CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR #2
But he still doesn’t speak. He keeps staring, my legs spread for him, like he’s committing every detail to memory in case he never gets this again.
Then, gently, he guides me back until I am lying flat on the desk.
I stare up at the ceiling, wondering if I’m dreaming.
If maybe I’m still in my bed, lost in some fantasy, I won’t remember when I wake up.
He touches me as if I were something rare.
Something fragile. Like, I am breakable in the best possible way.
And maybe that is what makes him so addictive.
His mouth starts again, kissing up my thighs, like he wants to kiss every space on my body.
“Just know if you don’t do a good job,” I murmur, half-joking but completely serious, “I’ve already got someone lined up for when I leave.”
I mean the Red Mask. Because the way his tongue moved still has me crumbling every time I think about it.
He chuckles darkly. “You won’t be thinking about anyone else once I’m done with you.”
Then his mouth is on my clit. Rough. Vigorous.
Whoa.
His tongue moves slowly, controlled, like he wants to drag this out until I break. His teeth tug gently. Not painful. Just right. Then comes a sharp pinch to my clit. My hips jerk. It isn’t pain. It’s the kind of tight, building pleasure that hurts only because I want more.
“What was that?” I gasp, eyes fluttering open .
He smiles up at me, dimples flashing, teeth white and sharp. “A binder clip... clamped right on your clit.” My mouth parts in shock, but before I can speak, he keeps going. “Let me guess. You don’t even know what you like and dislike, considering you’ve only been with one person.”
“Um... two now.”
“Oh, right. Leon. I almost forgot.” He smirks, cocky and unbothered. “Let me teach you a little something.” His mouth lowers, tongue sliding down to my entrance, and my entire body shudders.
He knows exactly what he’s doing. Too well. The way his tongue moves is familiar. Not the same, but close. It reminds me of the Red Mask. The rhythm. The confidence. He can’t be? He would’ve already told me.
“Princess,” he growls against my skin, “you taste like something I’ve craved my entire life. I’ve never been satisfied with the women I’ve been with. Not until I tasted your sweet cunt.”
It is filthy. Crude. Vulgar. And somehow, it still feels intimate. Is that his game? Make it feel personal so I fall harder?
His tongue moves between my folds with unrelenting need for me. It pulls me under, dragging me into a haze of pleasure so intense I forget how to think. Then I feel it. Something tightens around my ankle.
What the hell?
My eyes fly open. He is holding a thin phone cord in his hand, wrapping it around my ankle and tying it to the drawer pull beside the desk. My chest rises and falls in sharp, frantic waves.
I can’t move. I am entirely at his mercy. This could be bad. So bad .
“If this is one of your games,” I breathe, “and you leave me here like this… so help me, I will murder you myself.”
He cuts me off before I can finish the threat.
“Relax and let me do my job.” He ties my other ankle to the opposite side of the desk, spreading me completely open.
His voice drops to a whisper, thick and private, like a secret he only wants me to hear.
“Because the second you come, those pretty legs of yours are going to want to close. But I’m not letting you run from it.
You’re going to feel everything, Lila. Every wave.
Every twitch. Every release. And your body will never forget it…
Never forget me. I will be the only thing your body wants. ”
I can’t even respond. All I can do is nod at his words as he ties me down.
God, I really like this. No. I love it.
He makes me feel powerful and completely exposed at the same time. Tied down and spread wide on his desk, yet somehow more in control of my body than I have ever been. He rolls his sleeves up to his elbows, revealing forearms slick with sweat, veins prominent and pulsing beneath his skin.
He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back as beads of sweat gather at his brow. Then he pops open the top button of his shirt… and freezes, like a thought just caught him mid-motion. Something important. Something he’s debating whether to act on or ignore.
Whatever he was thinking, he shakes it out of his head and starts back devouring me, drinking me like I’m the water to cool him off.
He swirls and licks between my folds, the clip on my clit painful, but in a good way.
Then he slides a finger inside me, and I moan.
Slow at first, then deeper, faster. I can’t help but squirm on the desk.
It feels too good. Like if I come, all the weight and stress I’ve been carrying will finally break free.
Like, release could mean more than just pleasure.
It could mean peace until it builds up again .
“Please.”
“Oh? You already want to cum?”
“Yes,” I say, completely breathless.
His thick, masculine fingers pump in and out, making me moan louder.
I open my eyes, and it’s his stare, his face, the phone cord, the binder clip.
That pushes me over the edge. My body is finally releasing what I couldn’t with Leon.
But he doesn’t stop. He keeps going. He removes the clip and starts swirling his tongue again…
licking, nibbling, sucking my clit while still finger-fucking me slowly and agonizingly.
I run my hands through his hair. It’s soft and coarse at the same time, just like him. He devours me.
“Yes, Baby… you’re doing so good.”
Shit. I did it again. Why do I always do this? Is baby just my default word for intimacy? Is it special… or do I give it away too easily?
He hisses, “If you keep talking like that, you’re going to have to finish me off.”
The thought alone sends a wicked shiver down my spine. I can’t help but picture myself stripping him down, inch by inch, watching every muscle tense beneath my fingertips. I want to tease him the way he’s teasing me now. I want to take my time. Drag it out. Make him beg.
