Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 44666 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 223(@200wpm)___ 179(@250wpm)___ 149(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44666 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 223(@200wpm)___ 179(@250wpm)___ 149(@300wpm)
At the glass-topped dresser, he opens a drawer lined with neat rows of gags and anal plugs that gleam like curated jewelry.
But it’s the glint of metal in his hand when he turns that knocks the breath from my lungs.
Two brutal-looking clamps, joined by a chain of polished steel.
“What are those?” My voice comes out thinner than I intend.
“Punishment.”
“No!” I tug against my restraints as he closes the distance.
“Afraid so. You’ve spent the last week driving me mad with these pretty little nipples.” He tweaks one in warning. “Now it’s my turn to play with them.”
The clamps snap shut on tender flesh, and agony rips through me. I cry out, caught between a scream and a sob.
“They’re too tight!”
“No, they’re perfect. And they’ll only get tighter every time you forget to call me sir.”
He proves it with a slow tug on the chain.
“Oh God, stop!” The words rush out in a desperate plea I’m not sure he’ll honor.
Because there’s no safety in protest, only the faint hope of mercy, and I’m clinging to it with everything I have.
“I’m not God, Novalee.” He cranks the vises on my nipples, and I can’t help but scream what he wants to hear.
“Sir!”
Without warning, he lets go of the chain and sinks to his knees.
Instantly, I’m on fire in a different way.
“You have a gorgeous cunt,” he says, leaning in, his breath stoking the coals of arousal as he teases my mound.
I’m so desperate for his mouth that my hips jerk forward. My nipples blaze with constant torment, and an impatient whine breaks loose.
“Every sound you make gives you away.” A kiss brushes my inner thigh. “Every breath and whimper.”
Another moment passes before he drifts closer to where I ache for him. I’m hot and wet, legs forced apart and shuddering, blood thundering through me. My muscles burn from the strain of bondage, yet it pales next to the sight of his lips hovering inches from my pussy.
“I know how you squirm when you’re close, and I know the rhythm of your need.”
“I need you to touch me!”
“Oh, I know you do, sweetheart.” He gives the chain another yank, and my whimpers shatter into sharp cries. “But we’re not on your timeline, are we?”
“No,” I gasp.
He increases the pinch. “How can I make you come if I’m too busy punishing your disobedience?”
“Please, sir. I’ve denied myself for weeks.”
Weeks of unimaginable grief battling primal need, all undone in a single night by the man on his knees.
Yet I’m the one begging, even as he makes me groan in pain.
“All this time, I’ve been watching you.” His gaze drowns me in the ocean of his control. “Or did you forget?”
“How could I forget, sir?”
“Then you already know I can keep you like this for as long as I want.”
“You can, but I’m begging you not to…sir.”
The devious curve of his smile speaks of triumph, promising my downfall.
And that’s when he parts my slick folds.
His tongue finds me, all sinuous heat sliding into intimate flesh, and those licks ricochet clear to my toes. My body bows into the pleasure, straining against the rope as he edges me like he’s been watching for weeks.
Because he has.
Each suck and lick ignites new sparks, as if he’s memorized every dip, fold, and hidden place on the map of my desire. He’s mastered the art of the tongue, knowing exactly how to use it to make me sing in his language.
“Sir.” The title escapes on a breathless sob, my voice the only part of me that can break free. So I open the floodgates and let the sounds spill.
Moans and whimpers.
Groans and cries.
Desperate pleas.
And the chant of his favorite word…
Over and over again.
Oliver has dissolved me into a state of incoherence, where thought slips through sensation and all I can do is feel.
His fingers press into the curve of my ass, holding me firm under his relentless mouth. The clamps bite sharper each time I move, layering pain atop pleasure until I’m strung tight, seconds away from shattering.
As if on cue, he backs off, leaving me keening at the edge of climax.
“Don’t stop!” I blink as the ground of denial rushes up to meet me. “Please, sir.”
“You’re getting too close.” With infuriating composure, he stands and drags the back of a hand across his lips.
“What are you do—?”
“Shh.” He frees me from the wall. “I want you silent for this next phase.”
“What? Why?”
He gives the clamps a final tug before removing them. Intense pain storms through me, and I lose my breath and my ability to make a sound.
“Trust me, Novalee. I promise it’ll be worth it.”
But when he leads me to a leather bench and bends me over the end, it isn’t trust that keeps me there.
It’s surrender.
19
I should have never surrendered. Silence is agony, forced on me by a large ball gag stretching my lips. Like the wall, the bench welcomes my body in luxurious leather, robbing me of all mobility. Though my wrists are no longer bound behind my head, they’re tied together in front of me. The cuffs on my ankles remain.