15. Bastien Montclaire #2
Tonight is for the hunt, for the ache, for the thrill of being teased and touched and tormented.
But not taken.
Not yet.
My thumb glides beneath her chin, tilting her face just enough to claim her full attention.
“I won’t fuck you. Not until you’re ready. And when you are, you’ll ask. You’ll beg for my cock like it’s salvation. That’s my rule.”
Her breath stutters, chest rising.
“When that moment comes, you’ll say these words to me. ‘Fuck me. I want your cock inside me. I need your cock inside me.’”
Each word is a promise, a future moan, a surrender waiting to fall from her lips.
And I’ll wait for it.
Because when she says it, she’ll mean it with every trembling inch of her body.
“Do you understand?”
She nods.
Perfect.
“Repeat the words back to me so I’ll know you understand.”
A breath. Then—soft, shaky, wrecked: “Fuck me. I want your cock inside me. I need your cock inside me.”
My hard-on pulses, straining behind my zipper, but I don’t move. Not yet.
“Good girl,” I whisper, my voice a sin dragging its teeth down her spine.
My hand slides to the base of her throat—gentle but firm. Not squeezing. Just holding. Possessing.
Claiming.
“Next time those words pass your lips…” my mouth hovers over her ear, heat bleeding into her skin, “I’m going to fuck the sanity out of you. You’ll come so hard you’ll forget where you are, who you are. You’ll scream so loud the walls will shake.”
She shivers with a rigor that rocks her whole frame.
Good. Let her tremble. It means she’s ready to fall.
“You won’t see me,” I say, breath hot against her skin, “but you’ll feel me. Everywhere, all around you, and inside you.”
My voice darkens into something possessive and final.
“I’ll ruin every other man for you, Laurette. Because after me, there will be no one else.”
She whimpers. God help me, she whimpers. And it’s the most beautiful fucking sound I’ve ever heard.
I ease onto the bed behind her, knees sinking into the mattress. She doesn’t move, not an inch.
With her head bowed and back straight, she’s obedient and gorgeous and mine.
“Do you have any idea how hard it is not to fuck you right now? To keep my hands off your cunt when I know it’s throbbing for me?”
The fabric rustles as her hands grip the sheets.
I lean forward, close enough for my chest to graze her back. “I’m dying to be inside you, Laurette. I want to ruin you slowly and completely. I want to make you forget your name and remember only mine on your lips, in your throat, carved into your fucking soul.”
Her breath quickens, shallow and uneven. I can’t see her eyes, but I don’t need to. The way she holds her body, rigid and pulsing with restraint, tells me everything.
She’s unraveling, but I’m not done. Not even close.
I reach around slowly, my fingers curling beneath her chin. I guide her face gently toward me, tilting her enough so my mouth can find her ear.
I trace the edge of her jaw with a single finger. “What do you want me to call you?” My voice is low, coaxing. “Say it. Don’t be afraid.”
A breath shudders out of her. “Babygirl,” she whispers. “I want to be your good girl.”
I smile against her skin. “You already are,” I whisper. “You really are.”
My hand slides down her arm, fingers gliding over silk-smooth skin until I reach her wrist. I hold her there, not restraining, just anchoring. A tether. A promise.
“What do you want to call me?”
She hesitates, and a breath catches in her throat. I sense the war playing out inside her—desire tangled with shame, curiosity brushing up against fear.
“It’s your choice, Babygirl. Whatever you want. Something dark, if that’s your flavor. Whatever makes your pussy throb when you say it.”
She doesn’t answer right away. I wait patiently, letting the silence stretch tight between us, coaxing her deeper into it.
Then softly, so soft I almost don’t hear it, she says, “My Wolf.”
My cock throbs hard enough to hurt.
“Mmm… that’s my Babygirl,” I growl, voice rougher now.
She presses back against me, her body begging, even if her lips don’t.
My hand trails up her thigh, close enough to tease, but not touching where she needs me most.
“You want more, don’t you?”
She nods, breath hitching. “Yes.”
I pull back just enough to leave her aching. Let her feel the void and miss me.
“Not yet. I told you how this works. When you’re ready… you’ll ask. You’ll beg. You’ll burn for it, and I’ll make the wait worth every second.”
I run my fingers through her hair. The softness is intentional, a contrast to the promise in my voice.
“And when that moment comes… I’ll wreck you in the most beautiful way. I’ll take you apart with my mouth first, make you come so hard your body forgets how to stand. Then I’ll slow it down, make you beg again before I even think about entering you.”
She trembles, barely holding it together. And I’m still not touching her where she aches the most.
This is control.
This is part of the game.
No, this is the game.
I stay close, letting the moment linger. Then I lean in, my breath brushing her cheek, and press a single kiss to the corner of her mouth.
She shivers.
“You’ve been perfect tonight.” My hand finds the curve of her hip and lingers, just long enough to claim it. “So obedient. You have no idea what that does to me.”
I reach into my pocket. “I have something for you. A gift.”
I pull out the velvet box and open it quietly, the lid lifting on a hinge of intent. Inside, the gold chain rests in a loose coil, the small flat disk nestled at its center, simple and understated, meant only for her.
“It’s a necklace. A gold disk. One side displays Saint Leonard—patron of the bound. The other, the side that touches your skin, is engraved with a B.”
She stills.
“No one will ever see what’s on the back. No one will ask what it means. But you’ll know. You’ll feel it resting there, my initial against your throat, quiet ownership, just between us.”
She inhales sharply as I brush her hair aside and fasten the chain around her neck. The disk settles over the dip below her throat, the hidden B warming to her skin.
“Wear it for me,” I whisper. “Always.”
I touch the pendant where it rests at the base of her throat. A second later her hand rises, uncertain, and our fingers brush. Her breath catches, but she doesn’t pull away. And neither do I. For one heartbeat, we hold it together—this silent pact, this unspoken claim.
Then I wrap my hand around her throat and pull her against me, my mouth ghosting over her ear. “You’ll see me again soon, Babygirl. And next time you won’t be wearing anything at all.”
Her breath catches, but she doesn’t speak or move.
She doesn’t have to.
I press a kiss to the side of her face, then release her and rise from the bed.
I step back, watching her for one last moment, still kneeling, blindfold on, body taut with tension and need.
Next time we meet, there will be no teasing or restraint. I’ll push her further, take her hard, let her see the monster she invited in and show her how good it is to be devoured by him.
I slip out of the room, the door clicking shut behind me.
My exit is clean and silent. I avoid the cameras, retracing my steps with methodical precision. Outside, the air is cool against my skin. But inside, I’m burning.
Once I’m back in my Escalade, I tap into her feed, and her bedroom comes alive on screen.
She’s mine now.
The game is on.