"I understand," I gasp. "I'll come when allow it."
Satisfied, he returns to his task, this time sliding two thick fingers into me as his tongue works my clit. The dual sensation is overwhelming—his fingers curling to hit that spot inside me that makes my vision blur, his tongue alternating between gentle flicks and firm pressure.
"Please," I beg. "Please, Lochan."
I can feel him smile against me, enjoying my desperate pleas. His fingers pump faster, the wet sounds of my arousal filling the room. It's filthy and wild and exactly what I need.
"Look at me," he commands, and I force my heavy eyelids open to meet his gaze. The sight of him between my thighs, his face glistening with my wetness, sends another shock of pleasure through me. "I want to see your face when you come on my tongue."
His fingers curl sharply inside me as his mouth latches onto my clit, sucking hard. The pressure builds, a wave I can no longer hold back.
"Can I—" I start to ask, remembering his command.
"Come for me," he growls against my flesh. "Now, Brigid."
The permission is all I need. The orgasm crashes through me, my back arching off the bed as pleasure radiates from my core to my fingertips. I cry out his name, over and over, as he works me through it, not stopping until I'm shaking and pushing at his shoulders from oversensitivity.
When he finally pulls away, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes never leaving mine. There's triumph there, and also a hunger not yet satisfied.
"Good girl," he says, his voice rough with his own arousal. "But we're just getting started.”
Chapter Forty Eight
Brigid
A slow clap breaks through my post-orgasm haze. I turn my head to see Callen leaning against one of the bedposts, his pale blue eyes glittering.
"Well done, Lochan," he says in a voice like silk. "But I think our little one needs more than just your tongue."
My body still pulses with aftershocks as Lochan shifts away, making room for Callen, who stalks toward us. There's something different about the way Callen moves now, still calculated and confident, but also utterly in control of the space around him.
"Is that what you need, Brigid?" Callen asks, his expensive finery a stark contrast to my naked vulnerability. "More?"
I swallow hard, my throat dry. "Yes."
"Yes, what?" His lips curl into a knowing smirk.
"Yes, sir. Please." The words come out barely audible.
He chuckles, the sound sending shivers down my spine. "I know exactly what you need, even if you're too afraid to ask for it." His fingers trace my collarbone, down between my breasts. "Turn over."
The command is simple, but loaded with meaning. I hesitate, just for a heartbeat.
"Still questioning everything, I see." Callen leans down, his breath hot against my ear. "Let go, Brigid. Let us take control. Isn't that what you want? To not be responsible for once?"
It's like he's reading my soul, seeing the conflict that's always raging inside me—the fear of my own power, the need to maintain control, and the desperate wish to surrender it.
"How do you know what I want?" I whisper.
"Because I want the same thing. Freedom." His hand slides around my throat, not squeezing, just resting there—a reminder of his strength. "Now turn over and let me show you a different kind of power."
I roll onto my stomach, heart hammering against the mattress. His hands skim down my back, kneading the tension from my shoulders before moving lower to cup my ass. He squeezes hard enough to make me gasp.
"Such a perfect ass," he says, his voice dropping an octave. "Made for my cock."
My breath catches.
"Relax," he says, as if he’s reading my thoughts again. "I'll make it good for you."
