Chapter 26 Estella #3
Then I feel it fully. Rope coils around my wrists and ankles, all knots fixed to the bedframe. My arms are stretched above my head, my legs spread just enough to make my pulse trip.
A wave of panic surges through me, sharp and electrifying.
The room suddenly feels colder, licking at every exposed inch of skin.
I’m still in my silk pajama dress, but the thin fabric might as well not exist. The absence of my usual blanket lies beside me in a crumpled heap, and the nakedness of that emptiness sends a chill up my spine.
Goosebumps scatter across my arms. My nipples tighten into hard, aching peaks. I pull against the restraints, ropes digging in with merciless certainty.
I freeze when a large shadow leans over me, blotting out part of the thin light spilling through the window. His face is mostly hidden, carved out only in edges and silhouette.
But the shape. The presence. The warmth.
It’s him.
Relief unfurls through me like smoke, and the fight drains from my muscles. The panic melts, replaced by something molten and familiar.
“My, my,” he murmurs, voice soft enough to rake across my skin like velvet. “What a beautiful sight.”
His hand presses flat against my stomach, warm and steady, before sliding upward in an unhurried path between my breasts. The touch sparks something inside me—butterflies erupting in my stomach and fluttering up into my ribs.
His hand shifts, gliding to the side. His palm cups my breast before his thumb rubs across my hardened nipple. A sting of sweet pain blooms outward, tightening low in my belly, and my body arches despite the ropes.
I ache for more.
“Are you scared, little shadow?” His voice rumbles deep, a low tenor vibrating straight through my chest.
I can’t see clearly, but I know—he’s staring into my eyes, the question threading beneath the surface like a hidden current. It’s not about the terror anyone else could provoke or the fear I would feel if it were someone unknown.
This is different. This is fear only he can conjure. A fear laced with twisted need, morphing into something I cannot name—pleasure that curls inside me and claws at my control. The kind of fear I want him to draw from me until there is nothing left.
Because it makes me feel more alive than anything else ever could.
I’m fully awake now, every sense is sharpened to a knife’s edge. Nodding, I push against the ropes again, my limbs writhing, my pussy growing wetter with every futile struggle. Each movement sends sparks shooting through my body, eyes rolling back, muscles aching and screaming for more.
A low chuckle emanates from his chest. “Scared, cornered little thing,” he murmurs, voice rich and hungry. “Too bad for you, I plan to draw every last drop of that fear, every ounce of hopelessness, right out of you.”
Calloused fingers seize the hem of my dress, roughly tugging it upward.
The fabric slips away, revealing naked skin beneath.
One hand slides to my belly, circling slow, deliberate patterns, waking goosebumps in their wake.
Moans bubble from me, breaking free, stifled only by the tape sealing my mouth.
He inhales sharply, his own desire filling the space between us. Before I can catch myself, his wet mouth clamps over my nipple. My fists clench instinctively as he sucks, rough and possessive, while his tongue rolls and teases the hardened bud, every flick driving me higher.
A pulse of heat spreads low in my belly, growing faster than I can process, tears pricking my eyes from the sheer intensity of it.
“You’re so fucking magnificent,” he mutters against my skin. “I could play with you all day like this.”
His teeth sink into me, and I gasp, nearly choking, body thrashing against him, but he only tightens his hold. My senses shatter, the world splintering into spots and flashes, reduced entirely to him, to this, to the relentless torment and pleasure.
Sweat beads at my hairline, some trails slicking down my temples. My body burns hotter, more flushed, every nerve strung tight as he refuses to relent—his tongue circling, kneading, spreading a cruel, delicious heat against the rawness of my skin, like fire licking ice.
Dante pulls back with a loud, wet pop, the sudden absence of his mouth giving me a moment to drag in air. My chest heaves, but the relief barely forms before he lowers his head again—this time to the other nipple.
My muffled pleas scrape against the tape, words dissolving into nothing as he repeats the same cruel rhythm. Sharp, electric pain detonates, skittering through my nerves before plunging low, pooling heavy and dark in my stomach, only to melt into a wave of sweet, devastating pleasure.
By the time he pulls away, I’m gasping, nostrils flaring, every breath shaky. My entire body trembles beneath him.
