3. Songbird
Songbird
LILY
The drive through the city is a blur.
Lights smear across the windows in gold and white streaks, the skyline folding in on itself as the car moves through it like we’re leaving one world and slipping into another.
I keep telling myself to breathe normally. It doesn’t work.
Katheryn sits beside me like se belongs to a different gravity entirely. One leg crossed over the other, one hand resting loosely across her lap, gazing forward as though this is routine. As though bringing someone home like this doesn’t carry any weight at all.
But every so often, I feel her attention shift to me. Just enough that I stop pretending I’m relaxed.
The silence in the car is controlled. Held in place by her presence.
I don’t know where to put my hands. I don’t know where to look.
By the time the car pulls into the private garage beneath her building, my thoughts feel scattered and too loud in my own head.
The door opens smoothly. Katheryn steps out first. I follow.
The elevator is waiting. Quiet. Polished. Too still. The doors slide shut behind us with a soft, final sound that feels more final than it should.
The city has disappeared. It’s just the two of us now.
Mirrored walls surround me on every side. Her reflection. Mine. Repeated in the glass and light and shadow.
She doesn’t look at the mirrors. She looks at me. I swallow, suddenly aware of how small the space feels.
The elevator begins to rise.
Silence.
Katheryn watches me. Doesn’t look away. She doesn’t need to. She steps closer. No hesitation. No warning. The space between us disappears. She leans in slightly, just enough that there is no space left between distance and decision.
Her hand lifts. Two fingers tilt my chin upward. She guides my face to hers. Her thumb brushes once along my jaw. Slow. Certain. Her eyes never leaving mine. The air changes.
My breath breaks against her mouth as she takes that first kiss. Not rushed, not chaotic, just controlled in a way that makes it impossible to think about anything except her.
Her fingers drift down, closing gently around the slender column of my throat holding me in place as she deepens the kiss. Her tongue insistently exploring the cavern of my mouth and my tongue glides against hers softly.
The elevator slows.
The doors open.
She steps back just enough for the world to return. Her hand finds mine without hesitation. Fingers interlacing with quiet certainty as she guides me forward. Out of the elevator. Into her space.
The penthouse unfolds in front of us like something unreal.
Floor-to-ceiling glass wraps the entire room, the city spread beneath it in endless gold and steel light.
Everything has clean lines and shadowed elegance.
Marble floors and countertops, warm low lighting, quiet luxury that doesn’t need to announce itself.
It doesn’t feel like a home. It feels like power made physical.
Katheryn doesn’t pause to admire it. Instead, she keeps hold of my hand and leads me further inside. The door closes behind us with a soft finality.
She stops. Turns. Looks at me. No distance now. Just control regained. No elevator. No mirrored reflections. No audience. Just her space. And me in it.
The city glows behind her like a backdrop that doesn’t matter anymore. All that matters is the way she’s looking at me.
Her gaze drops briefly to my mouth, then returns to my eyes.
Slowly, she pulls me to her into another passionate kiss.
One of her hands grasps my hair at the back of my neck, adjusting my head to allow her more access to my mouth.
Her other hand glides from my waist, cupping and squeezing my breast before she pulls my dress and bra down baring the soft skin, her fingers teasing and twisting my nipple as I moan into her kiss.
She breaks the kiss, watching me as she releases my hardened nipple, her fingers grazing my inner thigh as she moves them achingly slow towards where I desperately need to be touched.
Her grip in my hair pulls my head back as she bites along my neck and jaw until I feel the heat of her breath and her lips against my ear as she moves my panties to the side, her fingers sliding over my clit and through the evidence of arousal.
“So fucking deliciously wet for me,” she whispers. “I’m going to make you sing for me little bird.” Her voice lowers to a seductive purr as she sinks her fingers deep inside me, curling them, working that spot.
A whimper escapes me and then I moan wanting more.
She continues to work me with her fingers as her mouth closes hungrily over my still exposed nipple, and she sucks hard, nipping at the sensitive bud eliciting a small yelp.
She looks up at me, her eyes dark. She releases her hold in my hair, her hand gripping my face forcing my mouth open as she withdraws her soaked fingers from my core and pushes them into my mouth.
