Good Girl
She’s still kneeling.
I can feel it, even with my back turned, even with the office door closed between us. My house is silent except for the pulse I swear carries from her body to mine.
It should make me furious—her obedience, her weakness, the way she’s letting me script her every breath. But it doesn’t.
It makes me hard.
I pace behind the desk, hands braced against the wood, fighting the need clawing up my spine. She isn’t mine. She shouldn’t even be here. She’s Kate’s friend, for Christ’s sake. Off-limits. Untouchable.
So why does it feel like I’ve already touched her everywhere?
I told her to stay. And I know she is. I can picture it—the way her knees must ache against the carpet, the way her chest must be rising and falling too fast, her lips swollen from sucking my thumb like a slut who was born to kneel.
I’m not supposed to want this. Not again.
But I do.
I move to the side window, drawing the curtain just enough to look out. My reflection stares back at me—cold eyes, jaw set hard, hair falling over my forehead in a mess I should care enough to fix.
Except I can’t stop thinking about her.
About how much longer I can let her wait before she breaks.
And then I hear it.
A sound too soft for anyone else to catch, but I know it’s her. A muffled whimper bleeding through the hallway, like she’s trying to hold it back and failing.
Christ.
She’s unravelling out there, and I’m the bastard making her do it.
My hand tightens on the curtain. I should let it go, leave her there until she crawls to bed humiliated and wrecked. I should draw a line before I burn everything to the ground.
But the truth is, I want to watch.
I want to open that door, step into the hallway, and see her shaking because of me. I want to make the next dare crueller, filthier. I want to keep pushing until there’s nothing left of her pride—only the proof that she belongs to me.
And I will.
Because she asked for this, the second she looked at me like I was the only one who could break her.
I opened the door.
She’s exactly where I left her—on her knees in the hallway, bare skin flushed from the cold draft, arms loose at her sides like she doesn’t know what to do with them. Her eyes dart up when she hears me, wide, defiant, wet.
Christ.
I lean against the doorframe, slow, deliberately, so she feels every second of my gaze crawling over her. “Still here,” I murmur. “Good girl.”
The words make her shiver, though she tries to cover it with a glare. I smile, sharp, cruel, because she hates how much she needs that praise.
“Open your mouth,” I say.
Her lips part instantly, tongue trembling in the air. I let the silence drag until she squirms, until her cheeks burn with humiliation. Then I press two fingers in, slow enough that her throat works before they even reach the back.
“Not a word,” I tell her, voice low. “You only nod or shake your head. Understand?”
She nods, choking around my fingers, saliva pooling on her tongue, dripping down her chin when I slide them free.
I tilt my head, pretending to think. “Let’s make this interesting. Truth… or dare?”
Her brow furrows, but she whispers, “Dare.”
I crouched so close my breath brushed her ear. “Crawl to the living room. All the way. Don’t cover yourself. Don’t stop. If you do, I’ll tie your wrists behind your back and make you finish the crawl blind.”
Her breath catches, but she obeys. Palms and knees on the carpet as she crawls down the stairs, her body moving forward like prey that knows it’s being hunted. I follow, silent, every scrape of her knees on the floor winding me tighter.
Halfway there, I let my voice cut through the quiet. “Truth or dare?”
She freezes, chest heaving.
“Dare,” she whispers.
“Touch yourself while you crawl.”
Her head jerks back as if she misheard me. I arch a brow. “What’s the matter? Suddenly shy? You wanted dares.”
And fuck, when her hand slides hesitantly between her thighs, I feel my restraint fracture. She keeps moving, hand dragging with each crawl forward, face flushed with shame, body slick and desperate.
I stalk behind her, watching every faltering movement, every sound she bites back. My cock is straining, but I don’t touch myself. I won’t—not yet.
This isn’t about me losing control.
It’s about how far I can break her before she begs me to.
She keeps crawling. Palms sliding, knees squeaking against the hardwood, her hand worked between her thighs with every shift forward. Her back arches when her fingers brush her clit, a sharp little gasp breaking the silence.
As I step closer, the shadow swallows her whole. “Pathetic,” I murmur, my voice low enough to be a growl. “Already dripping, and I’ve barely touched you.”
Her crawl stutters. Shame ripples through her shoulders. She tries to stop herself, tries to hide it—so I make her pay.
“Truth or dare?”
Her voice is hoarse. “Dare.”
“Arch your back. Show me how wet you are.”
She freezes, trembling, then obeys. Her knees spread a fraction wider as she lowers her chest closer to the floor, ass high, slick glistening between her thighs under the low light. My cock throbs so hard it hurts.
