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)
It’s a visual symphony of control.
“No dungeons here,” he says, fingers gliding down my arm. “But plenty of ways to bend you to my will.”
An inner alarm stirs as I take in the suspended cage in the corner. “What’s that for?”
“Bratty behavior.” One hand closes loosely around my throat, guiding my gaze to a wall of whips and canes as his other reaches for something out of sight. “Though I prefer to start with a bare ass.”
Before I can register what’s happening, cool metal grazes my shoulder, and I flinch as scissors shear through one of my lingerie straps.
“Wait!” I try jerking away, but his grip steadies me as the blades skim across my chest. The second strap gives way with a soft snap, and the fabric pools at my feet. Instinctively, I cover my breasts and press my thighs together.
He saunters into my line of sight, expression stern. “You gave up the right to modesty when you said sir. Now show me the fruits of your spa day. Or would you rather find out what I can do with a whip?”
“You said no pain without pleasure.”
A diabolical grin plays at his mouth. “A whip in the hand of a skilled master can be extremely pleasurable.”
My chest rises in protest. “For who? You?”
“Do you need a demonstration?” He lifts his chin, staring me down as if he’s counting the strikes it’ll take to prove him right.
“No.” I lower my arms, vulnerability prickling at my nape. I asked for this, but now that he’s stripped me naked, with no way to undo the choice I made in a weak moment of desire, I’m not sure I’m ready for the consequences.
His gaze travels from my breasts to the bare triangle between my legs. The reaction is immediate—a glint of reverence, a tick in his jaw, a subtle flexing of his fingers as if he’s imagining them buried deep.
For a second, I think he’s going to devour me right here.
Instead, he takes my hand and leads me to the wall of rope. “What’s your favorite color?”
“Blue.”
He selects a teal shade and lets it cascade through his hands.
This space is his.
And he offers no reassurance, only an unspoken demand for blind trust as he ties my wrists together in front of me.
Somehow, the silence unsettles me more than a command ever could.
My breathing turns shallow, though I don’t know what affects me more—the glide of the rope or his intense expression. Midnight hair flops across a furrowed brow, and every few moments, his warm eyes lift to mine, scanning for distress.
But it’s not fear or hesitation making me tremble.
It’s him.
The devastating beauty in each trace, touch, and tie.
Adrenaline surges as he lifts my bound wrists, elbows angled skyward. The stretch locks my shoulders and arches my spine, thrusting my chest forward, nipples exposed with no way to shield them.
He begins to wind rope around my torso, looping under my breasts and across my ribs in firm, possessive passes.
When he finishes, he guides me to a padded wall, fastens my wrists to a bracket behind my head, and cuffs my ankles, anchoring them wide apart.
It’s art and ownership.
A version of foreplay I’ve never experienced until now.
In this moment, I belong to him, and it sets my blood to boiling.
“All those nights, you clung to control,” he says, peeling off his shirt. “Now you have none.”
He steps in close and drags a single finger up my slit.
It’s the first time he’s touched me there, and my pussy clenches, wrecked from too many nights of denial. I ache for pressure, friction, depth, but he keeps me perched at the edge with a featherlight graze of my clit.
“Please, Oliver,” I whimper, teeth sinking into my bottom lip.
“Please what?”
“Huh?” The sound escapes before I can catch it, my thoughts still tangled in his sensual web.
Cocking a brow, he withdraws only to pinch my nipple hard.
“Ow!”
“Still not what I want to hear.” He twists, slow and cruel, until I grit my teeth against the pain. “You’ve forgotten the one word that matters in this room.”
“I’m sorry!”
“I don’t want apologies.” He claims my other peak and gives it the same punishment. “Say it.”
“Sir!”
My chest heaves beneath his hands, our eyes locking as he holds the pressure. Finally, he releases me.
“When and how you climax is no longer up to you. I might let you come once…or force you ten times. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
He bends and draws one sore peak into his mouth, then the other, pulling at the tips of my breasts until they tingle.
“Please, sir.”
“You’re beautiful when you beg,” he says, grazing my nipple with his teeth as a finger sinks into my soaked heat. I nearly come undone.
“More, please…”
He pauses, and for a moment, I think he’s going to give me what I crave. Instead, he pulls away and strides across the room.