I imagine my mouth wrapping around him, savoring the weight of him on my tongue.
The taste. The sound of his breath hitching.
The way his hand might tighten in my hair as he guides my movements.
And just like that, I break. Again. Sweat clings to my skin.
My legs tremble uncontrollably. I want to close them, but I can’t.
“Kage, I can’t…” I gasp, barely able to breathe. “I can’t go again. I’m going to black out.”
But he doesn’t stop. He slides two fingers inside me again… and then clamps the clip back onto my clit. My body je rks from the overstimulation. And then… he does the unexpected. With his fingers still moving inside me, he slides his thumb into my ass.
“Hey! What the—”
He cuts me off before I can finish. “Trust the process,” he says, never breaking eye contact.
God. I don’t think he’s looked away from me once.
“Start rubbing your clit,” he commands. “Right where the clip is.”
I freeze.
Can I really do this? In front of him? Is that weird?
“This is already too much,” I whisper, barely able to get the words out.
He leans in closer, his voice low and unshakable. “Then tell me to stop.” His eyes stay locked on mine, searching, daring me to speak. His tone deepens, thick with authority and something darker. “Tell me to stop touching you, and I will. One word.”
He is giving me the choice. But God, he knows I don’t want him to stop touching me. I stay silent and let my actions speak for me.
I take the binder clip off my clit and start rubbing it.
My hips shift against his hand, hesitant at first, testing the edge of restraint.
I start with slow, circular motions, teasing myself, but then I feel my hips shift, searching for more.
His breath hitches, a sharp intake he tries to swallow down.
I move again, harder this time, chasing the friction I crave.
His fingers press deeper, stroking in sync with my rhythm until control unravels and I’m grinding against his palm, lost to the heat, the ache, the need.
A low moan slips from him as he watches me, his control cracking at the sight of me coming undone in his hand. His eyes burn with hunger, locked on mine, drinking in every tremor of bliss that ripples through me.
It feels incredible. His fingers. My fingers. The pressure. The clip. His thumb. I have never felt this high. Never this consumed. This is what Aster means when she says sex is a drug.
“I want to be inside you, Lila… more than anything.” Those words spill from his mouth so freely that they pull a scream-moan from my throat before I even realize it. The way he says my name makes it sound like it matters. Like I matter.
But then he pulls away. Just like that. Probably the same way he does with everyone once he is finished, leaving me empty, severing the connection before the string has a chance to tighten, before either of us can risk getting attached.
My body is still trembling, still quaking, and honestly, I am not even sure I can stand.
I sit up, disoriented, barely able to process what just happened. My hair is a mess, my makeup is smudged, and sweat clings to my chest in sticky little trails. He looks at me while untying the cord and flashes a wide, white smile like he didn’t just ruin me in the best possible way.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I mutter, tugging my skirt back down, flushed and shaky.
He smirks, that look on his face saying everything he doesn’t. I glance down at the pool of slick cum on his desk. We both burst out laughing. Not just a little laugh, but full-on, bent-over cackling.
“Where the hell did you learn that?” I ask between gasps.
He shrugs, looking down at the floor. “From the women I’ve been with.” My stomach twists in a tight knot.
Right. The women. The hundreds of women. That is who he is. And maybe… maybe I can be one of them because he knows exactly what he is doing. And now I feel lighter, emotionally.
I walk toward him temptingly, placing my hand over the hard length still straining beneath his pants.
“I want more from you,” I whisper. He gasps as I blurt out, “Sleep with me.” “You don’t want that, Lila,” he says, softer now. “I’m a walking STD. Remember?”
“You know that I didn’t mean that…” I whisper. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t help each other out!”
He chuckles, turning away and gathering his things like the moment between us never meant anything. “No,” he says firmly. “I can’t do that to you.”
“But I want this. I want to learn. I want to know what my body can do... and I want it to be you. I want to feel that again. The way you touched me. The way you made me fall apart.”
He doesn’t even look back. “No.” His voice is sharp. Stern. Final.
“But you literally said you wanted to be inside me.”
He cuts me off. “Forget everything I fucking said. Drop it,” he snaps, raising his voice as he turns to look out the window.
And I am glad he does. Because if he had looked at me in that moment, he would have seen everything I was trying to hide. He would have seen me standing there with my arms crossed, my heart cracked, and my pride bruised. He just made me feel like the most powerful, worshiped woman in the world.
And now I feel discarded. Unwanted. Why? Why is he acting like this now?
“So you can sleep with every woman in New York City, but not me? Wow. Got it. Message received. ”
I grab my bag and storm out, slamming the door behind me. The glass rattles. So does something inside me. A single tear slides down my cheek.
I knew I wasn’t good enough for him.
I run into the dark, down the stairs, away from him, away from my own stupidity.
Beck warned me, and I didn’t listen. I know I will never outrun what just happened.
Not the way he made me feel. Not the way that moment will replay in my mind again and again until it destroys me. Not the truth I can’t admit out loud.
That I fell for him long before he ever told me not to.