Chapter 15 Ravenswood #3
I let the ice melt, let the sensation burn its memory into his skin, and bent to kiss the trail of cold water I’d left behind—tasting him, worshipping him, making a promise with every touch.
Heat pooled low in my gut, the tightness of my own clothes suddenly too much—confining, stifling.
I straightened and began to undress, but never took my eyes off Cal.
He watched, breathing still ragged, as I slipped free of my suit jacket, tossing it over the arm of a chair with deliberate care.
My shirt followed, every button undone slow enough for the tension to build between us, the soft scrape of fabric the only sound besides our breathing.
The air was cool against my skin. Cal’s gaze roamed my chest—hungry, covetous, matching every beat of my own need. I reached for my belt next, drawing it free in a slow, smooth motion. The leather made a whispering sound as it slid through the loops, a subtle threat in the quiet room.
I doubled the belt in my hand, testing its weight, letting him see how easily I could turn an ordinary object into a promise.
“Colour?” I asked, giving him one last chance.
“Green.” His voice was barely a whisper. “You’re going to have to try harder than that to break me.”
My mouth curled with pride. “That’s the idea.”
I let the cool leather drag across his chest, leaving a faint red trail in its wake. Over his nipples, already sensitive from the ice, down his ribs, across his stomach. The anticipation had him straining against the restraints, jaw set in stubborn refusal to beg, even as his body trembled.
I swung the belt—never hard enough to bruise, just enough for the bite to sting and linger, a line of sensation over his thigh, the side of his hip, across the tops of his thighs where his skin was hottest. Each stroke was followed by my palm, warm and soothing, grounding him, never letting pain outweigh pleasure.
His breath came faster, but he bit back any sound that might be mistaken for surrender. I leaned in, my lips brushing his ear. “You want to beg. I can see it in the way you move. In the way your cock is leaking for me.”
He glared at me, defiant even now. “You’ll have to do more than that.”
I grinned, tracing the belt up his stomach again, letting the leather linger at the edge of his briefs. “I’m patient. I could spend all night learning exactly how much you can take.”
I brought the belt down one more time—over his inner thigh, a shiver racing up his body. He bit his lip, refusing to give in, and that just made me want him more.
“Stubborn bastard,” I murmured, admiration rough in my voice. “I like a challenge.”
He stared up at me, pupils blown wide, body strung tight between torment and desire. “Then stop talking,” he rasped, “and keep trying.”
My hands gentled, stroking over the reddened marks I’d left, thumbs soothing, mouth following with kisses that were half-apology, half-promise. I pressed my forehead to his, letting him feel my own ragged breathing.
“I’m not finished with you yet,” I whispered. “Not even close.”
I stepped back, letting the hunger in his eyes rake over me. My hands went to my own waistband, fingers sliding over the skin of my hips, dragging my trousers down slow. I wanted him to see—wanted him to ache for it. First the button, then the zipper, every movement deliberate.
I let my trousers pool at my feet, stepped out of them. Then I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my briefs and paused, letting the tension grow. Cal’s eyes dropped, mouth parted, chest rising and falling in shallow, desperate breaths.
I slid my pants down just enough to tease, revealing the thick outline of my cock straining against the black cotton, the swell of arousal impossible to hide.
I knew exactly what I was doing, and so did he.
I watched his jaw clench, watched the twitch in his thighs as he tried not to grind down into the seat.
“Like what you see?” I taunted, voice low, silk-wrapped steel.
He didn’t answer, but his eyes told me everything.
I grinned and reached for the small bottle of oil on the side table.
Unscrewed the lid. Poured a thin, glistening stream into my palm.
The scent was faintly spicy—cinnamon and sandalwood, a private blend that always made me think of power and intent.
I locked my gaze with his and let the first slick handful pour across my chest, cold against flushed skin.
I massaged it in, palms gliding over my pecs, down my abs, across every defined ridge and hollow.
I was methodical, worshipping my own body the way I wanted to worship his—rolling my shoulders, flexing each muscle for him, letting the firelight catch the shine on my skin.
Another handful, and I spread the oil lower, over the cut of my hips, tracing the deep V that disappeared beneath my briefs. I let my fingers slip under the waistband, rubbing oil along the thick line of my cock, cupping myself so he could see just how hard I was for him.