“Good girl,” I rasp. “Keep crawling.”
She moves again, slower now, the humiliation painting every inch of her body. I follow like a shadow, savouring the view, the sound of her breath breaking apart.
When she reaches the rug in the centre of the living room, I circle her, crouching low so we’re eye level. “Truth or dare?”
Her lips tremble. “Dare.”
“Slap your own face.”
Her eyes flare wide. “What?”
I cut her off with a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Her hand shakes, but she does it—fingers smacking weakly across her cheek. My cock twitches at the sound, at the way she flinches and tries not to cry.
“Harder.”
The second slap echoes sharper, her head snapping to the side, eyes watering. A growl tears through my chest. “Fuck, look at you. I could ruin you in a thousand ways, and you’d still crawl back for more.”
I let the silence sit heavy between us before I speak again.
“Truth or dare?”
She hesitates this time, eyes searching mine. “Truth.”
I smirk, leaning close enough for her to feel my breath on her lips. “Do you want me to fuck you right here, on your knees, like the desperate little slut you are?”
Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out. She swallows, cheeks wet with tears, and nods once.
My control almost snaps. But I don’t let it. Not yet.
I grip her chin, forcing her to hold my gaze. “Good answer.” My thumb drags across her trembling lower lip. “But you don’t get what you want that easily.”
I stand towering over her again, voice sharp. “Dare: crawl to the couch, sit back, spread your legs wide, and keep them that way until I say otherwise.”
She obeys, crawling shakily across the rug, skin flushed, tears streaking down her face. When she climbs onto the couch and spreads her thighs open, I finally allow myself a step closer—still not touching, just watching.
“Perfect,” I whisper. “Now the game’s finally starting.”
She’s spread open on my couch, trembling, skin flushed from humiliation and hunger, thighs quivering as she struggles to keep them wide like I told her.
“Hands behind your back,” I order.
She obeys instantly, fingers clasping, chest rising and falling in shallow little gasps. I step closer, looming over her, letting her feel the weight of my shadow.
“Truth or dare?” I murmur.
Her voice is wrecked. “Dare.”
I smile, slow and cruelly. “Stay perfectly still while I taste you.”
Her eyes go wide, but she doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, when I lower myself between her thighs. I drag my tongue up the length of her slit, slow and deliberate, savouring the taste of her. She whimpers, hips jerking before she forces them still, obeying, desperate not to break the rule.
“Good girl,” I rasp against her, lips brushing her clit. “You’re learning.”
I lap at her again, harder, sucking her clit until she cries out, thighs trembling with the effort of staying open. When her hips buck, I pull back, smirking. “Careful. Break the dare, and I’ll tie you up until you can’t move at all.”
Her nails dig into her palms, but she nods, lips bitten bloody.
I stand abruptly, unbuckling my belt, letting the sound slice through the silence. Her eyes lock on mine, wild, hungry, terrified.
“Truth or dare?” I growl.
Her voice cracks. “Dare.”
“Take me into your mouth without using your hands.”
I fist a hand in her hair, dragging her down to her knees in front of me. Her lips part, obedient, desperate. I slide into her mouth slowly, savouring the way her throat strains to take me. My hips jerk forward, forcing her deeper, until tears stream down her face and spit drips down her chin.
“Look at you,” I groan, tugging her hair tighter. “On your knees, choking for me, when you swore you hated me. You’ll never walk away from this, sweetheart. Not now. Not ever.”
Her throat convulses around me, and I nearly lose it right there. I pull free with a growl, dragging her up, spinning her, and bending her over the arm of the couch in one brutal movement.
“Truth or dare?” I whisper in her ear, lining myself up against her soaked entrance.
She gasps, shaking. “D-dare.”
I slam into her in one feral thrust, burying myself to the hilt, her scream muffled by the cushions. My hand clamps down on her hip, holding her still while I drive into her over and over, each thrust harder than the last.
“Dare,” I growl into her ear, voice ragged. “Take every inch of me and beg for more.”
Her cries break into words, sobbed pleas spilling between the moans. She begs, she curses me, she says she hates me—but her body clenches around me like it’s starving, like it’s mine.
And I don’t stop.
Not until she’s ruined beneath me, throat raw from screaming, legs shaking from the force of it, and every inch of her body marked with me.
When she collapses forward, boneless, I bite her shoulder, feral, claiming her.
“Game’s over,” I rasp, panting against her skin. “You belong to me.”