Chapter 19
Piper
T ime has gone liquid. Hours stretc h and collapse around me, slippery and meaningless. I came here for a meeting—how long ago was that? I have no idea. I don’t know how long I’ve been perched on the cold glass—just that I can feel every trembling echo in it, like I’ve become part of the table.
My skin prickling with each shallow breath I take. The tie is tight across my eyes, soft but unforgiving in its purpose. The darkness is complete, and I’m finding that I love it. There are no questions in the darkness, only an onslaught of sensations. Sensations I’m growing addicted to.
He hasn’t spoken in minutes, but I feel him watching. The weight of his gaze falls heavy on my exposed skin, a tangible pressure that pins me as effectively as hands. I hate that I’m waiting. That I’m not fighting. That some dark, twisted part of me wants whatever comes next.
His footsteps circle the table. Each footfall is muffled but precise, like the slow ticking of a bomb. When he finally stops in front of me, I feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the spice of his cologne mingling with something darker, something male.
I open my mouth, intending to ask what’s for dessert. But before I can force the words across my lips, he speaks. “So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, and the words drop into the silence like a stone, creating ripples I feel in my core.
His fingers find the first button of my shirt. The small plastic disc scrapes against the buttonhole with a sound that’s loud in the quiet room. One. Two. Three. Each button falls open, exposing more of me to the cold air and, well, to him.
“Keep still,” he commands when I shift slightly, and there’s no mistaking the command in his voice.
When he reaches the last button, he pushes the fabric from my shoulders. It whispers down my arms, pooling somewhere behind me. His hands find my bra next, fingers tracing the edge of the lace before slipping behind me. One expert twist and it falls loose. My nipples harden instantly.
“Lift,” he orders, hands on my hips. I comply, raising just enough for him to drag my skirt and underwear down in one efficient motion. Then I hear them land with a soft flutter somewhere to my left.
Now that I’m completely naked, I almost welcome the cold glass beneath me. It’s a delicious contrast against my heated flesh. I’m so wet, and even though I shouldn’t want him, I do.
I tilt my head, straining to interpret what I’m hearing. “What are you doing?” I ask, too curious to keep quiet. The question barely leaves my mouth before something cold lands on my shoulder. “Ahh!” I yelp. I jerk reflexively as, whatever the wet and icy substance is, trails down to my breast.
“It’s lychee sorbet,” he rasps, his voice closer to my ear than I expected. “With chocolate. Sweet and messy. Just like you.” The way he says just like you makes my stomach clench.
I barely have time to process his words before something warm replaces the cold.
His mouth, I realize with a gasp. His tongue traces the path of the melting sorbet, licking and sucking the sweetness from my skin.
The contrast between the freezing dessert and his hot mouth sends electric currents racing through me.
“You know what I taste when I lick your skin, Toy?” His voice is a growl now, vibrating against the top of my breast where his mouth presses.
“N-no,” I gasp, barely able to think straight.
“Possession. Ownership. All fucking mine,” he growls.
More cold touches, this time circling my breasts. I hiss at the shocking chill, my back arching involuntarily. The sorbet melts instantly against my heated skin, dripping down the curves in cold rivulets. He catches each one with his tongue, tracing lazy patterns that make my breath hitch.
When he finally circles my nipple with his tongue, the jolt of pleasure is so intense I cry out. He answers with a dark chuckle, then bites down—not enough to truly hurt, but enough to send a sharp flash of pain-pleasure straight between my legs.
“Oh, God!” I cry out again.
“Mhmm, you’re so sensitive,” he notes, soothing the sting with soft, open-mouthed kisses. “I like that.”
He lavishes the same attention on my other breast, alternating between gentle licks and sharp nips that have me squirming. The scruff on his face scrapes against my tender skin, a delicious counterpoint to the slick heat of his tongue.
My hands find his hair—thick, silky—and I tangle my fingers in it, not sure if I ’m trying to pull him closer or push him away. Everything is too much, but somehow not enough.
“You moan like you want to be ruined,” he says, voice shredded with restraint. I don’t answer. I just tilt my head back and let the next moan break free—louder this time. Raw. Needy. Maybe ruined is what I want to be after all.
“Please,” I whisper, not even sure what I’m asking for.
