Chapter 19
CASSANDRA
“My punishment?”
“You denied me just now,” he says, stepping close, his dark blue eyes pinning me. “That won’t do. You’re mine, if you recall.”
The words cut sharp, but there’s warmth in them too—an anchor, not just a chain. He’s right, and the truth ignites me, heat spreading low and fast. Still, the fear from last night lingers.
He doesn’t miss it. He never does.
“You’re shaken,” he says. “That doesn’t spare you, it just means I decide how far to push.”
He sits on the edge of the conference table and pulls me between his knees. His grip on my waist is firm, commanding. A sweep of his hand clears the tabletop, papers scattering everywhere.
His thighs cage mine, need taking over as the hard line of his cock strains against his trousers. His hand finds my bandaged arm, checking. “Still strong,” he says as his other hand slides to my thigh, squeezing, claiming. “Use your words,” he orders.
I swallow, pulse kicking. “I want your mouth,” I say, voice trembling, eyes locked on his, “on me, sir.”
He takes the red ribbon from my wrist and laces it around my wrists in back, tying a quick, comfortable knot. The silk bites softly, a reminder of my surrender, and I love it, heat pulsing with each tug. My chest juts out, rising and falling with each eager breath.
His lips crash into mine, kissing me slowly, deliberately, his tongue tracing mine, stealing my breath. His mouth moves to my throat, sucking lightly, then biting, marking me.
He stands up and turns me around, backing me against the table.
He places his hands on my hips and lifts me up, pulling me to the edge and spreading my thighs wide.
My skirt rides up, exposing my lace thong, already soaked, the scent of my arousal mingling with his musky cologne.
His fingers trail my inner thighs, teasing the damp lace, and I moan, hips twitching, desperate for more.
He kneels, his breath scorching, the fabric a torturous barrier.
“Look at me,” he orders, and I obey, his dark eyes pinning me in place as he pulls the thong aside, exposing me. His tongue flicks my clit, my low moans sounding obscene in the quiet of the conference room.
He starts slow, his tongue flat and broad, lapping upward from my entrance, the pressure perfect. The heat of his mouth seeps in, a teasing warmth that has me gasping, my pussy lips tingling as he circles the edges, tracing the outline of my sex.
“Count,” he says.
I groan. Just like back in the secret room, he’s going to make me count down until release.
“One,” I gasp as he sucks lightly on my clit, drawing it into the wet heat of his mouth, his lips sealing around the bud, tugging gently until my hips buck against his grip.
He pauses, his breath a hot puff against my throbbing core, leaving me trembling, my pussy aching in the sudden absence.
“Two,” I choke out as his tongue swirls again, this time dipping lower to lap at my entrance.
He presses his tongue flat against me, dragging it upward in a slow, deliberate stroke, the friction sending sparks through my core, my inner thighs quaking as my arousal drips down.
“Three,” I moan as he grazes my clit again, his lips brushing with agonizing precision, flicking the tip of his tongue in quick, teasing darts that make my pussy clench, the pressure building like a coil winding tighter.
He alternates—sucking my clit with soft pulls, then circling it with the pointed tip of his tongue, each motion calculated to edge me higher, the wet sounds of his mouth on me filling the room, mixed with my ragged breaths.
“Tell me where you are,” he says, breath hot against my slick lips, his fingers gripping my inner thighs, holding me open, thumbs pressing just enough.
“Almost,” I whimper, voice breaking. “So… so damn close.”
He dives in again, his tongue thrusting against my entrance before retreating to suck my clit hard, rolling it between his lips.
My pussy throbs, walls fluttering, slickness coating his chin, the scent of my arousal thick and heady.
He edges me multiple times, each one more intense than the last, his technique varying between long, languid licks that cover every inch of my pussy, then unbearable, rapid flicks on my clit, one hand sliding up to pinch my nipple through my blouse, twisting just enough to spike the pleasure.
“Please, sir, let me come on your tongue,” I beg, my voice raw and desperate, my body a quivering wreck. My clit throbs, swollen and hypersensitive, my pussy dripping, every nerve screaming for release.
His tongue’s teasing flicks have left me on the edge, his sudden pause shocking me, a jolt of denial that makes my core clench painfully, slickness coating my thighs.
My hips buck, chasing his mouth, but he holds me firm against the conference room table, the cold stone grounding my trembling frame.
He stands, wiping my juices slowly from his lips and face.
“You don’t get to come,” Damien says calmly, his dark blue eyes ablaze with control. “That’s your punishment. You denied me earlier, now you pay the price.”
My breath catches. I’m dizzy with need and thrilled by his dominance, desperate to please. My clit pulses, aching for his touch, my body a live wire under his command.
He unties the red ribbon, freeing my wrists.
“Do you want to come?” he taunts, sweet in a cruel way. “Earn it. Make me an offer I can’t refuse.”
His comm buzzes before I can answer. “Escort’s ready,” he says. “Ninety minutes. Private entrance. Stay on my arm.”
He leads me from the conference room, his hand firm on my back, guiding me to the lobby. There, he ties the red ribbon back around my wrist. “Think of ways to earn what you want on the drive,” he tells me. I nod, hating the tease but loving the fire it sparks, my pussy clenching at the challenge.
In the back of the SUV, guard at the wheel, I shift my focus to Clara, my heart pounding with hope and fear.
The ribbon burns on my wrist with Damien’s rules, wrapping me tight in a habit I crave despite myself.