Chapter 8 #3
I was sobbing openly now, completely incoherent. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but feel . I’d been on the edge for what felt like eternity, and I would have done anything to finally fall.
And then—it all stopped.
The suction released. The electric touch ceased. I lay there panting, trembling, waiting in agonizing anticipation for whatever came next.
“You don’t need to control this situation, Charlotte,” Kane said, calm and certain. “Your mind keeps getting in the way. I want you to stop thinking and start listening to your body instead and let it happen.”
I tried. God, I tried.
Instead of chasing the orgasm or panicking over whether it would happen, I forced myself to relax and focus on the sensation itself.
The silky whisper of feathers against my skin once again.
The warm pull of Kane’s mouth on my nipple as he sucked, slowly and luxuriously.
The leisurely glide of his tongue that left me trembling and hypersensitive.
My breathing turned uneven. Every touch seemed sharper now that I wasn’t fighting it so hard.
“You’re doing so well,” Kane murmured, approval threading through his voice. “Just let the sensation happen instead of fighting it. I know you can do this because you’re my greedy little slut, aren’t you?”
The praise wrapped around me, making my mind hazy with the addictive rush of being exactly what he wanted. My body softened instinctively beneath that voice, those words, the tension gradually draining out of my muscles one shaky breath at a time.
I stopped thinking about how exposed I was. Stopped worrying about whether I looked desperate or needy or pathetic. Kane already knew I was all of those things for him, and instead of humiliating me, he made me feel cherished for it. Wanted and desired.
The feather continued brushing across my nipples and the pleasure swelled gradually, no longer jagged and frustrating but deep and rolling, building in warm, relentless waves that spread through every inch of me. My thighs trembled. My back arched automatically into every touch.
And for the first time all night, I let myself sink into his voice, his touch, the calm certainty of his words guiding me deeper and deeper toward the promise of bliss.
I let the sensations wash over me without trying to control them.
Allowed the pleasure to pull me under inch by inch until my mind grew quiet, the constant noise finally fading beneath the overwhelming awareness of my own body and all I could feel was sublime warmth and trembling need.
“There you go,” Kane murmured softly, approval wrapped around every word. “Just like that.”
His encouragement sent another shiver through me.
My body responded instinctively now, chasing sensation instead of resisting it, every touch feeling deeper, fuller, more intense than before.
The feather glided across my skin again, impossibly light, while Kane’s hands steadied me through the overwhelming rush building inside me.
And instead of fighting the vulnerability of it, I let myself feel everything .
A broken sound tore from my throat as the pressure inside me snapped tight all at once. My back arched hard against the restraints, every muscle in my body locking for one suspended, breathless second before the overwhelming pleasure crashed through me in deep, rolling pulses.
“Oh God—”
The orgasm hit without warning and without direct touch, powerful in a way that felt almost surreal. It spread outward from my core in pulsing contractions that left me quivering helplessly, every nerve ending hypersensitive as my body continued shaking with the intensity of my orgasm.
Kane’s hand slid into my hair immediately, steadying me while I trembled apart beneath him. “That’s my perfect greedy little slut,” he murmured, his voice warm with unmistakable satisfaction. “See? I knew you could do it.”
I whimpered softly, my body still twitching with aftershocks while Kane continued stroking soothing patterns across my skin, guiding me gently back down instead of letting me crash hard.
I felt boneless afterward. Warm. Floaty. And perhaps most unsettling of all was the realization that Kane had been right. The moment I stopped fighting myself—stopped overthinking, stopped chasing control, stopped worrying about whether I could or couldn’t—my body had simply… let go.
A shaky laugh escaped me as I rested my head back against the cushions, still blindfolded, still restrained, still wrapped in the lingering haze of pleasure and Kane’s quiet approval. I’d been given an impossible challenge, and I’d succeeded. I’d been good. I’d pleased him.
For one crystalline moment, it was like the past two years had never happened. Like we were back at the beginning, nothing but trust and potential stretching out before us. I knew it wasn’t true. I knew that reality waited on the other side of this bliss, but subspace made it so easy to pretend.
So I let myself pretend. Just for a few more minutes.
Kane’s hands moved over me, unstrapping the leather restraints, but my wrists stayed cuffed to the table, though the bindings were loosened enough to have some slack.
I felt him guide my limbs, and only then did I realize how long I’d been in that position.
My muscles were stiff, my joints aching pleasantly.
He helped me turn over until I stood bent over the lowered table, my ass presented to him, my cheek pressed against the warm leather.
Still blindfolded. Still bound at the wrists. Naked and completely at his mercy to do with as he pleased.
I heard the rasp of his zipper, and my pussy clenched in anticipation despite my orgasm. He hadn’t undressed—I wished he had, wished for the skin-to-skin contact we’d shared before—but then his hands wrapped around my hips and nothing else mattered.
“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire. “Bent over and waiting like a good little slut, your pussy a slick mess from your orgasm. Is this what you need? My cock filling you up?”
“Yes, master.” The words came automatically, breathlessly. “Please.”
“You’re going to take every inch. And when I’m done with you, when I’ve used this perfect pussy and filled you with my cum—” His cock nudged against my entrance, and I whimpered. “You’re going to thank me for it.”
He dragged his shaft through my wetness—once, twice, coating himself in my arousal—and then, finally, finally , he pressed inside.
I moaned brokenly as he filled me up. The orgasm I’d just had should have satisfied me, but instead it had left me desperate for more.
