Chapter 19
19
I should have never surrendered. Silence is agony, forced on me by a large ball gag stretching my lips. Like the wall, the bench welcomes my body in luxurious leather, robbing me of all mobility. Though my wrists are no longer bound behind my head, they’re tied together in front of me. The cuffs on my ankles remain.
Oliver has me bent over, feet planted wide and fixed to the floor. The position tilts my hips above my shoulders, sending too much pressure to my battered breasts.
Now it’s my ass that burns while the rest of me strains from the vibrator secured between my thighs.
Anytime I get too close, his thick paddle finds its mark.
It’s a dance between purgatory and nirvana, of which Oliver Whitney is a ruthless virtuoso.
The tension builds faster than I can bear, and my lungs seize around a scream I can’t release.
Crack!
Pain flares across my backside as another blow lands.
Then another.
Five in total, each more savage than the last.
The sting spreads in a blaze of red that drags me from the edge. Before the ache fades, he dials the instrument of my destruction higher, and I grind against it, chasing a climax he won’t grant.
Sweat beads along my spine.
My heart kicks at my ribs.
Heat swells, ready to boil over.
No, no, no.
I lunge for it anyway, bracing for the inevitable fallout.
Crack!
A fresh set of strikes cut me off from the tipping point. My legs tremble as the impact throttles my muffled groans, even as pleasure carves itself from pain.
He alternates between the two until I can’t tell which is which.
And that’s how this next phase goes.
Torment versus rapture.
Frustration versus arousal.
A crescendo I never reach.
And a fiery descent that won’t extinguish the flames of my desire.
Oliver pushes me to the brink again and again, only to yank me back with another rapid succession of blows. I want to plead for mercy, but my silence holds, locked behind the gag and the last fragments of pride I haven’t let him take.
I’ve lost all sense of time.
Only sensation remains.
I’m beyond exhausted, every nerve lit, tears and saliva slipping from my face. Fear begins to creep into my thoughts, and I’m wondering how much more I can take—how much more he’ll make me take—when he suddenly removes the gag.
“You’re doing so well, sweetheart. Your body knows how to obey.”
“Please, sir.” The entreaty scrapes out through clenched teeth. “No more.”
“Who owns you right now?”
“You do, sir.” As much as I despise that fact, it’s undeniable. There’s a hierarchy in this room, and he’s on top.
“And what about your orgasms? Are they mine or yours?”
“Yours, sir.”
“And your pain. Is that mine as well?”
“Y-yes…sir.”
Though my mouth stutters the answer he wants, I hand him over to the murderess in my mind. I’m so caught up in imagining his slow, tortured death that I don’t realize he’s releasing me from the bench.
He cradles me in his arms, every part of me bent to his will, and carries me into the en suite bathroom. After turning on the water, he guides me to the marble counter and positions me in front of the mirror.
“Look,” he says, angling a handheld mirror at my backside. “This is the color of your need. Isn’t it beautiful?”
I gulp at the sight. Beautiful isn’t the word I’d use, but it’s a testament to his mastery that he can etch such a brutal signature on my body and still leave me drenched. My skin glows crimson, mottled with the imprints of his discipline. Each mark tells the story of my submission.
The massive jacuzzi tub fills beside us, steam curling through lavender-scented air. Oliver strips before lifting me into the water and sliding in behind me.
“Lean back,” he says, arranging me between his thighs.
I sink against him and let the warm water ease my screaming muscles. Bubbles cocoon us in silken clouds as his hands glide over my shoulders and breasts, soothing the ache while heightening a different kind. When his fingers dip into the suds and find the apex of my sex, I whimper, throat raw from screaming and crying.
“Please, sir.”
“Shhh.” His lips brush my temple. “Relax, close your eyes. I’m going to take care of you now.”
His fingers burrow into my folds, holding me at the pinnacle, coaxing pleasure from a place of transcendence. I arch into his touch, toes trapped in a continuous curl.
I want to let go, but after weeks of denial, followed by the excruciating hours of his dominance, I cling to the edge by a frayed thread that refuses to snap.
“It’s okay, sweetheart.” He hooks a finger into me, stroking a spot I can’t resist, while his thumb circles my clit. “You’ve earned this.”
When I finally shatter, it’s with a sob that comes from somewhere deep inside. The release crashes into me like a soul-shaking exorcism. Oliver embraces me through it, murmuring praises.
The relief is overwhelming, devastating, and…
Beautiful.
Just like the scarlet hue of my ass.
I’m still trembling when he lifts me from the water and wraps me in a plush towel. He carries me to the massive bed at the center of his sanctum, each step lulling what’s left of my nerves.
The sheets welcome my fevered skin, cool as silk on a winter day. Sleep tugs at me, promising the kind of deep rest that’s eluded me since my world slid off its axis. Even as he splays my thighs, I’m ready to let it pull me under.
But Oliver has other plans.
The vibrator hums to life against my sensitive flesh, and I gasp, trying to squirm away.
“Please, I can’t?—“
“Who’s in control?” he asks, one hand pinning my hipbone to the bed. His lids hang low, dark eyes smoldering with command.
“You are, sir.”
“And if I want to give you ten more orgasms, what will you do about it?”
“I-I don’t…what do you mean?—“
“You’ll do nothing but lie there and take each one.”
The wand pulses harder, forcing me back to a state of arousal with cruel intentions. My back bows off the bed as reckless need shudders through me. Before I can reclaim my breath, he slides down and replaces the vibrator with his tongue.
