"You've got to be fucking kidding?—"
I press my thumb against her lips, silencing her. "That's going to be the last thing you say all weekend unless you want another punishment added on. And trust me, you don't want that."
She glares at me, but I see the moment she realizes I'm serious. See the fight drain out of her expression, replaced by something that looks like acceptance.
Then the tip of her tongue wets her lips and she draws her bottom lip into her teeth, those green eyes flicking to the obvious bulge in my pants.
Last time, her eyes were dead. Hollow. Like I could do whatever I wanted and she wouldn't feel a thing. But now she's flushed, breathing hard, gaze dropping to my cock like a magnet keeps pulling it there.
This isn't surrender. This iswant.
"So." I straighten, unzipping my jeans with deliberate slowness as I watch for the tip of her tongue to brush her lip again. "Since your tongue is so eager to be busy, I'll give you something else to do with it."
Her eyes drop again to where my cock strains against my boxers, already hard from this fucked up new power dynamic, from seeing her leashed and kneeling after four years of wanting her and hating myself for it.
I free myself and her sharp intake of breath is gratifying. She's looking at me like she's never seen a cock before, which I'm sure is probably bullshit. But maybe trust fund dick doesn't compare to what I'm packing.
The thought of anyone else touching her makes rage spike through me hot enough to burn.
"Open." The command comes out rough, and I watch her jaw clench.
Then her mouth opens.
I grip her hair—softer than it should be, smelling like that vanilla shampoo she's always used—and guide myself between her lips. The heat of her mouth makes me groan, the wet slide of her tongue against my shaft better than anything I've imagined.
And I've imagined this scene alot.
She takes me deeper than I expect, hollowing her cheeks and sucking like she's done this before. More than once, based on the way she works her tongue, the way she breathes through her nose, the way she doesn't gag even when I hit the back of her throat.
The skill should please me. Instead, it makes me want to hunt down every man who's touched her and set them on fire.
Later.
I can kill themlater.
Right now, I focus on the sight of Ellie on her knees, my cock disappearing between those lips I used to dream about kissing. The collar gleams at her throat, the leash connecting us in a way that's both literal and symbolic.
Mine.
She's ours, but right now, she's mine alone.
And I'll be the first to claim her fully, too. Even if I have to lock Jinx and Cyrus in the basement and throw away the key.
The thought pushes me closer to the edge faster than I want. I try to slow down, to make this last, but then she does something with her tongue that makes my vision white out.
"Fuck," I breathe, hips stuttering. "That's it, Princess. You're gonna swallow it all."
She doesn't pull back. Doesn't hesitate. Just keeps sucking as I flood her mouth, keeps swallowing as I empty myself down her throat. When I finally pull out, she licks me clean without being told, her pink tongue catching every drop and her eyes turn glassy.
"Good girl," I murmur, threading my fingers through her hair with something approaching gentleness. "Such a good fucking girl."
Her eyes flutter closed at the praise, and I file that away for later. She responds to approval. Craves it, maybe.
I tuck myself back into my jeans, rezipping with hands that are steadier than they were a minute ago. Ellie stays kneeling, eyes downcast, breathing hard. The chain links of her leash pool on the floor between us.
"You can stand," I tell her, and she rises slowly. Maybe her legs were cramping from the position. If they were, she didn't let on. Why am I fucking worrying about it?
A knock at the door interrupts whatever moment we're having. Jinx pokes his head in, looking apologetic.
