8. Millie
8
MILLIE
My captor. My owner. His pet .
I’ve done everything for myself—and Noah—for so long, the idea of being Finn’s pet is humiliatingly appealing. Even with the scratch of knowledge in me that for all his heated words, I’m the latest in an endless line of women for the playboy kingpin.
Special . I mustn’t believe that. I bet he says it all the time.
“That’s it, my pretty girl.”
He lowers his head, and I squeak as I realise he’s going to put his face near my pussy.
Finn doesn’t stop at my noise of distress. With horror, I see him getting really close, just an inch away with his mouth .
“No!”
I feel his exasperated exhale, then his green eyes pin me. “What is, Millie?”
“I haven’t washed!” My cheeks heat. He’ll be so grossed out now I reminded him.
I bet all the girls he’s had before have been fresh out of the shower. I, by contrast, am not. I haven’t seen a bath since yesterday morning.
His expression changes from irritated that I stopped him to arrogantly knowing.
“Good,” he states. “I don’t want to dilute any of your taste. I want it all.”
There’s no time for horror, or space to get away before he licks all the way up my pussy, making me spasm with the unexpected pleasure. His tongue rolls over my clit and shock sharpens the flare of sensation.
“Fecking delicious.” He lets out a growling purr that’s all masculine contentment and licks me again, this time sucking the bud into his mouth.
I jerk. I gasp and cry out and tug at the handcuffs.
It’s… Oh my god. Stunning.
When eventually he releases my clit, I’ve forgotten everything. I’ve no idea why I objected, I can’t remember any life before I was in this room with Finn, and my own name is a total mystery.
I’m a quivering jelly of need and hormones.
Then he licks me again. Harder.
Trapped by him, I have no shame. I can’t stop him, and the noises Finn is making as he works my clit are feral. Like he’s doing this as much for himself as he is for me. He’s kissing my pussy as though it’s an art form, a vocation.
I feel like a priceless treasure that he’s creating. Every touch, every flick of his tongue and swipe of his lips, drives me higher. My nipples are pebbled with need, but the overwhelming pleasure from Finn’s mouth is sending pulses of bliss right to my toes.
“I could eat you all day,” he says without moving, his voice muffled. “Perhaps I will. Maybe I’ll keep you here and lick you out morning, noon, and night, tied to the bed. I’ll feed you waffles and give you orgasm after orgasm until you’re crying for mercy and can’t take anymore.”
Then he redoubles his attack on my clit, and I break. I shudder and choke out Finn’s name as I come, the pleasure sweeping me away. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt.
No responsibilities. No worries. Just Finn feeding me sinfully sweet waffles and making me come. Ugh.
Being restrained somehow heightens every spike of ecstasy, and Finn’s mouth is on me throughout. He’s controlling it, pushing up the wave and making it bigger and more intense.
Then it’s too much, and I must cry out and try to get away, because his hands clamp down on my thighs, but his lips move off my clit, his tongue pushing into my entrance. That only prolongs the tail of the pleasure, until I’m not coming anymore but my god, it’s still so good.
He’s changed to fucking me with his tongue in firm thrusts that are deeper than I’d think possible with what is undeniably not a big body part. But then, Finn is huge all over, so I guess it’s not a surprise that his tongue is penetrating me.
And the vulnerability is unbearably erotic. I’m almost naked, with my pyjama top pushed up and he’s clothed, but he’s got his head between my legs, and he seems to have no intention of looking up any time soon.
Because he’s shifting, continuing to thrust into me, but also slipping upwards, a fraction further each time. Instinctively I try to move away to keep him from my now-sensitive clit, but he doesn’t let me. Until he touches it, and then he’s covering my clit entirely on every stroke.
It’s too much, but it’s also not, and he builds my arousal until I’m gasping and pulling at the cuffs as he’s circling my clit with his tongue again.
He releases my thigh, and I don’t have time to process what that means, beyond disappointment that he isn’t touching me as much, before there’s a nudge at my entrance.
I stiffen, even as his tongue on my clit doesn’t relent.
“Finn…”
“I know,” he says gently, then his finger is sinking in, stretching me to him. I’m malleable in his hands, and so out of control I should be panicking. Perhaps a small part of my mind is still shouting that I shouldn’t be allowed to give this up. I should be fighting, or embarrassed. But there’s no space for either, because Finn is doing this to me, and in the secrecy of my own mind, I can admit it feels so good .
Then everything is overwhelming. His fingers, the sound of him rumbling his approval, the filthy wet squelching sounds of my wetness, and me gasping and sighing.
“Come for me,” he says, then redoubles the intensity of his finger inside me, stroking and coaxing me, rubbing on my inner wall. And his tongue is relentless.
“Again.”
“I can’t, I can’t,” I babble. My body spirals upwards, obeying him even though I know it’s impossible. I can’t do it with my fingers, I’ve tried.
“One more for me, pet.” His voice is decadent and tempting. He’s pure sin.
“I…” It feels good, but there’s a sharp edge to the pleasure that has always made me back off. With Finn, I’m embracing it.
“You can.” His confidence is so sexy it sends a bolt of need through me. Then he’s silent as his mouth returns to my core, gentle but somehow knowing my body better than I do myself.
“It hurts, please, it hurts.” And that’s true, and it seems like a plea for him to stop. I tell myself that’s what it is. But I’m arching up into him, towards the pain and the pleasure, not away.
“Do it for me.” And his request sounds heartfelt, like it would be a favour to him if I allowed him to make me orgasm. He shifts his focus from my clit and for a second I think he’s going to let me off, but he doesn’t. It’s an adjustment, and instead of licking right over the nub, he’s running his tongue around the base, and I almost levitate.
Combined with his fingers, and the earthy scent of his skin, and the low noises of contentment he’s making, I’m helpless.
I break apart in a jagged orgasm unlike anything I’ve felt before. It’s unfamiliar, and shocking in its force. It shakes me, but Finn holds me firm, stable as granite cliffs against the sea, and I toss and writhe as the white-hot sparks shower down every limb.
I’m panting when I can think again. My cheeks are heated, my pussy is tingling with aftershocks, and when I look between my legs, Finn is pressing lazy kisses to the insides of my thighs, his green eyes flashing up at me, full of a serious emotion I can’t interpret.
Then he smacks my soaking folds lightly, as though to say, Don’t worry, I’ll be back for more , and levers himself up and over me.
I shudder. It’s possessive, that smack. A promise.
This is what people mean when they say Finn is charming but ruthless. He kills with a smile, and tortures with orgasms. A flirt, I remind myself, but I can’t find the energy to care.
He shoves his jeans down and pulls out his cock. I gasp. A vein runs down the length, and liquid beads at the tip, and it’s almost red it’s so swollen. Is that painful?
Then he grips it, and a tremor goes through me. He’s not going to… Is he?
I’m helpless. At his mercy.