Chapter 31 Dante
I’m frozen beneath her touch, every muscle locked, my mouth sealed as I surrender to her completely.
My heart hammers inside my chest, its rhythm the only proof that I’m still alive.
Even my breath feels distant, weightless, as though everything around me has dissolved into blurs and splashes of color rather than any coherent understanding of what’s happening.
Estella works on my clothes, the soft rustle of fabric brushing against my ears as she undresses me piece by piece until there’s nothing left between us.
She leans in, cradling my face with both palms, her touch impossibly gentle. “Open your eyes,” she murmurs. I obey, and the moment my lashes lift, my gaze collides with hers—her dark eyes shimmering with something so close to tenderness it almost hurts.
Love. Acceptance. A quiet, devastating certainty.
She kisses me, and I melt beneath the heat of her mouth.
She doesn’t force, doesn’t claim, but her restraint carries its own kind of passion—subtle, steady, and consuming.
When she pulls back, the absence is so immediate that I instinctively follow, leaning toward her, chasing her warmth.
But she withdraws, leaving a cold sting of rejection in her wake.
I watch her fingers glide through my hair, ruffling the strands as if memorizing them.
Her gaze sweeps over me—a silent study she refuses to rush.
Then she steps back until the backs of her legs touch the edge of the mattress.
She sinks, and the bed dips beneath her, the faint bounce rippling outward.
I can’t stop staring at her—at her beautiful face, at her body draped in the fabric of the dress I chose, its layers following every irresistible curve.
Her hand lifts toward her head, and she loosens the wig, sliding it off to reveal blonde strands gathered into a loose, imperfect bun.
Her fingers reach the scrunchie next, tugging it free and tossing both aside.
Her hair tumbles down in soft waves, and she drags her hands through it, shaking it loose until every strand seems to shimmer with movement.
Her fingers drift downward, gliding over the curve of her cleavage, tracing slow, deliberate paths as if choreographing a private dance across her skin.
The way she barely touches herself sends a pulse straight through me. I drag my tongue across my lips without thinking, heat tightening in my chest before I bite down on my lower lip hard enough to anchor myself, forcing my body to stay rooted where I am instead of giving in to the urge to move.
I’m fully erect as I watch her, my patience cracking at the seams. But she spent every minute grounding me, steadying me, peeling me out of my own skin until I could breathe again. I can’t just crush that with impatience or let desire bulldoze through what she’s giving me.
Estella’s fingers continue their slow pilgrimage over her body, drifting in looping paths, moving back and forth, up and down, sketching a map I’m forbidden to touch.
My hands curl into fists, knuckles whitening, and I feel a vein throb at the side of my neck from the strain of holding myself in place.
We’re surrounded by tools—ropes, cuffs, restraints, everything she could use to pin me down, gag me, blindfold me, strip me of control with a single command. She could reduce me to silence and obedience if she wanted. But she doesn’t reach for any of it. She’s choosing something deeper.
We’re building the entire moment on trust.
She holds every ounce of power in her hands right now—power I don’t remember consciously giving her, yet somehow, I did. And the truth sinks in, warm and startling.
This feels better than anything in this room ever could.
Her hands slip behind her back, arms flexing slightly as she pulls the zipper of her dress down.
The sound is soft but deafening, and I shift in the chair, breath caught in my chest as she frees her breasts, then lowers the dress just enough to peel it down her hips and legs, revealing herself inch by devastating inch.
When she’s finished, she lets the dress fall wherever my clothes landed, leaving her standing before me in nothing but a small, skin-colored thong. The sight of her knocks the air clean out of my lungs. My fingers thrum with the urge to touch, yet I hold myself still.
It’s a slow, deliberate torture she’s crafting for me, a sweet kind of cruelty that makes me grateful for the chair beneath me. Without it, I’d be on the floor.
She watches me as my gaze drags up and down her body, shamelessly devouring every inch. Her nipples tighten into hard peaks under my stare, and my tongue slips out to wet my lips as my jaw tenses with the need to bite into them.
Estella grants me a few suspended seconds of pure agony before turning away, crawling further onto the bed.
Her ass lifts, arches, offering itself like she knows exactly how close I am to snapping.
I bite down on my already abused lip as she shifts to the side, then slides gracefully off the bed and drops to all fours.