Another cold splash hits my skin, this time directly on my nipple. I whimper at the shock, then moan as his mouth closes over it, sucking hard, the heat of his tongue melting the sorbet and sending rivers of sensation coursing through me.
“So responsive,” he groans against my breast. “A perfect fucking toy.”
He alternates between my nipples, sucking, biting, laving with his tongue until I’m panting harder and attempting to clench my thighs together so I can get some friction where I need it most. But with him standing between them, that’s not happening.
Everything in me tightens—a coil winding, threatening to snap. “Oh, God,” I moan, surprised by how turned on I am.
He chuckles, the sound seductively dark and knowing. “Are you going to come just from my mouth on your gorgeous tits?”
The question itself is almost enough to push me over. I shake my head in denial, but my body betrays me—hips canting, seeking, my breath coming in short, sharp pants.
“I think you are,” he observes, and there’s a note of wonder beneath the smugness. “Show me, Toy. Show me how you shatter for the man who owns you.”
His mouth closes over my nipple again, teeth grazing the sensitive peak before biting down—harder this time, right on the edge of true pain.
The sharp sting connects directly to my clit, and suddenly I’m falling, coming apart with a scream that sounds like it’s being torn from somewhere deep inside me.
“I… yes! Just like that. Oh… more!”
He keeps his mouth on me as I shudder through it, waves of pleasure crashing over me, leaving me gasping and disoriented. I’ve never… not like this, not just from… I can’t even finish my thoughts.
While I’m still trembling, still caught in the aftershocks, his hand cups the back of my neck and pulls me forward. His lips find mine in a crushing kiss that steals what little breath I have left.
His tongue slides into my mouth. I taste the sweetness of the sorbet mixed with something darker, richer—chocolate, and beneath that, a flavor that must be my skin.
This is our first kiss. The thought flickers through my mind like lightning, there and gone, replaced by pure sensation.
His mouth moves against mine with bruising intensity, possessing me. My hands find his shoulders, feeling the solid muscle beneath expensive fabric and I dig my fingers into him while his tongue strokes against mine.
The kiss is commanding rather than coaxing, and I yield to it, letting him take. He groans into my mouth, and I moan in response to the guttural, masculine sound.
When he pulls back, I’m dizzy, lips swollen and tingling. A whimper escapes me—a small, broken sound that would embarrass me if I had any pride left to wound.
His thumb traces my lower lip, pressing slightly where it’s tender from his kiss. “We’ve only just begun,” he promises, and the dark anticipation in his voice makes me shiver. “Lie back on the table, Toy. I want to see if your other lips taste just as sweet.”
I scramble to do as he says, but without my sight, and with the way I’m sticking to the glass table, I feel more like I’m flopping around rather than moving gracefully.
Mercifully, he grabs my hips and helps me. I feel him bend over me, the warmth of his exhale ghosting over my bare chest before his palm spreads between my breasts, guiding me down.
“Good girl,” he praises, voice dark and indulgent.
The table must be big, no inch of me is touching the edges. But I feel around for them, just able to hold on with my fingertips.
My body is still humming with oversensitivity when I hear the clink of glass again. This time, when the jarring chill of sorbet hits my skin, it lands just below my navel, a freezing trail that makes my stomach muscles contract.
“A little warning would be nice,” I hiss through clenched teeth.
My hands grip the edge of the table until my knuckles ache. The bite of cold is almost too much—until his mouth follows, hot and demanding, turning discomfort into a pleasure so acute it borders on pain.
His lips trail lower. I feel his teeth scrape against my hip bone, and I suck in a breath—unable to see, but hyper-aware of where he’ll strike next. My thighs quiver with anticipation, with the effort of keeping still when every cell in my body wants to arch, to seek, to demand.
More cold—this time on the inside of my thigh, so close to where I’m aching that I cry out. The sorbet drips, followed by his mouth. He sucks hard at the tender skin, the gentle pain blooming into something darker, needier.
“Please,” I hear myself whisper, hating the desperation in my voice but unable to contain it.
“Please what?” His breath brushes my slit—close enough to tease, cruel enough not to touch.
I clench my jaw, refusing to beg more explicitly. My stubbornness earns me a sharp bite on my other thigh, the sting making me jerk. “You know what I want,” I manage, my voice hoarse.
“I want to hear you say it.” His thumbs press into the creases where thigh meets hip, spreading me wider. “Tell me how badly you want my mouth on your cunt.”