“Please…” I whisper, not even sure what I’m begging for anymore.
The pain?
The relief?
The permission?
His hand slides down the curve of my back, nails dragging over my skin until he reaches my ass. He spreads me wider, drives in harder—deeper than he should be able to.
“You like the pain, don’t you?” he growls.
“Yes…”
He stops.
I shatter.
“You’ll only cum when I say you can.”
His hand wraps around the clamp’s leash. He tugs it. Hard.
I scream.
My body trembles, hovering on the edge of an orgasm that I lose every time I get close.
And he knows.
He feels it in the way I clench.
The way I gasp.
The way I need.
“That’s it, little moth,” he purrs. “Tease that little clit on the edge of madness. Let your body beg before your mouth does.”
He reaches for something.
A vibrator.
He doesn’t remove the clamp. He just presses the bullet against it.
The vibration hits through the metal—sharp. Direct. Devastating.
I thrash.
“No—”
“Yes,” he growls, slamming into me so hard the mattress jerks beneath my knees. “Take it. You’re my fucktoy now. My marked, leaking little moth.”
I sob. I writhe. My arms give out, and I collapse onto the sheets, shaking.
He grips my hips tighter.
“Not yet.”
He removes the clamp.
But the vibrator stays.
