Nate steps back half a pace, his chest rising hard, his eyes devouring. “Look at you,” he says hoarsely. “Naked. Ready for me.” He presses his hand to my center, a mix of tenderness and control and violence. I flush hot, my nerves screaming with awareness. My arms twitch as if to shield myself, but his voice cuts through.
“Don’t you dare try to hide from me.”
My breath stutters, caught between shame and the way his words thrum through me. He steps in again, fingers skimming down my bare side, settling on my hip. A claim.
“Eden. Can you be good?” I nod, dizzy, bowing to his touch, already surrendered.
His breath is hot against my ear. “You want more, don’t you? You want me to hold you still. Make the decisions. Tell you when to open, when to take, when to beg.”
My body strains toward him.
“Say it,” he murmurs. “Tell me you want me to take control. Or nod. You know how to do that.”
I move my head as ordered, sharp, desperate, soaked in flames.
His smile is slow, devastating. His fingertip trails down my jaw, featherlight. “Look at you. I haven’t even fucked you yet. But you’re already mine.”
My knees nearly buckle. He catches my chin, tipping it up.
“Now,” he says softly, almost kindly. “You know what good girls get, don’t you?”
His thumb strokes my lips—the same thumb I’d just sucked clean—and my body pulses in answer. He eases me back until the mattress dips beneath me. I fall onto it, breath shallow, trembling.
He kneels at the edge, watching my reaction as he pushes his pants all the way down
“Give me your hands.”
I obey, squirming on the bed, watching as he binds my wrists with the belt he unthreaded from his pants.
Then he pushes me on my back, his mouth beginning its torturous descent. Lips skimming down my body, large hands claiming my breasts, fingers twirling my nipples. By the time he reaches the inside of my thigh, I’m a puddle of need, helpless to hold back the whimper that slips out.
“So horny,” he teases, voice dark silk. “So fucking mine.”
His breath is hot where I ache most, his lips hovering a breath away. “You want me here?” A flick of his tongue—barely there—has my body jerking.
He smiles against my skin. “That’s a yes.”
The next lick is slower. Deeper. His tongue traces me open, deliberate and sure. My back arches helplessly.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice molten. “Bound up so pretty for me. Didn’t even fight it. You gave me your wrists like you’ve been waiting for me to take them.”
Humiliation and relief crash through me. I should feel terrified. Instead, I feel…safe. Safer than I have in years. My hands strain against the belt, but I don’t resist. I couldn’t if I wanted to.
He presses kisses higher, closer, until I’m twitching, burning.
“You know how many nights I’ve thought about having you like this?” he growls. “And you wanted to let another man teach you?”
Then his tongue flicks—light, devastating. My body jerks toward him, demanding more.
“Sweet,” he murmurs against me. “Just like I knew you’d be.”
The next stroke is firmer, slower. Back arching, a raw, broken sound escapes me.
“Don’t hold back now, Trouble,” he urges, his mouth relentless. “Let me hear you sing again.”
And I do. I can’t stop the sounds spilling out. Can’t stop chasing him with my hips.
“You’re dripping,” he rasps, sliding a finger inside me, then another, curling them deep. “Can you feel it? How badly you want this?”