I’d clenched around nothing while I came a few minutes ago, and now I craved something to grip, something to hold.
His cock stretched me perfectly, and I felt impossibly full, impossibly complete .
Kane groaned, seating himself to the hilt. “Fuck, you feel incredible. So tight, even after I’ve already had you once today. Such a greedy little pussy.”
He fisted a hand in my hair and pulled my head back, and I moaned at the sting, at the way it made me feel controlled and claimed. Then he pulled almost all the way out—and slammed back in.
I cried out. He did it again. And again. Building a rhythm that was hard and fast and merciless, exactly what I needed after the endless teasing and torment.
The sound of his hips slapping against my ass filled the room—obscene, primal, punctuated by my own needy whimpers and his low groans of pleasure. At some point he switched his grip, releasing my hair to wrap his hand around the back of my neck instead, pinning my cheek to the leather.
I loved it. Loved being held down by his body rather than straps. Loved the weight of his hand keeping me in place while he fucked me relentlessly and took what he wanted from me.
“This is what you needed, isn’t it?” His voice was ragged now, losing some of its control. “My cock pounding into you. Using you. Making you take every goddamn inch.”
“Yes, master—” I could barely form words, but the agreement fell from my lips automatically. “Please don’t stop—please—”
“I’m going to fill you up.” His thrusts grew faster, harder, his voice deep and possessive. “Going to come so deep inside you, and you’re going to milk every drop from my cock like the insatiable little slut you are.”
I was climbing again, pleasure building in slow increments with each deep stroke. My second orgasm approached gradually, layer by layer, and I gave myself over to it completely. No thought. No resistance. Just sensation and surrender.
Kane bent lower over me, changing the angle, and his cock dragged against that perfect spot inside me. I gasped, clenching around him, and felt myself tipping toward the edge.
“ Come, ” he ordered gruffly against my ear. “Come on my cock, Charlotte. Let me feel how much this slutty pussy wants my cum. Do it, now .”
Those filthy words pushed me over the edge completely, and with a soft cry, I shattered.
Clenched down on him so hard he growled deep in his throat.
Overwhelming pleasure crashed through me in waves while I felt the stretch and pulse of his shaft grinding impossibly deep inside me.
He thrust faster—once, twice—then buried himself to the hilt and froze, a snarling, possessive sound rumbling from his chest as his cock throbbed as he emptied himself into me.
We stayed like that for a long moment. Panting. Trembling. Connected.
Then slowly, carefully, he pulled out. I felt our mixed fluids sliding down my inner thighs, and I knew I must look absolutely debauched and filthy—blindfolded, bound, dripping with cum, thoroughly used.
The thought probably shouldn’t have made me feel so satisfied.
Kane’s warmth receded as he stepped away and I remained slumped against the padded table.
A moment later, something warm and damp moved over my skin, up my thighs and between my legs—a cloth, cleaning me gently.
The blindfold was lifted away, and I blinked against the soft light, my eyes taking a moment to adjust.
My wrists were released from the restraints. Kane guided me to stand, supporting me when my legs threatened to buckle, and I stretched carefully while my body remembered how to function.
He looked at me with an expression I couldn’t read. His gaze traveled over my body—lingering on the marks he’d left, the flush of my skin, the evidence of what we’d done—but whatever he felt about the session we’d just had stayed hidden behind that inscrutable mask.
I expected... something. The tender aftercare he’d given me before, the gentle praise and physical comfort.
But this wasn’t that. He made sure I was steady on my feet, handed me a bottle of water, watched me drink and made sure I was physically okay.
Professional. Efficient. Keeping just enough distance to remind us both what this was.
And what it wasn’t.
We weren’t lovers reuniting. We weren’t building toward something real. We were two people burning through an inconvenient attraction so we could focus on the job at hand.
The reminder stung more than I wanted to admit.
“Let’s get you back to your apartment,” Kane said finally.
I nodded, not trusting my voice. I didn’t know what to say or how I felt. My body was satisfied, wrung out, floating in the pleasant aftermath of multiple intense orgasms. But my mind was already starting to spin again, cataloging concerns and complications.
Because I’d just been reminded exactly how good it felt to submit to Kane.
How much I craved his dominance, how easily he could silence the chaos in my head, how completely he could make me his.
I’d agreed to that date two years ago because no one had ever affected me the way he did—and tonight had proven that nothing had changed.
Now that I was reminded of how much my body needed him... how was I supposed to maintain professional distance? How was I supposed to work beside him without wanting more?
I took a deep breath, gathered my clothes, and got dressed with movements that felt mechanical, and Kane did the same.
We walked back through the club in silence, passing couples in various states of play—some laughing, some lost in pleasure, all of them seemingly intimate and uncomplicated in a way I envied.
How easy it must be, I thought, to want someone and simply have them.
Without the weight of history and hurt between you.
Kane had reminded me that I could trust him with my body. That following his commands brought me pleasure rather than harm. That submission didn’t mean weakness—it meant choosing to let someone else carry the burden, just for a little while.
And I had shown him that I could be good. That I could take whatever he gave me and rise to meet his challenges. That despite everything, the connection between us still burned as bright as ever.
We’d fucked out the worst of our anger. Now it was time to be professional. To focus on the work that actually mattered.
Ruth’s memory depended on it. The lives of all the other women trapped in Calloway’s web depended on it.
I just had to figure out how to think about anything other than Kane’s hands on my body, his voice in my ear, and the way he’d made me feel like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
How hard could that be?