Chapter Fifty-Six
Rhys
She walks in on time, just like always, except there’s nothing obedient about her.
The sundress she wears is lace and sin, short enough to hint at everything I shouldn’t touch. Her thigh-high stockings peek out, soft and obscene, and the bruise on her cheek has gone from purple to poison. It blooms like a goddamn badge.
She shuts the door behind her, slowly. Locks it.
“Do you want me on my knees or the desk?” she asks.
No preamble. No filter. Just those lethal eyes and that filthy mouth.
Jesus.
I should send her home. Refer her out. But I didn’t send her home when she kissed me in the bar. And I’m not sending her anywhere now.
I try, once, to cling to professionalism. “Miss Darling.”
“Yes, doctor,” she purrs, crossing the room. She smells like sugar and lust. The perfume I picked.
She sets a small bag on my desk. “There’s gags in there,” she says, voice syrupy.
My cock throbs. My self-control, stretched too thin since the court ordered her into my office, finally snaps.
I circle the desk, open the drawer, and pull out the collar Jett lifted from her house.
“You going to be my pet today?” I ask, voice low.
“Yes, sir,” she breathes, baring her throat.
I reach out and wrap my hand around her neck. Enough to make her feel it. To see if she’ll let me.
She leans into my grip like she belongs there.
I lace the collar around her throat. Soft. Final.
Her eyes flutter. Her lips part. She’s breathing hard.
“You wear this for me,” I say, brushing my thumb over the leather now snug against her skin.
“For you,” she says, voice gone husky.
Fuck. I can’t. I don’t even try to fight it.
I yank her into me by the collar and kiss her in a way that leaves no doubt I’ve spent every minute since the bar fantasizing about her mouth, her moans, the way she’ll break when I tell her to.
She opens for me instantly, needy and messy, tongue sliding against mine. Her hands go to my shirt, clawing it open. Buttons pop.
I back her into the desk, grip her neck and push her knees apart with mine.
“Hands flat,” I order.
She obeys so fast it makes my dick ache.
I push the hem of her dress up and she’s already soaked through the crotch of her lacy panties. Of course she is. She came here like this, already wet, already mine.
I drag the panties down.
“You like it rough, but I need to hear it,” I say, mouth against her ear. “Tell me what you want.”
“You,” she gasps. “Your hand. Your mouth. Your rules. Use me.”
Fucking hell.
I reach into the bag she brought and pull out the gag, pink, shaped like a heart, obnoxiously her. I press it against her lips.
She opens willingly.
I strap it on tight and kiss her gagged mouth before dropping to my knees and licking her.
She tastes like sin and surrender.
Sweet and wet, soaked to the fucking thighs for me. I groan against her, tongue working slow at first, lazy strokes that make her hips twitch and her breath stutter around the gag. She can’t beg with her mouth anymore, which only makes it better.
My hands grip her thighs, spread her wider. I press my thumb hard to her clit and drag my tongue over her again, rougher now, lips and teeth working in rhythm until she starts to squirm.
She whines through the gag. It’s high-pitched, muffled, but frantic. She’s already close. Of course she is. She’s been aching for this since she walked into my office and made therapy feel like a threat. She tries to lift her hips.
I slam them back down. “Stay still.”
I flatten my tongue and give her everything. Over and over. Relentless. Precise. I suck her clit until her legs start shaking, then push two fingers deep inside her, slow and punishing.
Her hands claw at the desk.
That’s right. I want her gasping through that fucking gag, drooling, dripping.
I curl my fingers and keep sucking her, faster now, no mercy. She writhes, trying to hold on. Her moan’s almost a scream behind the silicone.
“Don’t come yet,” I growl against her.
She shakes, trying to hold it back.
Fuck, she’s beautiful like this. All lace and desperation and the promise of obedience she’s going to break the second I stop controlling her.
I flick my tongue against her clit in brutal rhythm. Her thighs close in around my head. I let them. Let her try to smother me. If she’s going to fall apart, she’s going to do it on my tongue.
Her breath goes ragged. Her moans come faster, body shaking hard, then she locks up like she can’t take one more second. Her orgasm hits like a fucking car crash.
She moans into the gag, body jerking so hard I have to pin her down. I don’t stop. Not yet. I want every drop, every twitch, every aftershock.
I keep licking.
She thrashes. Tears prick the corners of her eyes as she rides it out, overwhelmed, overstimulated, soaking my face.
Then she tries to squirm away.
“Don’t run from it,” I say, voice low and cruel. “You wanted this.”
I suck her clit again, hard.
She tries to pull away from the pleasure. She can’t. I’ve got her. And I’m not fucking done.
“Not yet,” I growl.
Her body goes limp under my mouth. She’s a mess. My mess.
I finally pull back, breath heavy, cock hard enough to ache as I stand and grab her by the collar. “We’re not done,” I say.
I yank her upright, chest to chest, and kiss her beside the gag. She moans, weak and trembling, eyes glossy and dazed.
Then I spin her around and shove her down over the desk.
The impact knocks the wind out of her.
I hike up her dress and press my cock against her bare, slick cunt.
“You still want to be mine?” I growl against her neck.
She nods frantically, moaning behind the gag, hips already pushing back into me.
I grip her hips, line up, and slam into her with no warning.
She screams. Thank God for the gag. Full-body jerk. Fuck, she’s tight, hot, soaked. I have to grit my teeth not to come right then.
I slam in again. Harder.
And then again.
Her fingernails claw across the desk. Her body arches, trying to crawl away. I drag her back onto my cock, one hand fisting in the collar. “Where do you think you’re going?”
She moans, a sob caught in it.
I pull out almost all the way and slam back in until the desk rattles.
“You wanted to be mine,” I snarl. “You are.”
She is. Gagged, soaking, destroyed and fucking gorgeous for it.
