Chapter 62 Rae #2
I want so badly to answer. The words are right there—three stupid syllables, eight letters, the easiest phrase in the English language. People say it every day without thinking. Strangers say it to baristas. Drunk girls say it in bathroom lines.
But I can’t say it to the man who deserves it most of all.
My throat closes up. My tongue turns to lead.
He’s asking you directly. All you have to do is…
Nothing comes out.
Lukas nods slowly, like he expected exactly that. He turns toward me and I see that his eyes have darkened and his beard can no longer hide the wicked slash of his frown.
“Then I suppose we’ll just have to continue.”
He sets down his glass and turns back to the bed.
And that’s when I understand: This isn’t foreplay. This isn’t some kinky game he wants to show me.
This is torture.
He’s going to edge me until I break.
Time stops meaning anything.
Minutes blur into hours, or maybe it’s the other way around. The only markers I have are the crests and crashes of pleasure hoped for and denied.
Again.
And again.
And again.
He tortures me with the same finger routine a few more times. Then his mouth replaces his fingers. He’s spent the last three days learning every little thing that makes me tick. He can make my toes curl and my spine buckle. He can coax all the different moans out of my throat.
I’m so close I can taste it, so close I’m sobbing into the pillow, so close I’m begging with my eyes since I’m not allowed to use my voice—
And each time, he pulls away.
When he does, he asks, “Do you love me, Rae?”
I try to answer. God, I try so hard the veins in my neck stand out and my jaw aches from the effort.
But the words are trapped behind some invisible wall, some childhood terror I can’t name.
A primitive part of me that learned long ago that saying those words out loud only leads to losing the loved thing.
So, each time, nothing comes out.
Lukas’s expression never changes. He just nods, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and begins again.
It gets worse.
He pulls his hard penis out through the zipper in his slicks and drags himself through my wetness, nudging against my clit with each pass.
The sensation is exquisite and awful in equal measure.
I can feel the ridge of his tip catching against my entrance, teasing, promising—but never, ever delivering.
“Please!” I whine, forgetting the rules.
His eyes flick to mine. “Do you love me?”
My mouth forms the shape of the words. I. Love. You.
But all that comes out is a broken whimper.
Lukas sighs and pulls away. The next thing I feel is cold.
I jerk against my restraints as something smooth and unyielding presses against my entrance. A toy of some kind, I realize distantly, though I have no idea where he got it.
He slides the toy inside me slowly, inch by inch. It’s far smaller than him, but electrically relentless in a way no human body can never be. No warmth, no pulse, and sure as hell no mercy. Cold silicone fills me up.
When he turns it on, I nearly scream.
The vibrations add a fresh new circle to this hell. I’m climbing again, faster this time, the sensation so intense it borders on pain—
Until he turns it off.
“Do you love me?”
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Then more. Straining, yearning, muffled screams—
—”Do you love me?”—
—I try, but—
Nothing.
I’m crying now. These are real tears, streaming down my temples and soaking into my hair. My wrists are worn red from straining against the silk ties.
And still, I can’t say it.
Why can’t I say it?
I know I love him. I’ve known for days, maybe weeks. I love the way he laughs when he forgets to be guarded. I love the way he combs through my hair with his scarred hands. I love the monster and the man, the killer and the cook, the beast in all its many forms.
But the words. Won’t. Come.
They’re stuck behind eighteen years of be careful and don’t get attached and everyone you love leaves eventually. They’re stuck behind a car crash that took my parents and a brother who keeps relapsing and a lifetime of learning that love is merely a synonym for loss.
Lukas sees it all in my face.
And he begins again.
This is… this is evil. My body has become a single exposed nerve, flayed open and left twitching in the twilight. I’m flushed from head to toe, my clit is unbelievably swollen, and I keep clutching in hopes that I’ll find enough friction and resistance to cum.
But I never get there. I feel woozy and depleted, strung out, insane.
After a few more ruthless rounds of tease-and-denial, Lukas pulls the toy out, leaving me spasming and clutching mournfully around nothing at all.
He rises from the bed and crosses to the dresser.
I watch through tear-blurred eyes as he retrieves something from the drawer—something small and curved, with a strap attached.
He returns to my side and kneels beside my thigh. His body is blocking me, so I can’t see what he’s doing. All I can feel is his hands fastening something around my thigh.
It’s only when he steps away that I see what he’s done. There’s a vibrating wand tied to my leg, positioned so it’s close to where I’d need it to cum.
Close—but not close enough.
“Lukas,” I rasp, forgetting the rules again as panic surges through me. “Please don’t—”
He presses a finger to my lips. “Hush now, Ms. Everett. It’s not time to speak.”
His hand smooths over the strap, checking the tightness, adjusting the angle, making sure it’s all right. The vibrator sits maybe two inches from my swollen, aching center. I want to lie to myself and say that we’re almost at the end, seeing as how we’ve been at it for hours now.
But I know better than that.
Lukas straightens, steps away, and retrieves his tumbler of vodka from the nightstand. He takes a slow sip, watching me over the rim.
“I’ll be downstairs,” he says. “I’ll come check on you in an hour or so.”
“What?” I bleat. “An hour?! Lukas, you can’t just—!”
“Quiet, Rae.” He heads toward the door. “I have all night, sweetheart. Nothing but time.”
He pauses at the threshold. His thumb finds the small remote in his palm. He presses it…
… and the vibrator hums to life.
I gasp as the sensation hits me. It’s a low, steady pulse that radiates outward from my thigh, close enough to make my hips jerk involuntarily, but far enough that relief remains just a hair’s breadth out of reach.
It’s like standing in the desert with water trickling past my lips but never touching my tongue.
I thought I’d already been tortured.
I was wrong.
This is the real thing.
Lukas watches me for a long moment. His gray eyes are soft. Sad, almost. There’s no triumph in his expression, nor cruelty, nor anger.
There is only patience.
The vibrator pulses against my thigh. My body strains toward it uselessly, my hips writhing in search of friction that won’t come. The sensation builds and builds, a slow-motion avalanche of need that has nowhere to go.
I’m trembling. I hurt all over.
And somewhere in the dark tangle of my chest, three little words are trying to claw their way out.
I love you.
Why can’t I just say it?