Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27101 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27101 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
The lamp casts shadows across his body, lines and valleys of light that make him look carved from something ancient and indestructible. His breathing is shallow now, every inhale a stutter, every exhale a curse or a prayer.
I drag my nails down his sides, watch him flex against the cuffs, the tendons in his arms straining. I know I could stop at any moment, that the safety is there, but the knowledge only makes me bolder.
I reach the waistband of his briefs, kiss along the edge, and look up to find him staring at me, raw and open, his eyes saying please without a single word.
“I think I like you better like this,” I admit, sliding my hands beneath the band, feeling him hard and heavy. “Entirely at my mercy.”
“Yeah?” His voice is breathless, almost reverent.
“Yeah,” I say, and tug the briefs down, slow and deliberate, exposing him inch by inch to the warm air and the soft light.
I climb up, straddle his hips again, and let my hair fall forward, brushing over his face, his lips, his jaw. I kiss him once, hard, then sit back, letting him watch as I unhook my bra and toss it aside. His eyes go even darker, the muscles in his arms flexing as he strains against the cuffs.
“You’re driving me crazy,” he says, and I smile, pleased at the power, the control, the way I can make him beg with nothing more than a look.
“That’s the idea,” I reply, and lean in again, ready to make good on every promise I’ve ever made, whispered or otherwise.
Each time the cuffs click, each time his arms flex and fail, my confidence doubles. I’m the boss tonight, and for once, it feels good to let go and just take what I want.
This is better than any fantasy. This is all too real.
I keep him waiting, just long enough to taste his desperation. He’s not a man who’s ever truly powerless, and the knowledge that I can take it from him feeds something primal in me. His wrists are locked above his head, shoulders bunching, muscles carving shadows under the lamp’s yellow cone. His pulse is visible at his throat, hammering, a live wire throb I want to bite just to see how hard it can jump.
I start at his neck, tongue flat, licking a stripe from the hollow of his throat to the sharp edge of his jaw. He tastes like sweat and soap and need, a combination that makes my mouth water. I nibble the soft skin under his ear, and he shivers, hips jerking up to meet me, even though I’m nowhere near where he wants me. Not yet.
My hands follow my mouth, palms splayed wide as I map every inch of him, slow and deliberate. Dawson’s body is a goddamn work of art—every muscle defined, every reaction immediate and intense. When I drag my nails down his chest, the hair there rasps against my fingertips, the sensation making my skin tingle. I pause over his left nipple, roll it between my fingers, then close my mouth around it and suck, hard.
He hisses, the sound pulled straight from his gut, and the cuffs rattle against the bed frame as he strains against them. “Fuck,” he groans, voice raw. “You’re trying to kill me.”
I let my teeth scrape just enough to make him gasp, then soothe the bite with my tongue. I keep moving lower, kissing a line down the ladder of his abs, stopping to circle my tongue into his belly button before going further. Every touch, every lick, is measured, clinical almost. I want to see exactly how far I can push him before he breaks.
When I reach his hips, I bite down on the jutting bone, leaving a mark that will bruise by morning. He bucks up, thighs trembling, and I glance up to see his eyes locked on me, dark and wild. There’s no fear there, only surrender.
“You like this?” I ask, voice low.
He laughs, breathless, the sound fractured by need. “I like you,” he says. “I like everything you do to me.”
“Good answer,” I say, and slip my fingers under the band of his briefs, dragging them down his legs. He’s fully hard now, cock flushed and leaking, the head so red it looks painful. I let it rest against his stomach and trace the vein with my tongue, watching his face for every flicker of reaction.
He’s biting his lip, eyes half-shut, but he can’t look away. His hands flex uselessly in the cuffs, the need to touch me overridden by the fact that he can’t. It’s intoxicating, the power, and I let myself drink it in for a few seconds before getting back to work.
I kiss along the crease of his thigh, lick the salt from his skin, then take him in my hand, squeezing gently from base to tip. He groans, head falling back, and I marvel at how much I can make him feel with so little.