Xavier pushes me until the backs of my thighs hit the altar. He grabs my waist and lifts me up to set me on the stone, his gaze hot and hungry. My heart is a violent thunderstorm, the blood pounding through my veins. I’m both frightened and turned on by the intensity in his gaze, by the way his breathing has deepened.
Faster than I can blink, he grabs my throat and slams my back onto the flat surface, the air whooshing from my lungs. Before I can draw breath, he crawls on top of me and straddles me, his knees on either side of my hips, his face inches above mine. I have no idea what to expect, and he gives me no time to contemplate the possibilities.
He snaps a manacle in place.
My breath hisses between my teeth, and I tug against the restraint. “Take this off.”
He answers me by securing my other wrist. I lie on the cold stone, staring up at the man responsible for my current situation.
Xavier leans over me. “This is supposed to be a consequence, but I don’t think you’ll feel that way by the end.”
He removes a knife from his pocket, the blade glinting in the moonlight. My muscles clench as he trails the tip along my lace bodice, his gaze locked on mine, his other hand still on my throat. With a flick of his wrist, the blade slices through the delicate material.
He uses the knife’s edge to peel back the fabric, and I gasp as the cold air hits my newly exposed skin. My nipples harden under his gaze, and I squeeze my thighs together to ease the ache building inside me. He continues running the knife over my dress, slicing through the layers until I’m in nothing except my bra and panties.
“Those are pretty,” he says.
I hold my breath as Xavier traces patterns on my skin with the tip of the knife. But he never breaks the skin. He’s playing with me, using my fear to heighten my arousal.
It’s working.
Finally, he cuts through the remaining scraps of lace covering me and tosses them onto the ground. He sets the knife down next to me and runs his hand over my bare skin, his eyes on mine, his pupils contracting with lust.
I can’t breathe. My breasts are heavy, aching for his attention. My pussy flutters, wanting to be stroked, to be filled. He’s got me craving things I never imagined.
He drags his fingers down my stomach, over my clit, and along my pussy. I can picture him smiling behind his mask when he finds the dampness between my legs.
“You’re so fucking wet for me.”
He eases down my body, and I spread my thighs in invitation. It’s not begging, but it’s close.
“If I don’t stretch you, you won’t be able to take me,” he says.
Xavier slides his finger inside, up to the first knuckle. I stiffen at the new sensation. He doesn’t stop, just continues forward, until the heel of his palm is flush with my pussy.
“Fuck,” he says. “You’re going to kill me.”
I can’t get the words out to ask why because he starts moving his finger in and out, caressing the inside of me. I close my eyes and arch my back, my hips following the rhythm of his hand.
He adds a second finger and scissors them, stretching me further than before. He continues adding more force and power with every thrust. The chains on my wrists rattle in time to his movements.
“You like that?” he asks.
I open my eyes to look up at him and nod.
“Use your words, Delilah.”
“Yes.”
I moan when he hits a particularly sensitive spot inside me. My orgasm builds quickly, jolts of pleasure skittering through my body. The sensation becomes more intense with each passing moment, as does my desperation for relief.
“Xavier, faster.”
“Not yet, pretty girl. We’re just getting started.”
His words are the only warning I receive before he inserts a third finger. I freeze until he starts fucking me with them. Of their own accord, my hips buck. His fingers are relentless, but he never increases his pace like I want.
“I need…” I say between pants. “More.”