I have never tasted myself before. I have never wanted to but fuck this was so hot. I can’t think straight and I suck her fingers clean.
“Mmmm,” she purred, “My turn to see how sweet you taste.”
She leads me to her bedroom. Stopping before her enormous bed made with luxurious silk sheets, she moves behind me unzipping my dress, letting it fall to the floor.
In one movement she has my bra unclasped and she drops it to the floor.
Her fingers slide under the waistband of my panties as she pulls them down over my hips, moving lower as I step out of them.
“Lay down.” She commanded.
I didn’t hesitate. The silk was cool against my back. I watched as she pulled something from the nightstand handing it to me... A blindfold.
“Be a good little bird and put it on.” She said, smiling.
I hesitated only a moment before sliding it over my eyes.
I felt her hands first on my arm gliding down to my wrist lifting it up above my head.
Then I heard something jingle and a soft padded cuff closing around my wrist. I gasped.
I felt her touch again, her fingers drifting down my thigh to my ankle.
Again, shifting it and another soft padded cuff closing.
She repeated until both wrists and ankles were in the restraints, and my legs were spread wide.
“Look at you,” she said her voice low and hungry. “So fucking beautiful.”
The world is gone. There is no ceiling, no expensive suite, no moonlight filtering through the curtains. There is only the dark, a heavy, velvety weight pressed against my eyelids by the silk blindfold.
Without my sight, everything else has become a sensory onslaught. The air feels colder against my bare skin,
making every tiny hair on my arms stand on end. The
silk sheets beneath me feel unnaturally smooth, almost
liquid, as they slide against my skin. But most of all, there
is the sound. The rhythmic, terrifyingly calm sound of
Katheryn’s breathing. The rustle of her silk blouse, and the
steady, predatory tempo of her footsteps, the soft unmistakable click of her heels on the hardwood 1oor.
I am a prisoner of my own skin. My wrists are stretched
above my head, the padding of the restraints soft but unyielding, reminding me with every twitch that I cannot reach for her, cannot cover myself, cannot even move a stray hair ticking against my face.
My ankles are pulled wide, leaving me feeling devastatingly open, a target waiting for the strike.
I feel the mattress dip. The sudden shift in weight tells me she’s close, even before the heat of her body radiates toward me. My heart is a frantic bird trapped in a cage, thudding so hard against my ribs that I’m certain she can see through my chest.
Then, a sensation. A ghost of a touch.
Her fingertip, tracing a line from the swell of my hip down the sensitive, inner curve of my thigh.
It is so light it might have been a dream, but the trail it leaves is a searing line of fire.
I gasp, my hips jerking instinctively, but the restraints catch me, holding me in a state of perpetual, unfulfilled reaching.
“So reactive to my touch,” her voice purrs, coming from somewhere near my ear. The vibration of it seems to travel straight down my spine.
She’s teasing me. She knows that without my eyes, every touch is magnified a thousand times.
The mere graze of her nail feels like a lightning strike.
When her finger finally ands the slick, swollen center of me, a strangled cry escapes my lips.
She isn’t giving me what I need; she is simply circling it, hovering at the very edge of the precipice.
My breath comes in short, jagged hitches, and the darkness behind the blindfold feels like it’s pulsing in time with the ache between my legs.
I want to scream, to tell her that the torture is almost too much, but all that comes out is a pathetic, needy whimper.
“Is that a plea, little bird?” Katheryn murmurs. The heat of her breath brushes against my ear, sending a fresh wave of shivers through my entire body. “Is it an aching need? Are you desperate for my touch?”
She doesn’t wait for an answer. She doesn’t need one.
Her hand slides lower, her palm cupping the heavy, aching weight of me, while her thumb begins a rhythmic, unrelenting grind against my clit.
The sensation is overwhelming. Without my sight, the friction feels massive, a tidal wave of pleasure that threatens to drown me.
Every time she presses down, my body tenses and pulls against the restraints, the soft padding catching my wrists and ankles in a desperate, futile attempt for that pressure, the friction.
“Shh,” she whispers, her voice a command that settles deep in my bones. “Stay still for me. Be a good girl for me.”