to explore a woman's body in great detail, never wanted to. They were for one thing only, a vessel for my immediate gratification. Once finished I no longer had use for them. Perhaps a cold way of thinking, but I didn't have time for distractions. Didn't care to explore relationships. Not before Taran. She is so far different from the women I've known that she may as well be an alien. She is tough, resilient, thoughtful, but fiery too. She holds me accountable.
Exploring her, seeking her points of pleasure is a task that I treasure. Not just for the further enjoyment of my cock, but for the sheer joy of losing myself in her. Immersing myself in the sensual world that is Taran.
I move from her feet up to her calves, pressing my thumbs into the muscles there, surprised to find them softer, less honed than they'd been. She is no longer climbing walls or running through abandoned buildings. Her new life is shaping her body, and I love every inch of it. She reflects our lives together and I'm more in love with her now than I ever thought possible.
She moans in ecstasy as I move up her body, caressing with my lips and massaging with my hands. She widens her legs as I reach her thighs after dropping light kisses on each knee, noting a tiny scar on her right one. Maybe she cut it during one of her wall climbing forays? I make a mental note to ask her later. I suddenly feel the overwhelming urge to know every part of her, hear the stories behind each and every mark, everything that makes Taran who she is.
I avoid moving to that sweet spot I want most. Torturing her, drawing out her pleasure is my reward for waiting. She squirms and moans with each touch as I dig my fingers into her thighs and work the muscles. I can see the glistening wetness on the dark red curls between her legs, begging for my tongue, weeping for my fingers.
"Diogo!" she gasps, unable to hold it in anymore. "Please, I want..."
I grin against her inner thigh, purposely rubbing my scruff-roughened cheek softly against her labia. She moans again and pants, trying harder to widen her legs to allow room for my shoulders, to guide me into her.
"Don't keep me waiting, it's been too long!"
I nip at her thigh, marking it. She jerks it away from my teeth with a gasp. "And whose fault is that, wife? You knew where our bedroom was, yet you chose the other room."
"He needed me!" she protests, her gorgeous grey eyes pleading for mercy.
"I needed you," I growl, nipping my way up her thigh to her pussy. She flinches, afraid that I'll bite her where she is most sensitive, but also afraid I won't. She craves my tongue, my kiss, my touch. Though this is a feast for my senses, a chance to reacquaint myself with her body, it's also a mild punishment. A way to show her that she is not in control, that I will give her what she wants when she gives me what I want.
"I still need you." I flick my tongue against the tiny clit peeking through the folds. She gasps and bucks up against me. "I will always need you." I position myself between her thighs, making myself more comfortable, as though about to gorge myself on her. "You took away that which I need most in this world." I lick her again, savouring her reaction, torturing her with conflicting words and actions.
"I'm sorry!" she wails, straining her hips higher, urging me to finish her.
"Perhaps," I tell her, sliding a finger through the dripping folds of her labia and then licking her delicious, sweet juice from my hand. Her eyes glow as she watches me. "And perhaps I'd better make sure you're truly sorry so it doesn't happen again."
"It won't, it won't!" she promises, her voice high and thready.
"No, it won't," I say darkly.
Then I fall into her, lapping her in earnest, no longer concerned with her comfort or her needs as I fill myself with the scent, taste and texture of her once more. Memory of our previous encounters rush through my mind, her naked body writhing in need, her moans filling my ears, her arms reaching for me and holding me tight.
She comes with a long keening wail and as she drifts back down, tries to pull her hips from my voracious mouth. But I haven't had my fill yet. I want everything, all of her, every drop she has to give. She yells my name, but I'm deaf to her pleas. I don't care if she's too sensitive to take more. She'll damn well take what I have to give until I'm finished with her. She tortured me with her silence and now I'll torture her with my love.
I eat her through another orgasm, my fingers thrust deep in her tight little pussy. I remind myself she's recently had stitches down there and gentle the thrust of my fingers. She doesn't seem to care though as her hips move wildly with me as she peaks again and again. Finally, I move back, allowing her a moment of reprieve.
She looks stunned, wild, and incoherent. Her red hair is flung across the pillow, her hands gripping the bars that they're tied to. She's helpless in my hands and loving every moment. I climb up her body, caging her with my arms. I drop my face to hers and say, "You are mine, Taran. No escape, not through silence, not through anger, not even through death."
Her eyes are wide and foggy as she rolls her head on the pillow. I reach down, line my cock against her and drive home. She howls at the intrusion and at first, I worry that I've hurt her, but she lifts her legs and wraps them around my waist, holding me tight in the death grip of her next orgasm.
"Diogo!" she shrieks, shuddering in my arms.
I try to be gentle. try to be mindful of the physical ordeal she's been through. Bishop told me she should be fine, should be ready to resume the sexual side of our relationship. It was one week ago that I'd talked to him about it. It had taken everything in me to give her that extra week, but for the sake of her health I had no choice.
Now, with the tight clamping of her pussy on my dick, I know I won't last. I've been too long without her. I ride her hard, pistoning my hips against hers, slamming myself deep into her body. Seconds later I grunt my pleasure in her ear as I release the pent-up semen. I collapse on top of her, uncaring that I'm squishing her. I need to feel the press of her naked body against mine.
She jerks her arms and whimpers. I don't move. I don't want her to move either. I just want to lay this way forever, trapped in the timeless moment of reuniting with Taran, mind, body and soul.
"I can't hold you, Diogo," she whispers.
I change my mind. Maybe she does need her arms. I grunt noncommittally and reach over our heads, yanking on the end of the knot and untying her easily. It's not like she can go anywhere anyway while I'm pinning her to the bed.
She hugs me to her, surrounding me even more in her wildly sweet and earthy scent. I bury my nose in her hair and inhale. We lay that way for a long time, neither of us saying anything, content to be together for the first time in months.