Just enough to make my whole body ache.
“Please,” I whisper.
“Please what?” His voice is thick, wrecked, turned on beyond belief but still controlled.
“Touch me. Really touch me.”
“Oh, darlin’,” he groans, pressing his forehead to mine. “You have no idea what that does to me.”
And then?
He does.
Two fingers, slow and slick, sliding in.
My back arches, another broken moan spilling from my throat.
“That's it,” he murmurs. “Take it.”
He thrusts slowly, his thumb circling my clit in maddening little strokes, and I am gone. No thoughts. Just feeling. Just heat.
Just him.
“Think you can come for me again?” he whispers.
I nod, desperate. “Yes. God. Please.”
His fingers pick up pace, stroking just right, his mouthback on mine as I come again, this time harder, shaking beneath him, crying out into his kiss.
But when I open my eyes, panting and undone, I see the way he’s looking at me.
Like he’s nowhere near done.
And I am so, so screwed.
In the best way.
I’m still shaking, every nerve raw and pulsing, when Sam leans over me again, his breath hot against my cheek and lips brushing my ear.
“You’re so fucking perfect like this,” he growls, voice thick, low, wrecked. “Tied up, dripping, trembling from how many times now?”
“Two,” I whisper, breathless.
His hand slides down my thigh, gripping it tight, dragging it up around his hip. “Let’s make it three.”
I gasp, head tipping back, wrists pulling against the ropes as he lines himself up—thick, hard, and so ready. My body aches for it, already clenching in anticipation.
He rubs the head of his cock through my folds, slow and deliberate, coating himself in my slick. The tease alone makes me moan, hips jerking upward.
“Sam, please?—”
“You want it?” he rasps, his voice breaking with restraint. “Say it.”
“I want it,” I pant. “I want you to fuck me. Please.”
And that’s it.
That’s the moment the leash snaps.
