Chapter 10 #2
Each word drips with frustration, each slap punctuating his anger, and of course, because I’m a masochist with a death wish, my cock stiffens against the bed, my body responding to every hit.
Small, bitten-off noises escape my throat.
Gasped groans, erratic whimpers that I would never let anyone else hear.
But with Suha? Fuck, he makes me weak, makes me sound weak, and I fucking love it.
He works methodically, alternating cheeks until my skin burns, until the ache builds into a feverish throb, relentless and perfect. I’m trembling, sweat-slick and overheated, tears burning at the corners of my eyes.
“Not so fucking cocky now,” he growls, his voice shredded—part anger, part rut, all control barely holding itself together. “Where’s all that attitude? Where’s that smartass mouth?”
I open my mouth to retort with some stupid quip, some half-baked protest, but his palm lands directly over the most tender spot, rocking me forward with a gasp. My entire body locks up, arching off the sheets, but he doesn’t stop—he doesn’t let me catch my breath.
When he finally pauses, my ass throbbing and fever-hot, the sudden absence of pain is worse than the impact itself. My muscles twitching, my skin hypersensitive, every nerve alight.
Then his fingers skim over my abused flesh, soft, almost affectionate, before digging in. Cruel, gripping the ruined skin hard enough to drag another broken noise from my throat as I writhe beneath him.
“Stay still,” he commands, his pheromones washing over me in another suffocating wave.
He flips me over roughly and I find myself staring up at him, my vision slightly blurry from unshed tears.
His eyes are dark with rut, pupils blown so wide there’s barely any color left, just black hunger staring down at me.
Sweat beads on his forehead, his jaw clenched tight, every muscle in his body tense with barely controlled aggression.
He looks absolutely feral. Dangerous. Like he might actually tear me apart.
It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
Suha’s hand disappears from my shoulder. I hear the soft click of a drawer opening beside the bed, the rustle of something being retrieved. When his hand comes back into view, he’s holding a thick black ring of silicone.
He doesn’t say a word. His fingers, still slick with sweat, wrap around the base of my cock, which is already stiff and straining from the spanking and the sheer force of his presence.
The cool, flexible silicone slides over my skin, and he fits it snugly around me, trapping my balls in a tight circle with the shaft.
He gives it a final, merciless tug to secure it.
My breath snags in my throat. The pressure is instant, a vise-like grip that makes my cock swell further against its confinement, the blood trapped and throbbing. An ache blooms deep in my gut, sharp and needy. I’m already so hard it’s painful, and the ring ensures there’s no relief in sight.
Before I can even process the new sensation, he’s moving again.
Leather cuffs appear in his hands, dark and well-worn.
He grabs my right wrist, his grip firm and unarguable, and buckles the cuff around it.
The cold metal of the D-ring presses into my inner wrist. He pulls my arm up and over my head, attaching the cuff to a heavy-looking O-ring bolted into the ornate headboard.
He repeats the process with my left wrist, stretching my arms out above me, pulling the straps tight enough that I have to arch my back slightly off the mattress to avoid straining my shoulders.
I test the restraints instinctively, pulling against them.
The leather creaks but doesn’t give an inch.
The cuffs are padded on the inside but the buckles are solid, and the headboard feels like it’s carved from a single piece of ancient oak.
I’m stretched out, completely exposed, every inch of me available to him.
Suha stands at the edge of the bed, looking down at me with those dark, rut-hazed eyes.
He makes quick work of his own clothes, shoving his pants and underwear down his thighs.
His cock springs free, fully erect and flushed dark, beads of moisture already gathering at the tip.
He’s huge, and the sight of him, combined with the helpless way I’m tied down, sends another jolt of desperate heat straight through me.
He grabs a bottle of lube from the same drawer, slicking his length with a few rough, hurried strokes. He doesn’t bother with any for me. There’s no gentleness in his movements, only a single-minded urgency that comes from the rut clawing at his control.
He climbs back onto the bed, kneeling between my spread thighs. One hand wraps around my hip, his fingers digging into the tender, overheated flesh of my ass, right where he’d struck me. The other hand guides his cock to my entrance.