Each wet stroke unleashes fresh tremors. I clutch the sheets, voice splintering into hoarse cries as another climax surges.
“ Sir ,” I sob, trembling. “No more.”
“Every time you beg me to stop, I’ll add another.”
I bite my lip, holding back the plea. Unbidden, my knees inch closer together.
“Wide open, Novalee.” He slaps my inner thigh. “Do I need to get the rope?”
“No, sir.” Shaking my head, I groan.
He returns to my pussy, lips nipping, fingers lodging inside me. The vibrator aids him in breaking me apart.
I’ve lost all control, my muscles cramping with each forced climax.
He doesn’t stop at two or even three.
Oliver holds me captive through five more since the one I gave him in the tub, each orgasm harsher than the last.
By the end, I’m wrecked.
Tears streak down my cheeks as I tremble in the wreckage of overstimulation. I sag against the bed, every layer unraveled, and only then does he show mercy.
He gathers me into his arms, tucks a blanket around us, and draws me to his chest. My head rests beneath his chin, cheek pressed to the warm rise and fall of his breath. One of his legs hooks over mine, cocooning me in a tender hold.
We sink in the aftermath, skin to skin. Sometime later, as my thoughts begin to surface, I realize…
I’m confused.
Not only by my response to him, but by the gentleness of his touch, the steady beat of his heart against my ear, the soft brush of his foot nudging mine under the covers.
Mostly, I’m confused because he made me come in endless agony, yet he’s lying here, awake and…
Hard .
I shift slightly, pressing into the thick ridge straining between us. His cock twitches, but he doesn’t move or ask for anything.
“Sir?”
His lips tilt, a smile I sense more than see. “You can relax that bratty tongue. No more punishment for tonight.”
I lift my gaze, and he angles back to meet it. My pulse stumbles, because he’s sexier than I’ve ever seen him.
His black hair, tousled from the humidity of our bath, falls in thick waves that tempt my fingers. He smells fresh, with something deeper underneath—a hint of earth wrapped in mahogany.
“Novalee?” His gravelly voice reels me in, and I blink, caught staring with an ember of attraction too raw to hide. “What’s on your mind?”
“What about…?” I trail off, nodding toward the unmistakable bulge between us.
“Ask what you want to ask.”
“Don’t you want to…finish?”
“I finished you six times. Was that not enough?” The question’s blunt, but his tone teases.
“I meant you .”
“Tonight’s not about me.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out, so I snap it shut.
He watches me a moment longer, dark lashes heavy over eyes that haven’t lost their heat. “This confuses you.”
“Yes! None of you have ever put me first.”
Except Sebastian.
I lock the thought away before it guts me.
“Don’t mistake my restraint for an act of gentlemanly behavior. I’ve had plans for you since you walked into my house.”
The warmth seeps out of me, chased off by suspicion. “You used Dr. Price to groom me, didn’t you?” I glance around the room, taking in the apparatuses Oliver introduced me to.
“I did. But only because you needed preparation.”
“Preparation for what? This?” As soon as the words settle between us, I know better.
He means the trip to the States in two days.
“The initiation,” I say, anxiety fluttering in my stomach. “What’s going to happen there?”
“Tonight was about you. What happens in the circle is about what I get to take from you.”
“And what is that?”
“Your sassy mouth.” He slips a finger between my lips. “My cock will initiate all the places I’m allowed to explore.”
“You plan to take me anally.”
“Yes.”
“And orally.”
“Most definitely.”
“And I’m not allowed to come.”
All statements. All true.
“Not in the circle, but if you behave, I might give you relief later that night.”
“I’m more worried about my safety than an orgasm, Oliver. The last time I went abroad…” My voice thickens, and I have to swallow past the remembered anguish. “Well, you know how that turned out.”
“I won’t let anything happen to you.” His palm curves over my cheek. “I’ve already hired private security.”
“Why do we need security?”
“Just a precaution.” His calm voice steadies the fragile trust growing between us. “It’s a team I’ve worked with before. A guard will be stationed outside your suite the entire time we’re at the Davenport Estate. I want you to feel safe.”
“We’re going to have our own rooms?”
“Of course.” His brows furrow. “Outside of this room, I don’t share my personal space with anyone.”
Something about that stings. “I wasn’t assuming anything.”
“That came out wrong.” He tucks a tangled lock behind my ear. “What I should have said is that I haven’t since Talitha. It’s not something I do, Novalee.”
“No need to explain. I understand.”
“Do you?” He lifts my chin, forcing my gaze back to his. “I know you have complicated feelings for the chancellor, and your love for Sebastian goes without saying. But tonight, you and me…what should have been merely physical was a bit more, don’t you think?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“Fair enough. You’re not ready to define this, just like I’m not ready to open up certain parts of myself.”
“Like your personal space.” My tone is wry, all hurt gone at reading between the lines of his explanation.
He doesn’t deny it, and yet his expression is unguarded in a way I didn’t think was possible for the always-in-control Oliver Whitney.
What passed between us tonight was brutal and beautiful, raw enough to reach something untouched inside me.
For the first time since losing Sebastian, I wasn’t spiraling in grief. I was alive , every inch of my skin tingling, every breath steeped in sensation.
Oliver gave that to me.
And I suspect I gave him something, too.
Not solace or healing, but an intense union between two souls still carrying the ones they lost.
His grief wears the name Talitha.
Mine will always whisper Sebastian.
We may never be whole again.
But in this moment, tangled in each other’s arms, we don’t have to be.