3. Songbird #3
The command is the final snap of the thread.
A violent, seismic wave of pleasure crashes through me, starting at the very center of my being and radiating outward until my entire body is a single, vibrating cord of electricity.
My hips jerk upward in a desperate, uncoordinated attempt to meet her mouth; my breath hitching in a series of broken, high-pitched sobs.
I am lost in the dark, lost in the heat, lost in the sheer, overwhelming force of her. My muscles seize, my toes curl, and for a few long, breathless seconds. There is nothing in the universe but the sensation of her mouth and the glorious, terrifying explosion of my own release.
The world dissolves into frantic, white-hot chaos.
My entire body seizes, every muscle coiling tight as the orgasm rips through me, starting at the center of my being and radiating outward until my toes curl and my head thrashes against the pillow.
There is no sound but the ragged, desperate gasps escaping my lips and the wet, rhythmic friction of her tongue, which refuses to let up even as the first wave of pleasure begins to peak.
She is relentless. She doesn’t let me drift; she pins me to the sensation, her mouth working with a punishing, masterful intensity that drags the second, even more violent wave of release from my core.
My hips buck uncontrollably against restraints, the padded cuffs the only thing keeping me from flying apart.
I am a mess of uninhibited cries and trembling limbs, lost in a darkness that is suddenly alive with the electric, pulsing heat of her.
When the tremors finally subside, leaving me limp and gasping for air, the silence of the room rushes back in, heavy and sweet. I am left floating in the afterglow, my heart a frantic drum in my chest, waiting in the dark for the moment she finally decides to let me see her again.
The sudden, violent climax leaves me hollowed out, my entire being vibrating with the aftershocks of a pleasure so intense it felt like being unmade.
My lungs burn, pulling in jagged, shallow gulps of air that do nothing to settle the frantic thudding of my heart.
The darkness behind the blindfold isn’t empty anymore; it’s filled with pulsing, white hot static, the ghost of her touch still searing my skin.
I am completely undone. My limbs feel heavy, like lead, yet there is a residual electricity making my muscles twitch rhythmically against the silk sheets.
The restraints hold my wrists and ankles firm, a grounding weight that keeps me from floating away into the sheer, overwhelming void of afterglow.
The bed shifts as she rises, and the air hits my damp, sensitive skin with a cool shock that makes me shiver.
I hear the soft rustle of her clothes, the sound of her moving back up the bed.
The anticipation is a different kind of torture now, not the sharp, agonizing tension of before, but a heavy, needy longing.
I am a mess of sweat and spent desire, waiting in the dark, her fingers nimble and cool as she unties the silk from my eyes.
The air hits my face, and for a second, I feel naked all over again.
The sudden absence of the blindfold is a shock to my system. The light from the bedside lamp is a blinding, golden assault, forcing my eyes to s'ueeAe shut as the world slowly resolves into shapes.
I blink, my vision swimming, and the first thing I see is her.
Katheryn standing over me, looking entirely too composed for a woman who has just spent the last twenty minutes systematically dismantling my sanity.
Her hair is still perfectly in place, her blouse unrued, her expression unreadable save for the dark, satisfied glint in her mint-green eyes.
She reaches down. Before I can even draw a full breath, she is moving to my wrists. The click click of the restraints releasing is another kind of release. My arms fall heavily to the mattress, numb and tingling, and then she is at my ankles.
As the last restraint falls away, leaving my legs heavy and trembling, she leans down one last time. She doesn’t kiss me. She doesn’t even touch my skin. She simply leans into the space near my ear, her voice a low, terrifyingly beautiful purr.
“You sang so pretty for me, little bird,” she murmurs.
The nickname sends a fresh shiver through my exhausted body. Little bird. Captured. She had captured me, and she was right I would never forget it. I would never forget her. Bad decision or not.
I reach out, my fingers brushing the silk of her sleeve, a desperate, instinctive urge to pull her back, to make the warmth stay. But she is already pulling away. She stands, the sheer elegance of her movement making me feel clumsy and broken in the sheets.
She walks across the room, her heels clicking a steady, indifferent rhythm on the floor. She stops briefly at the door, her silhouette framed by the light of the hallway. She doesn’t look back.
“You are already here, so enjoy the suite for the evening,” she says, her tone shifting back to that polite, distant coolness she uses in public. “I will arrange for the driver to take you wherever you want to go in the morning.”
And just like that, she slips through the door.
The click of the latch sounds like a final sentence. The silence that rushes back into the room is deafening.