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In the box	By : LuluDreams Category: S through Z > YOU Views: 238 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: all characters belong just and only to the marvelous Caroline Kepnes, Netflix etc, I just own my sick ideas, lol

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
Summary:
Joe perfectly understood what he wants
Notes:
Setting: between end of episode 3 and the beginning of the 4th one.
Prompts: the title of the chapter for the ‘PrideChallenge’, plus
‘Tied hands’ and ‘Are you one of those guys who likes these things?’ for the ‘JustForFunChallenge’
warning: hints of BDSM… oh well, nothing that Season5 hasn’t already showed us ;P

She never came back twice in the same dream

//

“Tighten them a little more, please.” You ask me.

“Are you sure? They seem already pretty tight to me.”

You don’t look at me, simply because you can’t.
I‘ve blindfolded you.
Because you’ve asked me to.

“Maybe, but it’s not enough yet. I want it to feel real, Joe.” You plead.

Have I ever disappointed a lady?

So here we go, I tighten the silk straps around your wrist and you gasp, excited, I can feel that.

You’re so eager, because it is all so new to you.
But to me, as well.

With Beck it was just and only sex, sweet or raw, slowly or fast. And she also loved oral sex, both ways, a lot, but we’ve never tried anything like that.
Also with Love sex was fantastic, she had a little more fantasy with that, when she tried swinging, probably aiming to an orgy.
What about Marienne? I guess she gave her best with fire detectors.
In London, Kate was more like ‘I take what I want, when I want’and I liked that. But back to New York, she makes me feel like I’m just something to do in her fucking schedule!

But you… oh, you are so different, you show me so many sides of you, day by day.

It started this morning, when I opened the bookstore.

You were already there, sitting at the register, engrossed reading a book, until you finished the chapter.
Then you finally realized I had arrived, you stared at me, your face flushed.

“What’s up? Something wrong?” I ventured to ask.

“Huh? Nothing… it was that ..am I was just…”

I have never seen you so agitated, then you fanned yourself with that book.

“Hey, Joe, are you one of those guys who like… those kinds of things?” You asked me, half shy, half curious.

I’ve looked better at the book you were reading. You put a red cover on it, not to show what book it is.
Intriguing, but not as your more than eloquent, horny gaze.

One and one is two. It’s simple, like figuring out what you meant.

One second after that question of yours, I was putting my rationality, my resolutions and my moral ideals in the same box I was supposed to keep you locked in.

I’ve bent over you and kissed you on the register desk, with the same eagerness of a thirsty man wandering in a desert for weeks.
My soon to be broken marriage is the oppressing desert, while you, Bronte, are the refreshing oasis that could bring me back to life.

Ten minutes after that question of yours I was whispering at you: “Fuck the customers, we’re closing today!”

Twenty minutes after that question of yours, you were with me in our flat, in the bedroom, wearing only black panties and a matched bra.
Twenty-one minutes after that question of yours, which means now, I’ve just finished tying you up.

Now the fun can begin.

“Are you still here, Joe?” You sound nervous, of course you are.

You can’t see and you can’t move, nor you can’t touch anything, because your hands are tied.
You can just hear, smell, taste and mostly feel.

“Couldn’t be any closer than this.” I smirk, blowing softly on your bare abdomen.

I stare proudly at the goosebumps I gave you.

“Then do something…” You urge me.

So, I rub my face against yours and you sniff my after-shave lotion, finding it comforting.

“We’re not going anywhere until you don’t have a safeword to use.”

“Can’t I just say ‘stop’?” You counter.

“In the book you were reading do the characters do stuff without a safeword?”

“Fine!” You give in, snorting.

How adorable.

“By the way, which book were you reading before? Please don’t tell me it’s one of that ‘Fifty Shades of ’ shit…”

“Eeewww! No! How dare you!” You protest, insulted.

“Also because I don’t think you could bring such a sorry excuse for a book in my store without it going on fire the moment you cross the threshold!” I make you laugh.

“I don’t want any stupid Mr. Grey. I want you, Mr. Goldberg!”

Oh, Bronte, this is music to my ears.

“So, which book was it?” I insist, tracing your collarbone with my finger.

“You’ll have to torture me to find out!” You tease me.

“Oh, well, this is exactly my plan.” I sneer; not that you can see that, but you can easily imagine it.

“Okay, let’s do this thing. If I want things to stop I’ll say… Prince Charming!” You make me laugh, even more because I know you mean it for real.

And then our game starts, I grab your ankle and you startle, waiting for more.

I place light kisses all over it, going up this way to your knee.

I mirror my actions to your other leg, then I part your thighs.