I don’t have time to brace. I don’t have time to tense or try to adjust. He pushes in with one single, devastating thrust.
The burn is striking, a hot streak of pain that tears a ragged cry from my throat.
My body seizes, my back bowing off the bed as far as the cuffs will allow.
It hurts, fuck, it hurts so much, the stretch brutal and unforgiving without any preparation.
My muscles clamp down around the intrusion, trying instinctively to reject it, but he’s already buried to the hilt inside me, his weight pinning me down.
He doesn’t wait. He doesn’t give me a second to catch my breath or let my body relax. He pulls back almost immediately and slams home again, setting a pace that is nothing short of punishing.
The rhythm he establishes is relentless.
Each thrust is a full-bodied drive of his hips, pushing the air from my lungs in sharp gasps.
The sound in the room is lewd—the wet, slick noise of his cock moving inside me, the slap of his skin against my throbbing ass, the choked sounds I can’t seem to stop making.
The bed frame knocks softly against the wall with every powerful surge of his body.
The angle is cruel and perfect. With every deep plunge, the thick head of his cock grinds against that spot inside me that makes my vision blur.
Pleasure arcs up my spine, tangling violently with the pain of the stretch and the ache of the cock ring.
They twist together until I can’t separate them, until every nerve is singing with a confused, overwhelming sensation that is equal parts agony and ecstasy.
My own cock is painfully hard, trapped and ignored.
It leaks steadily onto my stomach, a slick pool of frustration.
I try to move, to push back against his thrusts to get some friction, some relief, but the cuffs hold me fast. I’m completely at his mercy, a vessel for his rut, and the helplessness of it is its own kind of dizzying pleasure.
Suha leans forward, his sweat dripping onto my chest. His eyes are wild, unfocused, consumed by the biological drive to claim. His mouth finds the junction of my neck and shoulder, the place where his bond mark already sits raised on my skin. He doesn’t kiss it. He bites.
His teeth sink in deep, a sharp, piercing pain that overrides everything else for a blinding second.
I scream, the sound torn from me, as I feel the skin break and the warm trickle of blood start to slide down my shoulder blade.
He doesn’t let go. He holds the bite, growling low in his throat, a primal, possessive sound that vibrates through my bones as his hips continue to piston into me with undiminished force.
He’s marking me again, reinforcing the bond with pain and possession, claiming me in the most basic way an alpha can.
The taste of my own blood must be on his tongue.
The thought is strangely, deeply arousing.
I am his canvas, and he is painting me with bruises and bites and his own release, and I want it, I want all of it, even as tears of overwhelm leak from the corners of my eyes.
The air in my lungs feels thin and useless, each gasp scraping against my throat as I struggle to draw breath.
Sweat slicks my skin, cooling in the places where his body isn’t pressed against mine, making me shiver even as I burn up from the inside.
My entire body has become a live wire of need, trembling with a tension that has nowhere to go.
The ache in my cock is a sharp, persistent throb, a demand my body is screaming but cannot fulfill.
“Please,” I hear myself beg, the word cracking in the middle like dry wood.
It sounds foreign, pathetic, leaving my lips.
I don’t beg. I taunt, I provoke, I laugh in the face of pain.
But this is different. This is a biological emergency, a deep, cellular scream for relief.
“Suha, please, just... let me come. Take it off. Please.”
He doesn’t answer with words. A low growl vibrates against the side of my neck where his face is buried, a purely animal sound that goes straight to my spine.
His hips snap forward with renewed force, the impact jolting me up the bed an inch, the headboard giving a soft thump against the wall.
His hand leaves my hip and snakes up my chest, his fingers splaying over my pounding heart for a terrifying second before closing around my throat.
The pressure is absolute. My gasp dies instantly, cut off at the source.
My eyes fly open wide, staring blindly at the ornate ceiling as the world tilts, colors bleeding at the edges.
The lack of air amplifies everything else—the brutal, stretching fullness of him inside me, the hot sting of the bite on my shoulder, the maddening, trapped pulse of my own blood in my cock.
My heartbeat becomes a frantic drum against his palm, and I can feel his own pulse hammering through the grip he has on me.