Every thrust rocks the desk. Her cunt squeezes me so tight I can’t hang on much longer. There’s sweat slick down her back, thighs trembling with exhaustion or maybe more need. I don’t care which. She’s not getting a break.
I lean over her, bare chest to her spine, and bite her shoulder. Hard.
She jerks, but doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t ask me to stop. Her body arches into it, like she wants more.
So I give her more. I grab a fistful of her hair and yank her upright. She gasps behind the gag, neck bared. Collar tight. I kiss the side of her throat, then sink my teeth in just below the leather.
Not enough to draw blood. Just enough to leave a mark. Mine.
A guttural moan escapes her gagged mouth as I fuck into her harder, teeth still at her pulse point. She’s not just taking it, she’s craving it. Falling apart for it.
“Look at you,” I breathe, voice wrecked. “Ruined already.”
She nods. Her thighs are shaking so hard I know she’s close again.
“Hold it.”
She claws at the desk. It’s beautiful. And it won’t last. I slam into her a final time, pull out, and slap her ass hard enough to make her jump.
Then I drag her by the collar off the desk.
She stumbles on shaky legs, moaning behind the gag, half-limp and fully soaked. I steer her toward the therapy couch and shove her down onto it. Face up. Spread.
“You want to be my toy?” I say, hand wrapped in the collar as I kneel over her. “Then fucking look at me while I come.”
She blinks up at me, eyes glassy, gag soaked, lips red from pressure.
I line up again and shove into her in one smooth thrust.
Her wrists fly up to cling to me, but I catch them and pin them above her head. Her back arches, body overwhelmed and overstimulated, but I don’t give her time to adjust. I fuck her like I need it to breathe, every thrust deep and unforgiving, angled to make her see god.
“Eyes on me.”
She tries. Fails. Blinks fast and whimpers.
I grip her face, thumb at her jaw, and force her to meet my gaze. “I said look at me.”
She does.
And it wrecks me.
All that trust. All that surrender. The tears in her lashes. The bruises on her skin. My name somewhere in the soundless moan behind the gag.
I come so hard I see white. It hits like a goddamn wrecking ball, buried deep in her, body locked, teeth clenched as I empty into her with a groan I can barely bite back.
I keep moving through it. Slow now. Shallow. Grinding into her until I’m spent and she’s shaking again, her orgasm a broken thing under mine. One more wave of overstimulated bliss while she sobs and clutches at me.
I kiss her gagged mouth.
“You’re mine now,” I whisper. “You understand? Boundaries are gone.”
She nods, tears streaming, eyes locked on mine. Her chest rises in little gasps behind the gag, flushed and soaked, legs sprawled open beneath me, body trembling with overstimulation and everything I just did to her.
Everything I wanted to do.
Fuck.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I pull out carefully, trying not to hurt her. Her breath hitches, tired, raw. I tug my shirt off and press it between her legs to soak up the mess, and she flinches from the contact.
Shit.
“Easy,” I say. My voice is unsteady. I stroke her hair off her face, my hand too big and too gentle for what I just did. “So good, pet.”
She makes a soft noise behind the gag, something small and grateful.
I reach around her head and unbuckle it.
Her jaw slackens. Lips wet, bitten. She doesn’t speak, just breathes, slow and heavy, like even that is too much.
I sit back on my heels and stare at her like I’ve never seen her before.
Flushed. Marked. Collar still tight around her throat.
She looks like a fever dream. Something I summoned. A crime scene I want to revisit. And I hate how much I want to.
I lift her carefully. She melts into my arms. Her head finds the crook of my neck, and I swear she purrs when I wrap the blanket from the couch around her.
“I’m sorry,” I say before I can stop myself. “I shouldn’t have.”
Her fingers touch my chest. Light. Forgiving.
“You wanted it,” I say. “But I shouldn’t have wanted it so much.”
She doesn’t say anything. Just exhales slow and sweet against my skin.
I lay her back down gently, stroke her hair, press kisses to her temple, her cheek, the faint bruise at her jaw. Tender. Like penance.
“You need anything?” I whisper.
She hums.
“You okay?”
Another hum. A nod. She tugs weakly at the collar, not to take it off, she wants me to know she knows it’s still there.
My stomach twists. I press my forehead to hers. “Let me take care of you until my next appointment. I blocked a few hours for us today.”
She smiles, small, broken, radiant. “I’m yours,” she whispers, hoarse.
That wrecks me worse than the orgasm did.
She’s boneless on the couch, barely blinking, wrapped in the blanket I tucked around her. Her thighs are trembling, and she hasn’t spoken since she whispered I’m yours like it didn’t detonate something in my chest.
I glance at the desk. The little bag she brought sits there, taunting me. Velvet ribbon, obnoxiously pink. I open it like it might bite me.
Inside there’s a pair of silk wrist ties. A heart-shaped paddle. And underneath it all, white chocolate.
I pull one out, unwrap it, and walk back over.
She’s still watching me. Barely. Eyes half-lidded, expression soft. Her cheeks are flushed and tear-streaked and glowing like someone just prayed her into existence.
I kneel beside the couch and hold the candy to her lips. “Open,” I say.
She does. Slowly.
I press the candy to her tongue, and she sucks it in, lips brushing my fingers. She moans low and closes her eyes.
I brush my thumb across her bottom lip. “You okay?” I ask again.
She nods. Her hand finds mine and squeezes. “I wasn’t sure if you were gonna pick the gag or the candy first,” she says, voice rough and sweet and amused.
“I almost picked neither,” I tease. “I was this close to sending you home.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No. I didn’t.”
Her smile turns slow and satisfied. “Good,” she whispers. “Next time, I want both. And the paddle.”
Fucking hell.
I drop my head to her shoulder and just breathe her in.