And that makes everything more intense.
My thighs tremble, my toes curl, and I’m babbling his name between desperate moans. The pleasure builds fast, sharp, and blinding and when it breaks, it crashes like a goddamn tidal wave.
I scream. I shatter.
Despite that, he doesn’t stop.
He licks me through it, slows only when I’m trembling too hard to take more, kisses the inside of my thigh like he just won a prize.
When he finally lifts his head, his mouth glistening, eyes full of possession and satisfaction, I’m ruined.
I’m still gasping when Sam kisses the inside of my thigh, his mouth lingering like he’s not done. Like he’s just getting started.
Spoiler: he is.
He runs his hands up my legs, slow and lazy, then presses a kiss just below my navel before crawling up my body. His lips brush my ear.
“You’re trembling,” he whispers, voice all smoke and sin.
“Y-you think?” I manage, still breathless, my wrists straining slightly against the rope. Not because I want out. Because I want more.
He smiles against my cheek. I feel it.
“Oh, I’m just getting started, darlin’,” he drawls.
His mouth returns to mine. Soft at first, then deeper, messier, hungrier. I can taste myself on his lips, feel the hard line of his arousal pressed against my thigh.
I shift beneath him, needy and desperate, trying to rock my hips, trying to pull him where I want him.
He doesn’t move.
Instead, he pulls back just enough to look down at me. His eyes are dark, glinting in the low light.
“Easy,” he murmurs. “I’m not done watching you squirm yet.”
I let out a strangled sound.
“You tied me up and left me hanging?”
He grins. “No, sweetheart. I tied you up so I could take my time.”
His hand slides between my thighs again, brushing across my clit, and I whimper.
“Still sensitive?” he asks, too innocently.
“Sam…”
“Yeah?” He strokes me again, light as air. “You gonna come again just from this?”
My hips buck, or try to. The ropes tighten at my wrists as I pull against them, desperate to grind against his fingers.
But he doesn’t give me friction.
He gives me torture.
Soft touches.
Barely there brushes.
