Chapter Twenty-Five Saylor #2
He kneels over me, tugs my hips back, and bites a line up the inside of my thigh. My body’s gone boneless, floating in endorphin
soup already. Blue presses a warm palm to the small of my back, holding me steady as his other hand slides up the backs of
my thighs and between them.
He doesn’t ask permission. Just hooks a finger under the lace and rips my panties down to my knees, cold air kissing the heat
of my exposed cunt. I whimper, more from bashfulness than pain, and grip the sheet with my cuffed hands.
Two fingers between my legs now, blunt and thick, finding me soaked. He spreads me open and touches with deliberate slowness,
just enough friction to make me buck against his hand.
“I could make you come like this,” Blue says, lazy and cruel. “But I think you’d rather beg.”
“I won’t,” I manage, but it’s pure bravado, and he knows it.
He slides his fingers out, leaving me aching and empty. Then he smacks my ass, a pop that makes my whole body jolt forward
on the bedspread.
“Count,” Blue says.
I don’t hesitate. “One.”
He spanks harder, the sting blossoming into molten want. “Two,” I breathe, before he even asks.
He delivers five, each strike landing precisely where it’ll burn the longest. My ass prickles with heat, and my head empties
of everything but this: him, the pain, the electric connection.
Then he gently rubs his palm over the reddened skin, soothing and almost tender. “Good girl,” he murmurs. “Now, turn over.”
I obey, rolling onto my back. He props me up with pillows, arranges my arms above me so the chain bites prettily into my wrists.
There’s no way to cover myself, so I don’t even try; my thighs are already spread. Just like what he did to my ass, he does
to my pussy. Spanking my folds as I gasp with each sting. He smirks at the rivers on my cheeks—I didn’t realize I’d been crying,
the release so sudden and intense.
Blue stands at the edge of the bed, looking down at me. “You want to say something?”
I should want more. Mercy, maybe, or at least a few seconds to compose myself. But what I want is to see what he’ll orchestrate
next. So I shake my head.
He climbs onto the bed, and his hands are everywhere at once: locking around my thighs, spreading me until muscles ache, then—without
warning—filling me with three thick fingers at once. My body convulses, tries to clamp down, but he just shushes me. “You
can take it,” he growls, and fuck—he’s right—I can, more than I ever thought, and hot shame floods my belly at how easily
I yield to him.
He works me open until I can’t tell pain from pleasure. I’m clenching around nothing, desperate for him to fill me for real,
but Blue seems to relish the torment. He keeps his hand buried inside me, his other palm roaming slow circles up my torso,
sometimes catching on an aching nipple, sometimes gripping around my throat just tight enough to threaten, never quite closing.
I want to beg, but pride keeps my lips sealed.
He tests me—pushes harder, curves his fingers and finds the place that makes me see stars, then stops. Again and again. My
whole body is a live current, straining for whatever end he decides I deserve.
“Does it hurt?” he asks.
I nod, biting the pillow so I don’t scream.
“You like hurting, don’t you?”
This time I can’t muster a denial. Blue leans down, brushes his lips over my eyelids, my cheekbones, the corner of my mouth.
It’s weirdly intimate, like he’s trying to memorize me at my most helpless.
Then he’s up again, rubbing his cock along the mess between my legs, not letting himself in, just torturing me with the possibility.
When he finally thrusts, it’s with a single, brutal push that steals the air from my lungs. I arch up, caught between the
pain and the relief of finally having him inside me.
He starts fucking, slow and deep, then gradually losing control until his hips are slamming into me so hard that the headboard hammers the wall with every stroke. I’m mewling, babbling, making sounds I haven’t heard from myself before.
Blue watches my face the whole time, eyes locked on mine. “Good girl,” he says again, and the words twist something in my
chest.
“You’re mine now, Saylor. Understand?”
I nod because I really can’t do anything else, and he makes it quite clear every time he has his cock buried inside me.
The handcuffs hurt, but I do like the pain. They anchor me in the moment, make everything sharper. I lose count of how many
times he brings me to the edge and yanks me back, like he’s tuning an instrument by feel.
When he finally lets me come, it’s because he wants to watch me lose my mind, wants proof of what he’s done. And I do—I shatter,
the whole world narrowing to a white-out of sensation, all nerves blaring at once. I think I scream, and maybe I cry, but
Blue just keeps going, eyes never leaving my face.
He finishes with a low growl, pulls out and comes all over my stomach and tits, painting me in salt and proof. Then he untangles
the cuffs and gathers me up against his chest, soothing until I come back to myself.
We lie there in the aftermath, my body raw and humming, his heart pounding through my skull where it rests against his sternum.
He strokes my hair, gentle again, like I’m a thing worth treasuring.
“I don’t want you sneaking around anymore,” Blue says, soft but firm. “If you want to know something, ask me.”
I nod, dazed, but already curiosity is rekindling in my gut. “Will you tell me?”
He thinks it over, then answers, “Not tonight.”