“Oh, poor thing,” he whispers, almost tender. His palm cups the side of my face, thumb tracing my flushed skin as if studying the ruin he’s made of me. “Do you want it off?”
I nod, and his fingers catch the edge of the tape before he peels it away. My mouth opens wide the moment it’s freed, a desperate gulp for fresh air.
Eyes closed, chest rising, I don’t realize he’s leaned in until the warm slickness of his spit lands on my tongue.
Instinct makes my mouth close around it, swallowing, dazed and disoriented from his teeth still lingering on my skin.
Then more spit hits my mouth, and instinctively I open up and swallow that too—the need pulling at me like a fist closing around my core: hot, frantic, sick with want.
I lean forward, mouth open again, asking without words. He denies me instantly, pressing the tape right back over my lips while a cruel laugh drips from him.
Asshole.
“You’re so desperate, and I haven’t even done what I came here for.”
My eyes widen as he pulls back, shifting, rummaging for something. I try to turn my head, to see what he’s doing, but the dark keeps him hidden, every movement of his body a shadow brushing at the edges of my senses.
Of course that’s what he wants—this helplessness, this frantic anticipation. Leaving me with only ashes on my tongue, stoking my hunger while giving me nothing real.
It’s baffling to realize he still hasn’t been inside me—not really. Only his mouth and his fingers, and I can only imagine what it will feel like when he finally decides to do it.
Something presses against my clit, sending a violent shiver down my spine. My thoughts scatter as I glance down, eyes adjusting, mind taking a beat to register what he’s holding.
“I found that in one of your drawers,” he says lightly.
Annoyance flickers, but it dies quickly, overtaken by the realization of why he did it. Dante pays attention. He pays attention to me, enough to explore my world, enough to learn it.
“And I couldn’t help but wonder…” he continues, his tone turning slow and taunting. “Who do you think about while playing with your sweet little pussy.”
I force myself still, breath tightening, chest growing unbearably heavy as he drags the tip of the rubber toy across my throbbing clit, while the fingers of his free hand slide between my lips.
I jerk violently, pleasure snapping through me, every nerve catching fire.
“Those thoughts haunted me,” he says, his voice dropping deeper, darker. The weight of the promise he made in the catacombs wraps around me again, pulling the memory sharp and bright. “As did every man from your past.”
He presses the button on the toy, and in the next second, it hums to life. The soft vibrations whisper across my clit, delicate as breath against my throat, and my body surrenders—heart pounding wildly as the slow pleasure begins to build.
It’s been a while since I last used it, but nothing will ever compare to the sensation of Dante wielding it against me. I give him the power to hold me like this, stripped of every defense, naked and vulnerable beneath him, and in return, he gives me the power to choose how far I’m willing to fall.
The balance is intoxicating. The push and pull, the quiet understanding, the way he reads my mind yet never pushes past the line he knows I won’t cross.
I close my eyes as the light vibrations begin to spread, a delicate hum blooming across my skin.
He drags the toy slowly along my pussy, tracing every inch across my swollen lips, dipping it just barely into my slit, then sliding it back toward the tight ring of my ass before climbing upward again to my pulsating clit.
His fingers never stop teasing; they press my lips together, squeezing and rubbing them before letting go. Every time he does it, a wet sound fills the air, loud and obscene, echoing in the dark room, striking me with the realization of how soaked I am for him.
“Tell me, Estella,” he murmurs, “did your pussy weep like this for them?”
I shake my head, but he clicks his tongue, not convinced.
Yes, I’ve been with other men. Yes, a few managed to make me cum. But none of it compares to this, to him. Dante isn’t touching me for the sake of his own release.
He’s not using me. He’s learning me, attuning himself to every breath, every tremor, every unspoken need. He delivers pleasure like it’s a language only the two of us were ever meant to speak.
A soft click breaks the air as he increases the speed. The vibrations turn harsher, faster, and my body tightens instantly, arcing into the sensation. For a brief moment, I’m grateful for the ropes—because without them, I’d be clawing at him, convulsing wildly and losing myself.
“I want to fucking kill them,” he growls, teeth clenched, holding the toy directly against my clit. Slowly, his fingers slide into me, and a muffled moan tears from my throat, caught against the tape. “Pick them off one by one and gouge their eyes out for looking at you.”