There’s a soft knock on the door before Damien fills the doorway. The room narrows as his gaze moves over me slowly, like a craftsman inspecting his work.
He quickly closes the distance between us. His fingers brush my jaw and I flinch out of reflex. He pauses, withdrawing just enough to make me feel the loss. The silence stretches, deliberate.
“I still haven’t punished you for lying about your job,” he says at last.
My chest tightens.
“Why did you do it?” he asks.
“I was desperate. I assumed a boutique girl wasn’t impressive enough for The Velvet Ledger.”
He nods as if he expected nothing less.
“Lies have a cost.” He leans in, his mouth close enough to make my pulse stumble. “Your punishment is simple: You don’t get to come until I decide you’ve earned it.”
His breath mingles with mine, but he doesn’t kiss me. His fingers tilt my chin, correcting my posture like he’s shaping a sculpture. His thumb brushes my lower lip—claiming. Hismouth grazes the corner of mine, then pulls back, a tease that makes my pussy clench.
“Eyes,” he commands, voice low and firm. I lock onto his gaze.
He unties the red ribbon from my wrist, silk whispering, and holds my hands in front of me. His thumb checks my pulse before he shifts my wrists behind my back, the tension arching my spine, breasts lifting.
“Your heart’s racing,” he notes.
“Just a little nervous.”
“Don’t be,” he murmurs, the words igniting heat in my core.
My breath catches, arousal spiking at the promise of his punishment. He steps closer, his presence overwhelming, and slides a hand between my thighs. His fingers find my pussy through the thin lace of the thong, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that make my clit throb.
The friction is both too much and not enough. My hips buck, chasing the pressure, but he grips me with his other hand, forcing me to stop moving.
“Stay still,” he orders, his tone sharp. “You take what I give you.”
His fingers press harder, teasing my pussy through the damp lace, each stroke a calculated torment that sets my nerves ablaze. My thighs tremble, the intensity building as he edges me closer, then slows, denying release. My breath comes in ragged gasps, my bound hands straining against the ribbon.
“Please,” I whimper, voice breaking, pussy aching under his relentless touch.
“Beg properly,” he commands, his fingers pausing just enough to make me desperate. “Ask for it.”
“Please, sir, may I come?” I plead, my voice a breathless whine, my body trembling under his control.
His eyes darken with approval, but he doesn’t relent, rubbing my clit through the thong.
The fabric clings to my slickness, each slow, deliberate stroke igniting my blood until I’m shaking. My bound wrists strain behind my back, my spine arched, breasts lifting under his dark gaze. His other hand still grips my hip, controlling my movements as I try to press closer.
“Again.”
“Please, sir, may I come?” I gasp, voice cracking.
“Come,” he commands, eyes locked on mine as his fingers press harder, circling my clit through the lace. The intensity shatters me, and I cry out, my body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash through me, leaving me breathless and aching for more.
He steps back, his gaze unyielding. “On your knees,” he orders, his voice nearly a growl. “Now.”
I scramble to obey and climb onto the bed, knees sinking into the mattress, my thong damp against my throbbing pussy.
“Payment for your lie,” he reminds me, his tone sharp with promise. “Ask for your punishment.”
My heart races, a mix of nerves and anticipation. “Please, sir, punish me,” I whisper, voice trembling, though I’m eager for what’s to come.
