Chapter 34 #2
He gives my ass a little slap, more for the satisfaction of it than any pain. Yet the skin is so sensitive that everything feels a hundred times more intense than normal.
God, he’s about to fuck my pussy after he took the flogger to it.
How will that feel?
I almost want to change my mind. Almost.
One hand grips my hip. The head of his cock presses against my folds. I can feel he’s hard.
“I will make love to you, sometime soon,” he promises, rubbing himself against me. “But not right now. Not with you like this.”
That’s all the warning I get before he thrusts in.
I think we both gasp.
My arousal crests so fast I almost orgasm right then.
“So fucking tight when you’ve come hard,” he murmurs, working his way in farther, until his hips press against my ass. “I can’t resist taking you when you offer your pussy so willingly.”
Willingly?
The bastard made me choose.
He draws back agonizingly slowly, and all thoughts disappear save for the feel of him, the extreme sensitivity of my labia, bordering on pain, and the feel of him penetrating me, hard and strong.
Then he drives in again.
I can’t help but cry out. My arousal had faded enough to draw back from the edge of release, but it surges forward, cresting fast.
His damn flogger has made my whole body alive to every sensation. My body shifts on the suede top, my breasts rubbing just enough to remind me that they’re sensitive, too.
Yet pleasure quickly surpasses it all, while the tingle of my skin sharpens everything.
But my focus is on him. He pulls back, like he has all the time in the world.
It builds anticipation of the next thrust, and I have enough time for a whimper to slip out.
It’s like I want him to fuck me, my body so aroused that it’s craving him.
I need the release that he’s flirting with, but he’s taking so damn long that it’s drifting farther away, not coming closer.
What has he done to me?
Drugged me. Kidnapped me. Tied me up. Tortured me, in the most sadistic way imaginable.
Delicious way imaginable.
No. I did not agree to this.
But consent has never been Declan’s forte.
He drives into me for the next stroke, my body parting eagerly for him, welcoming him in. Another cry slips out. I can’t help it. He’s so deep, so hard. And I’m so helpless, unable to even move.
The bastard starts drawing back again, so damn slow it’s excruciating. My pussy clenches around him, not wanting him to leave, and that’s involuntary too.
I’m forced to admire his restraint, but control always has been Declan’s forte.
At least, in the bedroom. Or the basement, I suppose.
I want to push my ass to him, encouraging him to go faster, but I can’t.
And he’s doing it deliberately, I know he is.
Drawing it out, teasing me. It’s just another form of torture, and I hate him for that.
He pushes in again, his hips slapping into my ass, the sound echoing off the bare walls. That distinctive noise and my cries. Part of me wonders where we are, and if the room’s soundproofed.
I sob as he pulls back, his cock the perfect angle to rub against my g-spot. And fuck if that isn’t sensitive too, courtesy of his damn egg.
He keeps this up for I don’t know how long.
Stroke after stroke. I can never tell when he’s going to thrust; there’s no warning.
Each time, my arousal peaks, then subsides, never quite getting close enough.
There’s long enough between strokes for several breaths. The bastard is edging me with his cock.
Who does that?
After a while, I can’t bear it any longer. “Just fuck me already, you asshole.”
Shit. I didn’t mean to say that.
He gives his aggravating chuckle. “Is my little hellcat impatient?”
No, you bastard, you’re a sadist.
“You feel so good,” he murmurs. “So fucking wet, so perfectly tight. I don’t want to rush this.”
Rush this? I don’t know how long it’s been since I woke in this damn room, but he’s been playing with me since that moment. He’s had me tied to this horse for what feels like ages. It might only be ten minutes, but it feels ten times as long. I genuinely have no idea.
“Please rush this,” I gasp out.
“Do you want to come for me?”
That for me is so infuriating. So possessive, so humiliating, so… him.
“Yes. Please.”
Shit, I said please. Not once, but twice. Like I’m begging.
But I’m not past begging if it would get him to only fuck me more.
“As you wish.”
His fingers grip my hips, digging in. And then he doesn’t hold back anymore.
Declan’s gone from slow and hard to fast and hard, and my mouth opens in a silent cry.
I’ve forgotten how to breathe as he pounds into me, over and over, pleasure cresting instantly.
My body has been stimulated for so long, held near the edge for so long, that it doesn’t take more than two or three of those thrusts before I’m crashing into an orgasm.
My pussy clenches around him, body tightening, and I’m lost to waves of ecstasy.
He grunts with effort as he continues to fuck me, his pace slowing and his thrusts harder, like each one takes more out of him. “So… fucking… tight…” he says between breaths. “You fit me… perfectly.”
The feel of him is only prolonging my orgasm, and I can’t do anything but make little sobbing gasps. I’d be embarrassed by the noises I was making if I wasn’t so lost in the moment.
It’s more than a moment. It seems to go on forever, and my orgasm doesn’t abate.
Or maybe it ends, and another starts immediately.
I can’t tell; it doesn’t matter. Bound so helplessly, there’s nothing I can do anyway but endure, like that’s even the right word when so much pleasure is forced upon me.
I hate Declan Hale for drugging me and imprisoning me against my will.
But I can’t deny I also love him, at least in moments like this.
The things he does to me, both when I want him to and when I don’t.
It’s fucked up, it’s delicious. It’s torture, it’s wrong.
It’s more than I could ever have imagined, in good ways and bad.
His thrusts are getting shorter, his fingers digging in harder. I know the signs; he’s close. He’s going to come inside me, and I whimper at the thought. The worst bit is, I want him to. I shouldn’t, but I do. It’s the culmination of this twisted, wonderful experience, and the fulfillment I crave.
Declan drives into me, hips pressed tight to my ass, and I feel him shudder.
His cock swells within me, then spurt after spurt shoots inside me, each jet forceful, and I cry out as it provokes another orgasm.
Or a surge of the one that I was already experiencing.
I can’t tell the difference and it doesn’t matter anyway.
What matters is he’s just used me like he used my mouth, binding me and taking me for his pleasure.
And I loved every second of it.
He collapses over me with a groan, his heart thudding against my back. My own pulse is pounding in my ears, like I’ve sprinted a mile, the rhythm not matching his. I draw a breath and let it out, hips jerking beneath him. My muscles are trembling.
Declan gives a short chuckle. “God, I love how hard you come.”
That, right there, sums up this whole toxic scenario.
He gave me no choice. Cut my clothes off me. Ignored a meaningful safe word. Did what he wanted to me, took me as he wanted me. Tied me up and fucked me as hard as I’ve ever been fucked.
And I came for him, harder than I’ve ever come before.
I should hate him. I do hate him.
It’s just hard to remember that right now.