“Pay attention,” I murmured, voice barely more than a growl. “This is for you.”
I dragged my oiled hands down my thighs, up over my stomach again, fingers pausing to rub circles over my nipples, pinching until I gasped.
I let him watch every reaction—every slow grind of my hips, every tightening of my jaw.
My cock strained, the outline obscene, and I pressed the heel of my palm down, letting out a rough, satisfied sound.
“Wish you could touch?” I taunted, never breaking eye contact. “Wish you could wrap those clever hands around me and see if you could make me beg first?”
He swallowed hard, tongue darting out to wet his lips. He was straining in the chair, wrists twisting in the cuffs, entire body a silent plea for release.
I reached for the oil again, poured more into my palm and dripped it over my lower belly, letting it run down and soak the black cotton.
My hand followed the path, massaging myself through the fabric, squeezing the thick length of my cock, slow and steady.
I rolled my hips, letting the pressure build, letting him see just how much I was enjoying the power, the show, the knowledge that every second was driving him closer to the edge.
“Look at me, Cal. I want you to remember this. I want you to know exactly what you’re missing—what you’ll get when you beg for it.”
He shuddered, but still didn’t break, eyes locked on mine, fire and challenge and longing all burning in those gorgeous depths.
I closed the distance in two slow steps, oil-slick skin still gleaming, heat rolling off me in waves. I didn’t rush. Rushing would cheapen it. I wanted him to feel every second of what was coming.
“Open your mouth,” I said quietly.
Cal’s jaw tightened for half a heartbeat then he did it. Lips parting. Tongue visible. Eyes never leaving mine. Defiant even in obedience, daring me to take it further.
I leaned in and spat.
Not messy. Not cruel. Controlled. Deliberate.
The sound was soft, obscene in the quiet room. My spit landed on his tongue, warm against the heat already pooling in his mouth. His throat worked automatically, swallowing, breath hitching despite himself.
“Good,” I murmured, thumb brushing his lower lip, smearing what remained. “You take that beautifully.”
I kissed him. I tasted myself on his tongue, felt the inhale he couldn’t suppress when I sealed my mouth over his and took my time. My hands cradled his jaw, fingers firm but careful.
I pulled back just far enough to break the kiss, then slid my hands into his hair again, gripping tight at the base of his skull. Not jerking. Not forcing. Just enough pressure to make my intention unmistakable.
“Down,” I said, guiding rather than shoving.
Cal let his head be pushed forward, spine arching as much as the restraints allowed. I stepped closer, close enough that my thighs brushed his knees, close enough that my cock hovered right in front of his face.
I pressed myself against his mouth, smothering him with it. The heat. The scent. The weight.
His breath punched out of him, a low, broken sound, and his hands clenched hard in the cuffs as his instincts collided. His lips brushed the outline of me through the fabric, involuntary, hungry.
“Breathe,” I told him calmly, my voice steady even as my own control tightened. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
I rolled my hips just enough to grind against his mouth, slow and merciless. Not letting him take me in. Not yet. Just pressing. Smothering. Letting him feel exactly how much I was holding back.
Cal groaned, a raw, wrecked sound, head tilting instinctively as he tried to chase more contact. His neck strained, body bowing forward, every line of him screaming want.
“Still not begging,” I said softly, almost approving. “You’re strong. I like that.”
I dragged the heel of my palm down his cheek, thumb slipping briefly between his lips again, letting him suck without being asked. He did it eagerly, tongue flicking, eyes dark and unfocused now, all calculation slipping under the weight of sensation.
“You feel how close you are?” I asked. “How easy it would be for me to give you what you want?”
I pressed in again, harder this time, my cock filling his mouth completely but enough to steal his air, enough to make him whimper around it. His chest heaved, breath coming fast through his nose, the sound wrecking me in ways I didn’t let show.
“That’s it,” I murmured, holding him there for a few long seconds before easing back just enough for him to breathe. “Let it burn. Let it build. You don’t get relief until you ask for it.”
I leaned down, mouth brushing his ear, my grip still firm in his hair.
“And I know you will,” I whispered. “It’s only a matter of how long you can stand wanting this more than your pride.”
I straightened, letting my hand linger just long enough to tangle in Cal’s hair, then released him—stepping back, deliberately slow, never breaking eye contact. I wanted him to feel the absence. I wanted him to know what he was missing.