Chapter 19 #2
The crude word sends a shock through me, a jolt of electricity that makes my already wet sex clench around nothing. I open my mouth, but pride glues my tongue to the roof. I can’t—won’t—give him the satisfaction.
My silence stretches between us, taut as a wire. I feel him shift, his hands leaving my thighs. For a moment, I think he’s giving up, pulling away. The loss of his touch ruins my determination.
“P-please lick my pussy,” I beg, blushing.
Then his mouth is between my legs before I can brace for it. No warning, no teasing approach—just the sudden, searing heat of his tongue gliding through slick folds. I cry out, back arching off the glass, hands flying to his hair to anchor myself against the onslaught of sensation.
“Fuck.” The word is snarled against my pussy, his mouth sealing over my clit, sucking hard enough to make stars explode behind my eyelids.
My fingers tangle in his hair, yanking, trying to guide him where I want him. He allows it, lets me grind against his face, sets a rhythm that builds the pressure coiling inside me.
The stubble on his jaw scrapes the tender skin of my inner thighs, a delicious counterpoint to the soft heat of his tongue. I’m close—so close—when he suddenly pulls back. I whimper at the loss, hips lifting to chase his mouth.
“Say it,” he demands, voice rough with desire.
“Say what?” I ask, confused.
“Say who I am.”
The request cuts through my haze of arousal. I shake my head, panting. “No.”
His thumb finds my clit, pressing just enough to keep me on edge. “Say it, and I’ll take off the blindfold.”
The offer is tempting—to finally see his face, to connect the voice and hands and mouth to a real person. But something in me rebels at the idea of giving in so completely.
“I can’t,” I whisper. Because I know. I know exactly who he is. But if I say it, I can’t pretend I don’t know he’s the one who’s been watching me, fucking up my world piece by fucking puzzle piece.
The moment realization dawned on me, I should have fled. I’m still here because I stubbornly refuse to acknowledge it. But if I say it out loud, I can’t pretend I don’t know.
He exhales sharply, a growl caught in his throat, before sealing his mouth over my clit again—rough and ravenous. The sensation is so intense it borders on painful, exquisite torture that has me arching off the desk. His hand presses down on my lower abdomen, holding me in place while he fea sts.
“You’re dripping,” he groans against my swollen flesh. “So fucking wet for me, Toy.”
And then his fingers press into my entrance, two thick digits working in rhythm with his mouth. The stretch burns slightly, a delicious fullness that has me crying out. He curves them upward, finding a spot inside me that makes my vision white out behind the blindfold.
“There,” I gasp, grinding down on his hand. “Oh God, right there.”
He chuckles, and the sound is all I need to know I won’t like what comes next. “Say it,” he demands again.
“No,” I repeat, shaking my head for emphasis.
“Last chance, Toy,” he growls.
“Why?” I demand.
“Because I decide when you get what you want, and right now I want you to earn it.” He blows cold air onto my folds.
“I won’t do it,” I state, my voice firmer now.
His fingers pump faster, harder, curling against that spot with each thrust while his tongue flicks mercilessly over my clit. The pressure builds, a tidal wave gathering height before crashing down.
“That’s it,” he urges. “Give it to me. Let me feel you come on my tongue, on my fingers. Show me what a good little toy you are.”
I shatter on his fingers, a broken cry tearing from my throat as pleasure crashes through me. My inner walls clench around his digits, pulsing with each wave of my orgasm. He doesn’t relent. Just keeps driving into me, merciless and precise, toward another peak.
“I could spend hours here,” he groans, “mouth full of your cunt, and still never get enough.”
His tongue circles my oversensitive clit, gentler now but no less insistent. His fingers continue their relentless assault on that spot inside me, the dual stimulation overwhelming in its intensity.
I’m moaning loudly, calling out for a god I don’t believe in because that’s the only name I have to cry out.
His fingers curl, press, stroke that perfect spot while his tongue draws tight circles around my clit. I’m babbling now, incoherent pleas falling from my lips. “Please, please, I need… I can’t… oh fuck!”
