Chapter 15 #2
Another wave crashed over me, violent and unwilling. My back arched, a sob tearing from my throat as pleasure ripped through me, sharp and shameful. My thighs shook, my muscles locking around his fingers, my body betraying me completely.
"No—stop—" My voice cracked, weak and useless. Everything was too much—too sensitive, too raw, too wrong. My body trembled, overstimulated and aching, but his grip only tightened.
"I don’t think I will," he murmured against me, his breath hot. "You can give me another one."
I shook my head, my fingers clawing at his shoulders. "I can't—I can't—"
His tongue didn’t stop. Relentless. Cruel. "Selfish," he murmured, his voice rough with something dark. "I’ve been giving you all this pleasure, and you’re taking it for granted."
My breath hitched, tears burning at the corners of my eyes. "Gideon, please—"
He chuckled, low and knowing, the vibration sending another jolt through me. "You think this is for you?" His fingers curled deeper, stretching me in a way that burned. "This is for me."
I whimpered, my body betraying me again, my hips jerking despite the exhaustion, despite the tears slipping down my cheeks. "It hurts—"
"Good," he growled. "It should."
His mouth didn’t leave me. His tongue moved in slow, deliberate circles, his fingers twisting inside me, dragging another shameful gasp from my lips. My thighs shook, my muscles locking around him, my body responding even as my mind screamed for it to stop.
"You’re mine," he murmured, his voice rough with possession. "And I take what’s mine."
I sobbed, my nails digging into his skin, but he didn’t care. He only groaned, the sound vibrating against me, sending another wave of pleasure-pain crashing through me. My back arched, my breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps.
"One more," he demanded, his fingers curling deeper. "Give me one more, and I’ll let you rest."
I shook my head, tears falling freely now, my body trembling with exhaustion. But he didn’t stop. His mouth didn’t leave me. His tongue moved in ways that made my vision blur, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world to break me.
His fingers drove into me harder, rough and relentless, stretching me in a way that burned.
My nails raked down his shoulders, but he didn’t flinch.
Didn’t slow. His free hand gripped my hip, holding me in place as his fingers curled inside me, hitting that spot that made my vision whiten at the edges.
"You’re so fucking tight," he groaned, his voice rough with something dark and hungry. "I can feel you clenching around me. You like this, don’t you? You like being used."
I shook my head, my breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. "No—I don’t—"
His chuckle vibrated against my skin, sending another jolt through me.
His fingers twisted, stretching me wider, and my back bowed, a broken sound tearing from my throat. The pleasure was too much—too sharp, too raw, too wrong. My thighs shook, my muscles locking around him, my body responding even as my mind screamed for it to stop.
"Such pretty lies you tell yourself," he growled, his fingers driving into me harder. "You’re soaking my hand, and you’re still trying to tell me you don’t want this?"
I whimpered, my face burning with humiliation. My body was traitorous—arching, trembling, wanting—and when his fingers curled deeper, hitting that spot again, my hips jerked forward despite myself.
"Fuck, you’re gorgeous like this," he murmured, his voice rough with obsession. "All flushed and desperate. You were made for this, Belle. Made to sit on my face."
I whimpered.
His groan vibrated against me, his grip tightening. "That’s it. Beg for me."
I shook my head, my nails digging into his skin, but my body didn’t listen. Another wave built, sharp and relentless, my breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps.
His fingers drove into me harder, his thumb pressing down on my clit, and my back arched, a sob tearing from my throat as pleasure ripped through me, sharp and shameful.
His tongue slowed—finally, finally—and the relentless pressure eased.
I sagged against him, boneless and wrecked, my breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps.
Every muscle trembled with exhaustion, my thighs trembling as his grip loosened.
He shifted beneath me, his hands sliding to my waist, guiding me off his face with a gentleness that felt obscene after what he'd just done.
My legs gave out immediately.
I hated myself for it. Hated how weak I was, how utterly destroyed he'd left me. My knees buckled, my body folding forward, and I braced for the floor—
His arms caught me. Steady. Certain. Like he'd been waiting for it.
"I've got you," he murmured, his voice rough but quiet. Almost… tender.
I wanted to shove him away. Wanted to scream at him, to claw at his face, to do something other than collapse against his chest like a rag doll. But my body wouldn't obey. My limbs were liquid, my breath still stuttering, my vision blurred with tears I refused to acknowledge.
He lifted me effortlessly, his hands firm beneath my thighs, and carried me the few steps to the dining chair. The cool wood pressed against my bare skin as he set me down, my legs still trembling, my hands gripping the armrests just to stay upright.
His fingers brushed my cheek.
I flinched, but he didn't pull away. His thumb traced the path of a tear I hadn't realized had fallen, his touch impossibly gentle. Then his lips followed—soft, careful, pressing against the damp trail on my skin. Kissing away my tears like they were something precious.
I squeezed my eyes shut, my chest tightening. Don't. Don't do this. Don't make it—
"Stay here," he murmured against my temple, his breath warm. "I'll get you something to eat."
I wanted to defy him. Wanted to tell him to go to hell. Wanted to stand up and walk out of this house and never look back.
But I couldn't.
My body was still trembling, my legs too weak to hold me. My cunt ached—sore, sensitive, used—but beneath the exhaustion, beneath the shame, there was something else. Something I couldn't name. Something that felt disturbingly, terrifyingly close to satisfaction.
I'd felt good.
And I hated it. Hated that he'd made me come harder than I ever had in my life. Hated that my body had responded to him like it was made for his touch. Hated that even now, sitting in this chair with tears drying on my face, part of me wanted him to come back and do it again.
The thought made bile rise in my throat.
I pressed my palms against my eyes, my breath shuddering. This isn't me. This can't be me.
But it was.
And Gideon knew it.