Under my ravenous stare, she crawls toward the wall, her breasts swaying with every movement, each shift of her body sending a tremor searing through mine. When she reaches the wall, she rises just enough to clamp her teeth around a silk scarf and tug it free.
With the scarf held delicately between her teeth, she turns and begins crawling back toward me—slow, seductive, lethal. My breath stutters, and my vision blurs at the edges.
Jesus fucking Christ.
She reaches me, close enough that her warmth grazes my knees. The scarf slips from her mouth and falls onto my skin, soft and cool, sending a shock of goosebumps racing up my thighs. A praise catches in my throat, strangled, and all I can do is nod.
She rises onto her knees and places her hands on mine, guiding them until my fingers close around the scarf.
I twist the silk between them, feeling the heat radiating from her skin, before she brings her wrists together and extends them toward me in a silent offering.
Slowly, I wrap the scarf around them, binding her wrists snugly, firm to hold but gentle enough not to hurt.
She parts her lips, breath warm against my thigh, then moves between my legs.
“You can’t touch me,” she whispers wickedly before opening her mouth and taking the head of my cock in one smooth, devastating swallow.
My eyes roll back. A raw, animal sound tears from my throat as her mouth closes around me—hot, velvet-slick, obscene in how perfect it feels.
My fingers clamp around the arms of the chair, nails carving shallow crescents as she lowers her head further, taking more, pushing past my last shred of composure.
She’s playing with power. Taking the control I offered her—yet binding her own hands to soften the imbalance, to make the game fair, safe, ours.
The anxiety from moments before still flickers at the edges of me, but it no longer rules me. The unease tries to claw its way back in, but she drowns it out with every glide of her tongue, every soft hum vibrating around me.
My heart pounds not from dread but from her—from the way her mouth worships me. My hands itch not to claw at my skin but to reach for her, to anchor myself in her warmth, her presence.
She pierced the shame clean through—burst it wide open the second she wiped me down, touched me gently, made space for me.
Now, there is only us.
Only the ways we pull each other back from the edge.
Every muscle in my body tightens as she begins to suck harder, her head moving in a slow, torturous rhythm. Her tongue traces the thick vein along my length before swirling around the head, pulling a sharp breath from me. She moans at the salty taste of pre-cum, and the vibration shreds my control.
“Fuck, baby,” I rasp, voice breaking as the pleasure builds, violent and electric.
She looks up at me, her eyes dark, hands bound, and something primal detonates in my chest. My gaze flickers between the scarf around her wrists and the devotion in her eyes, and the pleasure spikes hard.
She’s so… mine.
Mine to love.
Mine to protect.
Mine to fall apart for.
Just mine.
She draws back until only the very tip of me remains between her lips, then tilts her head and presses me into the soft cushion of her inner cheek.
The moan she releases vibrates along every inch of my length, low and decadent, her eyes fluttering as she pushes me deeper against that tender, wet flesh.
My hands spasm, trying to anchor me as she gives me exactly what’s driving me insane. Every moan, every slick sweep of her tongue, every glazed roll of her eyes drags me farther from the spiraling edge of my own thoughts, tearing my anxiety apart one ragged breath at a time.
Heat blooms in my chest, coils in my throat, and pools at the base of my spine. My heart hammers, and my breath shortens. The orgasm creeps closer, slashes of euphoria licking up my nerves. I throw my head back, a raw cry ripping from me before she pulls away.
The loss of her mouth strikes me like a blade, and shock detonates through me, widening my eyes, hollowing out my lungs.
I force my head down, struggling to breathe, and find her staring up at me. She raises her bound hands toward me, wrists trembling, eyes pleading silently. The rejection gnaws at the edges of my mind, a hollow ache spreading into numbness, twisting with a flash of desperation.
Without a word, I lean forward and untie the scarf. It slips from my fingers and barely brushes the floor before she climbs into my lap, pressing her entire body against mine until the air between us ceases to exist.
“No touching,” she whispers, chest heaving as she shifts, settling into position above my straining cock.
The moment her slick heat grazes my tip, my eyes slam shut, and a helpless, broken whimper escapes me.
I didn’t know I could make that sound. I didn’t know anyone could make me unravel like this. The things this woman pulls from me should be studied like a fucking phenomenon.