I bend my head in their middle and you’re shivering under my hands.

I know, Brontë.
Anticipation is the sweetest kind of torture.

That’s why I just confine myself to smelling your already aroused aroma, going up to kiss your navel, softly nibbling at your belly.

“Harder…Please, bite me harder, leave marks…” You beg me, biting your lips.

You’re such a vision, but I don’t want to end our game, I want to make it more interesting.

“Did I ever tell you you were allowed to speak?” I try to sound as cold as possible and very authoritarian.

You gasp and keep silent.

Good girl.

“I decide what I want to do with you, you don’t get to ask me anything. Did you understand?”

If I keep sounding harsh, it’s because we both know you can use the safeword whenever you please.
We both have control.

You rush to nod, still silent.
We’re still inside our game.

My hands grab your boobs, still trapped in the bra, lightly squeeze them, groping them.
Another jolt from you.

I grab your ribs firmly, scratching the skin a little, as I suck on your neck, at the juncture with your left shoulder, harder and harder.
You wanted me to leave marks, didn’t you?
You moan in ecstasy, as I move lower, in order to leave you another hickey, this time on your right thigh.

Your moans increase and this is just so delightful.

“Tell me what book it was.” I go back to my goal.

“Pleeease…” You dare to ignore my question, raising your hips to push against my mouth.

“Tell me, if you want me to eat you up.” I insist, before licking your inner thigh.

“ ‘Exit to Eden’, by Anne Rice!” You give in.

I knew you had good taste, so I reward you, tasting you.
And you enjoy every second of it, until you climax.

I can’t wait any longer. I need more contact, skin against skin, so I straddle you, my hands still playing with your breasts, as I kiss you, slowly at first, then more passionately, fully welcomed by you.

I part from you, just for the time I need to get rid of my boxers, the only thing I still wore.

I place my hand on your hips, as I lower your panties with my teeth.

You’re trembling with desire, as I am.

“Bronte, tell me you like the things I do to you.”

“I do.” You groan.

“Tell me you want me inside you.” I say, my throbbing full hard cock just a few inches from your hot, wet cunt.

“I crave you inside me.” You urge me, tugging at the straps.

Here I am, slowly entering you, inch after inch, treasuring this moment.

“Tell me you belong to me, Bronte.” I order you as you move your hips in perfect synchrony with mine, panting harder and harder.

“I belong to you, Joe, with every fiber of my being and soul. I love you!”

//

I startle awake, with the clear necessity of going to the bathroom.

In the process to do so, in the gloom of the moonlight I can catch a glimpse of Kate, on the other side, wearing her fucking sleep mask.
The ultimate detachment.

Back in London, I loved to wake up first and watch her sleeping; instead… look at me and her now.

It was just a dream, but it was so vivid that now I need to give myself some relief.

Once I’m done, I clean myself and leave the bathroom.

Since sleeping is not an option anymore, maybe I could go to Mooney’s and write this dream down.
Also because Mooney’s is so close to where you are sleeping now.
You don’t strike me for someone who wears a fucking sleep mask.
You don’t wear any mask, at all.

As I’m about to go downstairs, as silent as a cat, I glance at Henry’s bedroom.

I walk closer to his bed, caressing his curly hair in such a delicate way I know he won’t wake up.

I love my son so much.

As I reach the car, I already picture myself when, one day, I’m going to talk about you to Henry, not only as the funny and pleasant shopgirl he met that day he was kicked off from school.
I’m gonna tell him: “Daddy fell in love with her, because she never came back twice in the same dream.”

And this is so true.
With Beck, Love and all the others, it always felt like the same old stuff, they didn't tease my imagination so much as you do.
I lost count of all the dreams you’ve visited me in, always so different and not necessarily just when I sleep.

Oh, Bronte, if I told you about the biggest, kinkiest and most satisfying fantasy I have over you, over us, I’d scare you so much you would run away from me.
My most forbidden dream is to kill someone for you, in order to protect you, with you understanding this, even accepting this.
Accepting all of me.

The only thought makes me feel so dizzy that it’s a good thing I’m already parking outside the Mooney’s.

And who knows, maybe not only to Henry, one fine day we’ll tell the story of how we met and fell in love to our kids, too, Bronte.
Wouldn’t you like that?
I’d really want another baby, with you, this time.
Actually I want everything with you.

For now, I shall content myself with just… spending another day with you, in the bookstore.
Morning, please, hurry up to come!

THE END

So far I've never got a feedback for this chapter from any platform, so it would really be nice to get one, because I feel super nervous about writing certain stuff, I hope I did a decent work ^^'
See ya later with the Flufftober ;)
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In the box

Summary:

Notes: