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  He’s never crossed a boundary I set, and he takes care of me, as well as giving me nearly impossible pleasure. And I am dying for that pleasure now. Sure, I came the last three days, but it’s not the same. They weren’t from him.

  Clayton changed it up today, unravelling the rope and tying me face down to the bed, spread as far as I could go. He straddled my back as he blindfolded me, whispering in my ear. “Do you have permission to come, my little pregnant wife?”

  “No, sir,” I managed to say.

  “Good,” he said. “Because you haven’t been able to control yourself, tonight you don’t even get to ask. You may not come until I tell you. And if you do, we start over.”

  He slipped the fabric of the tie that he’d warn to The Larder between my lips, and I groaned. The gag tightened, and it just made me hotter. I wanted to do this for him. To complete this challenge and prove to him that I could make it. That I could hold out.

  Then the sound started. He slipped inside me a small vibrator that curls around to the outside and has a little piece that sucks on my clit. It makes me see stars every time he turns it on.

  But tonight is a special occasion, and I am determined. He placed it perfectly and left it, the bed pushing it even harder against my clit. Clayton holds the remote, and he knows exactly how to use it.

  He brushed a kiss to the place where my shoulder met my neck—the same place he first marked me. “Good luck,” he said, and then his weight left the bed.

  I never know where he is when we does this, leaving me blind and bound. He never goes too far, not willing to leave me completely alone and restrained, and I feel safer having him close. I think he goes downstairs, maybe just sitting in the living room and waiting, playing with remote to tease me. Maybe he even takes out his cock and strokes himself.

  Shit. With that dirty image in my mind the vibrator picks up intensity, and I fight against the impulse to come. I fist my hands in the sheets and pull at the ropes, but there is no give. It feels like I’ve been trapped in this pleasure purgatory for hours, but truly I’ve lost track of time. Time ceases to exist when we do this.

  I am allowed to scream, and I do, moaning against the gag in my mouth and cursing Clayton and his delicious dominance. The struggle won’t make a difference to him. He ends it when he ends it and not a second before.

  No, no, no. It is too much. I’m not going to make it.

  Moving my hips, I try to get away, to have any relief from the sensation, but there isn’t any. I scream, and hold on, and the vibrations fade into nothing. Fuck. Fucking hell.

  From somewhere in the room I hear Clayton’s low laugh. I shiver, goosebumps running down my spine. My husband owns every part of me, and I love him for it. He lets me breathe for a moment before the power turns back on, rising in intensity until it is on its maximum setting. I am seconds away from coming, falling through pleasure, every muscle taut with the effort to not let myself go. I think I scream again, but I hold on with every ounce of will until he turns off the vibrator, my head collapsing onto the pillow in exhaustion.

  Slowly, the vibrator is taken away. I gasp in pure relief, my body still on a hair-trigger.

  Hands smooth up my back, and then Clayton’s mouth follows. I feel his cock at my entrance and begin to make a sound. “No,” he says, already knowing. “You don’t get to ask. I will tell you.”

  Every hard inch of him is exquisite torture. Finally, after days, this is what I want. I will hold myself back, impossibly.

  Clayton doesn’t take it easy on me. He slams himself deep with the desperation of three days without fucking me. There hasn’t been a day until now where we’d gone without each other, and it shows.

  Over and over again. I am lost in him, completely focused on the fact that I can’t give in. I won’t dare. His cock is delicious heat and friction and perfection. Everything.

  With a loud groan, Clayton comes, filling with me heat. He doesn’t stop, fucking me as he presses himself along every inch of my body. “Come for me, wife.”

  The world goes white. I shatter into a million pieces and am remade out of pleasure. My world is a thousand fireworks going off all at once. Each cell in my body is forged of light. I swear that if I could see myself, I would look like a supernova.

  It simply doesn’t end; it goes on forever. My mind drops into perfect nothingness, a pale world of ecstasy that I don’t want to leave.

  When I become aware of the world again, I am no longer blindfolded, gagged, or bound. I am wrapped in Clayton’s arms, draped over his chest and cradled with a blanket. “You okay there?” he asks with a laugh.

  It takes a while for me to find my voice. “I’m not entirely sure.”

  “You made it.”

  “I don’t know how.”

  He laughs again, pressing his lips to my hair. “Well it was damn fucking impressive.”

  Clayton shifts us so that we’re side by side, his hand tracing down my stomach. “Have I told you how much I love you today?”

  I smile, exhaustion creeping in. “I never mind hearing it.”

  “I will endlessly be grateful for Wyoming’s insane homestead laws, because I thought it was going to be the worst thing that ever happened to me, and it ended up being the best. I love you so much, and I can’t wait to raise our baby together.”

  Tears flood my eyes as he kisses me softly. He will be gentle with me now—he always is after we do something like this—caring for me as much as he pushes me. “I love you,” I tell him, “and I’ll always be your wife.”

  Clayton chuckles, and pulls me closer. I fall asleep looking to the future, knowing that it has the possibility to be perfect.

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