Bursts of pleasure knot the base of my stomach and I close my eyes, my voice turning deeper, erotic. “Seven, eight, nine.”
My breaths form condensation on the metal and I welcome the small reprieve and the break from pain.
He slaps my ass, and I haven’t even finished whispering "Ten” when he shoves my thighs apart in one motion. His fingers dig into my skull and he yanks me back with his grip on my hair, forcing my eyes to shoot open.
The back of my head rests on his hard chest as he whispers in my ear with chill-inducing intensity, “You haven’t earned the right to come.”
I twist my head the slightest bit, and for the first time since he started his ‘punishment,’ I’m able to see his face.
And I’m not ready for the scene.
It’s like I’m looking at an entirely different person. His breaths are ragged, causing his chest to inflate and deflate in a rapid rhythm that still simmers with calm, and his face—damn his stone-cold face that’s caught in eternal blankness and oozes control to the brim.
His eyes, however, tell a completely different story. Yes, there’s that display of dominance, sadism even, but they’re masking something a lot deeper.
An emotion a lot darker.
And I wish I could reach inside him and tug those emotions out. Even if that means I’d get swooped up in the process.
My assaulted ass rubs against his jeans and I whimper, both at the pain and the expression on his face.
Though the first has dimmed compared to the throbbing between my legs.
His jaw clenches and his eyes flash to my parted lips. “I thought pain scared you, so how come you get off on it?”
I try to shake my head, but it’s impossible with his grip on my hair.
“I can smell your arousal. It’s permeating the fucking air.” His fingers spread against my panties. “When did you become this soaking wet, hmm? Was it before or after I spanked your little arse? Maybe during? Did you get turned on by the thought of being owned by me? Did you picture my cock tearing through your cunt until you screamed and choked on my name?”
My lips part.
Holy.Shit.
Who thought the quiet Creighton had such a dirty mouth? It’s almost like I’m meeting another version of him.
One whose every secret I want to unwrap and flounder in every splash of its darkness.
My hips rock against his hand, basically dry humping him, and he doesn’t remove it. Instead, his fingers push my panties to the side and glide against my folds.
His voice lowers against my earlobe. “Now is the time to beg.”
My heart nearly jumps in my throat as I murmur, “Please.”
“Please what? Say the whole sentence.”
Damn it. I’ve never spoken such vulgar words out loud, but I don’t really have a choice now.
He has me completely at his mercy.
“P-please make me come.”
His jaw tics once, twice, and then he shoves two fingers inside me. I reel from the pressure as it mounts and mounts until I’m unable to breathe.
The stimulation from earlier rushes to the surface and I reach a hand out and grab onto his side, my nails sinking in his shirt.
“Hand down,” he orders in a frigid voice, and I let go. My arms lie limp at my sides as a knot forms in my chest.
His thumb teases my clit with staggering expertise. He’s not only dominant, but he also knows exactly what he’s doing and how. I’ve used a few toys and my fingers before, but none of them compare to the wild intensity that’s shaking my limbs.