“Tell me what you need,” he demands, the words vibrating against my clit.
“Your cock,” I gasp, too far gone to feel self-conscious. “I want you inside me.”
“Beg for it.”
“Please fuck me,” I almost scream. “I want to feel you stretching me.”
His mouth leaves my core, and I whimper at the loss. Rather than feeling used, feeling shame at how completely I’ve surrendered to him, I feel only a bone-deep satisfaction mingled with a persistent, gnawing hunger for more .
Well, I didn’t completely surrender. I held on to the one thing I’m not ready to deal with.
I feel him move, then his hands are on my ankles, pulling roughly. “Hey!” I yelp, startled.
“Didn’t you say you want my cock?” he croons almost mockingly.
“I did… I do,” I acquiesce.
“Then let me get you into position.” He grunts as he lifts me off the table and sets me on my feet. It’s too primal, too raw to be from exertion.
Once my feet touch the floor, he spins me around and quickly bends me over the table, squashing my breasts against the glass.
“Look at you,” he moans, voice thick with appreciation. “So eager for me.” With each word, he kicks my legs further apart.
“Yes,” I agree. When he grabs handfuls of my ass, I arch my back and moan. “Please fuck me.”
The sound of his zipper being lowered is like music to my ears. Then I feel him, the blunt head of his dick sliding through my wetness. I cry out, shameless in my need, and push my ass back to try to take him inside. He pulls back just enough to deny me, a punishment for my impatience.
“Last chance,” he says, positioning himself at my entrance again. “Say it. Tell me who I am.”
I shake my head again, defiant even as my body betrays me—cunt clenching around nothing, desperate to be filled.
“So be it,” he rasps, winding my hair around his hand.
Tugging at my hair, he makes me turn my head enough for him to capture my mouth in a kiss that steals what little breath I have left. This kiss is different from the first—messier, filthier. His tongue winds around mine, every stroke making my clit throb.
“You don’t deserve to know who I am,” he murmurs against my lips, and I feel the head press firmer against my entrance. “But you can call me Enzo.”
I have no time to process this revelation before he’s pushing inside me, stretching me open around his considerable girth. The intrusion burns slightly—a delicious ache that has me gasping.
“Yes,” I hiss, arching my back as much as possible.
He doesn’t move once he’s fully seated, just stays there, filling me completely, letting me feel every inch of him throbbing inside me.
It’s exquisite torture, being so full yet denied the friction I crave.
I try to move my hips, to create some relief from the overwhelming pressure, but his hands grip my waist, holding me still.
“Enzo,” I whisper, testing the name on my tongue. It feels dangerous, forbidden—a spell that might conjure something I can’t control.
I feel him shudder at the sound of his name in my mouth, his cock twitching inside me. For a moment, I think I’ve gained some small power over h im.
Then he pulls out—a slow, deliberate withdrawal that leaves me empty and aching. I make a sound of protest, reaching for him, but he’s already moved away. I hear the distinctive sound of a zipper being pulled up, fabric being adjusted.
“Time for all good toys to get some sleep,” he says, his tone mocking, as if he hadn’t just been buried inside me. As if he hadn’t just made me come apart repeatedly under his hands and mouth. “Let’s get you home.”
The abrupt shift leaves me reeling. One moment I was on the brink of what promised to be an earth-shattering fuck, and the next he’s… what? Ending our encounter? Sending me away? Anger flares, hot and bright, cutting through the lingering haze of arousal.
“You can’t be serious,” I snap, pivoting blindly, almost stumbling. “You’re just going to—”
“Yes,” he interrupts, and I hear the smile in his voice. “I am.”
“Why?” I demand, hating how petulant I sound.
His fingers trace the edge of the blindfold, not removing it but reminding me of its presence. “I don’t need an excuse,” he scoffs. “If you’d told me what I wanted to hear, I would be fucking your greedy cunt so good.”
I press my lips together, desperate to stop myself from begging, from giving him what he wants.
“But you misbehaved.” Pausing, he pinches my nipple so hard I cry out. “And I don’t reward bad toys, Piper.”