CHAPTER 23 #2
Why would he when slowly breaking me was so much more satisfying?
Knowing his endgame should have filled me with anger, with fury, but it didn’t spark a reaction in me at all.
If anyone deserved to destroy me, I’d always known it would be him.
I didn’t owe him my body for saving or protecting me, that much was true.
But if this was how he wanted me to pay off my life debt to him, then who was I to deny him that right?
Besides, he hadn’t been wrong. I did need this. I just hadn’t known how much until now. Until he’d taken my hand and started to jerk off with it.
He was pumping faster now, his movements more choppy, more frantic.
His breathing had become labored, hitching every time he squeezed my hand which in turn squeezed his cock.
Knowing that he was enjoying this, that his body was humming with pleasure by my hand, did something to me.
Something entirely unexpected. The ache—not the one currently between my legs, but the one I’d carried with me for the past two years—had begun to throb less.
Watching him seek out his pleasure somehow calmed me, soothed me, acting as a balm that spread through my veins like Sano.
When the jerking motions of his hand grew rough, desperate, I finally moved.
Finally gripped his manhood all on my own and started to mimic his actions.
The second he felt me take over, a loud groan vibrated from him.
My pussy spasmed at the guttural sound, and it was all I could do to keep my free hand from reaching down and rubbing the ache.
“You’re such a good girl for giving me what I want,” he gruffly said, letting go of my hand to let me pleasure him on my own. The mattress dipped as he splayed the hand on my other side, shifting more of his weight above me.
I continued the frantic pace he’d set, marveling at how hard he was. The term “boner” suddenly made a lot more sense to me now. It felt like a bone. Despite how much a part of me wanted to preen at his praise, I found myself replying, “I’m not your possession, Thorne.”
“And yet here you are, in my bed with my dick in your hand,” he said, the words little more than a growl. “I own you now, Snowflake. You will bend for me. You will break. You’ll do whatever I want you to because you’re mine.”
Ancestors, save me.
His possessive words and tone only served to excite me, and a little whimper burst from my lips. The sound had an instant effect on him, and he gripped the sheets on either side of my head, tensing all over.
Oh. Oh.
This was it. The shift, the energy poised on the edge, the quivering of his thighs that announced he was ready. I pumped even faster, my movements shortening as he became so hard, so swollen, that the skin felt ready to split.
He was about to come. His body was stiff as a board above mine, his breaths coming in pants.
I squeezed him harder, as hard as I could, and he violently jerked. Something shot up his shaft like a discharging weapon, and he darted a hand down to yank up my top. A long guttural groan left him at the same time, almost distracting me from the sudden warmth squirting onto my belly.
His sperm. He’d ejaculated on me.
His remaining arm propping him up gave out then, and he dropped to his elbow, nearly falling on top of me. Not knowing what else to do, I continued to hold onto his dick as he rode out the orgasm, his heaving chest brushing against mine as he lowered his forehead to the mattress.
After a long moment, his breathing evened, and he slowly lifted off me. I let go of him, watching the dark shape of his silhouette as he tucked his dick back inside his pants and turned to leave.
Well, then. Guess I wasn’t going to get a thank you for a job well done. Then again, punishments didn’t usually end in praise.
But instead of leaving, he went around the bed and entered the bathroom.
A light flicked on, but I didn’t move or even cover myself, his cum still sitting on my belly.
He’d only lifted my shirt high enough to expose my midsection, his intent on clearing a landing pad for his sperm, not sneaking a peek at my breasts again.
Seconds later, he came back out with what looked like a washcloth.
Approaching me, he slowly took in my body, sweeping his gaze over my bare legs that were still parted, then higher to my black underwear.
As his eyes lingered there for a moment, staring so intently that I was certain they were imagining me without the panties on, I squeezed my aching thighs together and immediately felt how wet I was.
Yup. He was right, the arrogant bastard.
Something that looked a lot like satisfaction curled one corner of his mouth as he stopped beside the bed and reached toward me with the washcloth.
When the damp, slightly rough fabric grazed the sensitive skin just below my belly button, I jerked, sucking in a quiet gasp.
He did it again, taking his time cleaning up the mess he’d made.
Able to see his face now, I took in how relaxed he looked compared to earlier. He almost looked . . . content.
When he was finished, he took the washcloth back into the bathroom and returned less than a minute later, switching off the light.
The room plunged into darkness once more, so I wasn’t prepared when I suddenly felt arms slide beneath me and scoop me up.
A startled sound left me, but I didn’t protest as he carried me to the head of the bed and laid me back down.
With a few deft moves, he had a pillow situated beneath my head and the comforter securely tucked under my chin.
Before I could panic that he was about to join me, he leaned down and rumbled in my ear, “You asked me not to touch you, Snowflake, so I won’t. But you might want to touch yourself and relieve that ache between your pretty thighs, or you won’t be able to sleep tonight.”
I blinked. Blinked again when he shifted just enough to brush his lips over my forehead, then straightened and quietly exited the room, leaving me to deal with the terrible ache he’d left behind.