Chapter Eight #2
He holds my gaze, his blue eyes penetrating.
“You’re mine, Freckles. It pains me to say this, but you’re going to have to deal with all of me and my baggage.
I told you when I claimed you for the first time that I’m never letting you go.
” He exhales. “I’ve already staked my claim on you, but what you don’t know is that you own me. I’m yours, Elodie. You’re it for me.”
I smile through tears. “I just want you to come home,” I say softly.
“I can do that.” He gently cups my face.
For a moment, I simply look at him. The man who strode into my world and turned it on its head in the most beautiful way.
“You make me happy, Raiden. And I’ll take you in any way I can.” Then, I whisper the words that have been waiting in my heart for days. “I love you, Raiden. I’m yours forever.”
He closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them again, they’re brighter than I’ve ever seen them. “I’ve loved you since before I knew what to call it.”
A tear slips down my cheek. He brushes it away with his thumb. He leans forward slowly, taking my lips in soft yet desperate hunger. Our lips and tongues tangle, sending pulses of pleasure through me.
He breaks the kiss, trailing soft kisses on my bruised neck, sending pinpricks of electricity coursing through me. I can’t wait anymore. I reach for him, my fingers finding the hem of his shirt, and his eyes darken with understanding.
He stands, pulling me up with him. We undress each other slowly, reverently, the urgency of survival replaced by something deeper, something that speaks of forever. When I’m bare before him, I sink to my knees, and his breath catches.
I’ve never done this. He knows it before I do because his hand settles into my hair. It stays there, not pulling, just resting, waiting to see what I’ll do with the room he’s giving me.
I lick him the way I’d want to be licked, and nothing at all happens to his breathing.
“Open,” he says. “Wider than that. Now take me in and don’t try to be clever about it.”
I do as I’m told and immediately go too far, too fast. My throat closes around him, and I pull back, coughing, eyes streaming. My face burns with a humiliation that has nowhere to go.
His thumb strokes my cheekbone, unhurried. “Again. Slower. I’ll tell you when.”
I take him into my mouth, working him with my tongue and hand the way he shows me.
He guides me, his hips moving in small, controlled thrusts, his voice rough with praise and dirty promises. “That’s it, Freckles. Just like that. You look so fucking beautiful with your mouth full of me. So perfect. Mine.”
I’m learning him as I go. The tension in his thighs. The catch in his breath when I get something right. I file every one of them away to use on him later, when I know what I’m doing.
I suck and lick him until he’s groaning, until his grip tightens in my hair.
Then, he’s spilling into my mouth, hot and salty.
I swallow because he’s holding me there, and there’s nowhere else for it to go.
Some of it escapes anyway and runs down my chin.
He wipes it away with his thumb and pushes it back between my lips, watching me the whole time with an expression that is the filthiest thing I have ever seen.
He pulls me up, kissing me deep and thorough, tasting himself on my tongue. And then he carries me to the bedroom, guiding me to the bed. He moves down my body, his mouth finding my neck, my collarbone, my breasts.
He lavishes attention on each nipple, sucking and biting until I’m whimpering, my back lifting off the mattress.
“Not a sound,” he commands, his voice dark with authority. “You take what I give you, and you stay quiet. Understand?”
I nod, biting my lip, and he smiles, feral and pleased. He reaches into the drawer beside the bed, retrieving what he needs, and my breath catches as I see the leather cuffs, the small vibrator, and the flogger with its soft leather tails.
He fastens the cuffs around my wrists, securing them to the headboard above me.
He grips my thighs, spreading me open for whatever he decides to do next.
Then he’s moving lower, his mouth finding my pussy, his tongue delving into my folds.
I press my lips together tightly to stifle the moan that tries to escape.
He sucks my swollen clit slowly, deliberately. When a sound escapes me, he stops entirely. Pulls back. Waits. I watch him through tear-blurred eyes as he picks up the small vibrator, turns it on low, and presses it against my inner thigh, close but not close enough.
“P-please,” I whisper, and he tuts, shaking his head.
“I said quiet. Every sound earns you more time.”
He returns to his task, his tongue clever and relentless, and now the vibrator joins, pressed against my clit in short, teasing bursts. I’m trembling, tears streaming down my face—not from the sheer intensity of the denial, but from the effort of holding my own mouth shut while he takes me apart.
Every whimper costs me. Every gasp buys him another minute. I have never in my life had to work this hard at being still.
He brings me to the edge again and again. Each time I make a sound, a whimper, a gasp, a moaned plea, he stops, pulls back and waits. It is torture. It is exquisite. It is everything.
When he finally lets me come, I wail, my body convulsing, my vision going white at the edges. He keeps fucking me with his fingers, the vibrator pressed firm against me now, teasing out my orgasm until I’m limp, gasping and begging for mercy.
He releases my wrists from the headboard and massages my shoulders and arms. Then he lies back and pulls me over him, positioning me above him.
“Ride me,” he says, his voice rough with renewed desire.
I sink down slowly, feeling him fill me, stretch me, claim me. His hands come to my hips, guiding my movements. He reaches for the flogger, trails the soft leather tails over my breasts and thighs, then brings it down with a sharp crack against my ass.
I gasp, my rhythm faltering, and he does it again, each strike sending sparks through me, making me clench around him. He rises up to capture a nipple in his mouth, sucking hard, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh. I cry out, my head falling back.
He moves to the other breast, his mouth hot and demanding. And then he’s kissing me, his tongue sweeping through my mouth, his hands gripping my hips to control my pace. He finds my neck, sucks at the pulse point there, clamping down with his teeth as we both spiral toward the edge.
“Come with me,” he growls against my skin. “Now, Elodie. Give it to me.”
I shatter, screaming his name, and he follows, groaning low. His arms band around me to hold me close as we ride out the waves together. Afterward, we collapse together, tangled in sheets and each other. I know with absolute certainty that I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.