Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
I can’t see him but can only imagine his mouth moving like he’s starving, like I’m the only thing that can satisfy him. It makes my entire body clench with need.
"You’re mine," he snarls, his teeth scraping against my sensitive skin, sending jolts of electricity through me. “Give me that pussy. Spread your legs and lean on me.”
When I do what he says, he grants me a reward. “Good girl," he says, his voice dripping with dark satisfaction. "Now keep your fucking hands where they are and take it."
I try to move, to shift under the overwhelming sensation, but his hands clamp down on my thighs, holding me in place. "Don’t fucking move," he snaps, his tone a brutal warning.
Every stroke of his tongue, every flick and press, pushes me closer to the edge. He knows exactly what he’s doing, exactly how to undo me. My breaths come in shallow gasps, my body tightening as the pressure builds to a breaking point.
"You don’t come until I say," he growls, pulling back just enough to make me sob in frustration. "You’ll come when I tell you to and not a fucking second before."
I whimper, my hands clenching into fists as I fight to hold back.
I’m trembling, teetering on the edge, and when he finally snarls, "Now," the word hits me like a command I can’t ignore.
I don’t know how to come on command. I don’t know how—
“Come,” he orders with a sharp slap to my hip, and something releases in me.
I fall apart, my body shattering under his relentless touch. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, driving me through wave after wave until I’m wrecked, my legs shaking, my voice hoarse against the gag.
My body slumps against the wall, trembling, but all I can think is that I’ve never wanted him more. My breath comes in ragged gasps as I fight to collect myself. My legs are shaking, my throat raw from muffled cries, and still, all I can think about is him. How he pushes me to the edge and catches me every time. How I never knew surrender could feel this intoxicating, this safe.
His hands are on me again, firm yet careful, steadying me like he knows I can’t stand on my own, as he removes the blindfold and gag. The gentleness of his touch is a stark contrast to the wreckage he’s left behind, but it makes my chest tighten. When I glance up at him, his eyes are dark and unreadable, but his jaw is tight, his control ironclad.
“Why?” I manage, my voice a shaky rasp. “What do you want out of this? Out of me?”
His hands pause, and for a moment, I think he’s going to answer. But then he mutters, “Not tonight,” low and final, before untying my wrists and scooping me into his arms.
He carries me into the bathroom like I’m precious, not a trembling mess. The cool tile against my back when he sets me down feels grounding, but I can’t take my eyes off him as he moves with quiet determination. He grabs a washcloth, wets it under the faucet, squeezes the water out, and kneels in front of me.
My chest tightens again when he smooths the cloth over my sweaty neck, his movements deliberate and tender. The warm cloth brushes over my skin, and I feel the tension in my muscles start to unravel with every pass. He doesn’t rush. If anything, he takes his time, as though this moment matters just as much as the ones that came before it.
“If we were at my place,” he murmurs, mostly to himself, his voice rough and almost wistful, “we’d both fit in the tub. I wouldn’t have to do this like this.”
I can’t stop the small laugh that escapes me. “You really hate this place, don’t you?”
His eyes flick up to meet mine, and the intensity in them steals the air from my lungs. “It’s like having a diamond locked in a tin box,” he says quietly, his fingers brushing over my arm as he wrings the cloth. “You don’t belong here. It’s not enough for you. Not nearly enough.”
I swallow hard, the lump in my throat almost too much to bear. He doesn’t linger on the weight of his words. Instead, he finishes cleaning me up with careful precision.
When he’s done, he lifts me effortlessly, his strength making it seem like I weigh nothing. I wrap my arms around him instinctively, and the way he holds me makes my chest ache with something I don’t want to name. He carries me to the bed and sets me down gently before disappearing into my closet.
When he returns, he’s holding a set of pajamas I don’t even recognize—soft, oversized, and nothing like my usual worn T-shirts. He dresses me in them, his hands careful but sure as he pulls the fabric over my skin. The intimacy of it hits me so hard that I don’t realize I’m crying until his thumb brushes my cheek, catching the tear.