AN: Sorry this chapter has been so long in the making. I'd lost a bit of my nerve. Perhaps I've gotten it back with this chapter?

Thanks to NotThereNeverAround, AlreadyOnMars, sngsngsnyrslp and my anonymous reviewer for helping me stick with this story!

NINE

His voice was normally so assertive, powerful with courage of convictions. But when Rory was on top his voice became small, a raspy squeak of desires constricting his airways.

Now, as she took him gradually, his strong legs tilted himself up, as a counterpart to her. And he panted, breath whistling from him more throaty and shallow, as he slowly gained purchase. She leaned forward to feel his breath and taste his skin, and what started as shallow strokes grew in depth and her earnest hunger. He offered a devoted whimper as he gave himself to her, reaping the benefits of having earned the favour of his mistress.

Meanwhile, as her hands gripped his shoulders and she settled upon his lap, he now deeply within and pressed to the hilt with her one more, decidedly greedy, thrust, Rory closed her eyes and savoured the heavenly feeling of opening up for him, of being split in two by his power and his girth, his devoted flesh straight to her singing heart.

It mattered not who wore a rope.

Nor if a rope were even involved.

There was a power in this man. A magical contradiction that ran the gamut, it drew from her a simultaneous need to nurture his youthful mirth as to grind against his manhood in devoted raunch. There existed a need in her to cherish him who meant so much to her in every waking facet of her life, he who came to her in dreams also, and who had needs of his own.

She wouldn't keep him long, seeing as how he was tied. With growing frequency as, methodically, she moved, she reached forward and gave herself a little tickle, heightening her pleasure and focussing her mind and body on that within.

"God," he seethed through clenched teeth as she rode him to the rhythmic croak of the chair. His eyes tipped skyward, as though it were really a prayer and he were really a religious man. She giggled breathlessly, drunk with power, as she read the story in his eyes. Those eyes, dark with lust, prayed he could hold it together as long as she needed him. Those caramel beauties prayed for the gift of sweet release once she'd had her way.

It was that first prayer that she—the goddess—heard. But, as was the divine right of every goddess, she would not make the realization of his prayer easy for him. With another breathless laugh she grabbed the back of the chair, just under the span where his tied arms crossed behind it, and used it as leverage in a more aggressive campaign. They glided together under her power, slick and hot, until her thighs ached and her pulse thumped in her ears. And Rory, ignoring her own body, focussed greedily on his—on all his features, all his powers, and all his sounds.

With delight, she thought she saw on his face the instant his thoughts switched helplessly to the preservation tactics of baseball, Ayn Rand and elderly family members. Little did he know she was ready for him. She smiled at his eyes squeezed so tightly shut.

"You do please me, Possession. Perhaps you deserve dessert, after all." She bore down hard, with all she had. His gasp inspired repetition.

Instantly catching her meaning, Jess found his voice not quite so raspy, as panting turned to growls, the beautiful outcry of a man so close to completion. And close he was, as she felt two more strokes put him over an edge, an explosion of beautiful life and clamour.

Breathless in awe as well as exertion, she squeaked, to feel him shudder in the chair beneath her attempts, shaking it and her, and giving her another sense of her own completion as she continued to drive onto him, although not quite as recklessly.

Slower now, but still shivering, she pulled on him for, though it was she who had brought him here to this peak, and though being here with him for even a moment was marvellous, she still wasn't quite ready to leave this place or let him leave.

She pulled on him, the best she was able, her weakened knees slowing still—however her pulse racing—guiding them both into a lazy descent with her chest collapsing against his mouth and hot breath, and his lips shaking with kisses against her.

AN: Now listening to I Could Die for You by Red Hot Chili Peppers. An excellent follow up to this chapter, if I do say so.