"Yes."
He does it again, harder. The pain blooms into pleasure, spreading through my chest. "More?"
"More."
He works both nipples now, pinching and rolling until they're swollen and sensitive. Every touch makes me squirm against the restraints, makes me wetter, makes me needier.When he finally lowers his mouth to one peaked bud and sucks, I cry out.
"Quiet," he says against my skin. "You don't make a sound unless I tell you to."
I bite my lip, swallowing the moan that wants to escape. He rewards my obedience by trailing his mouth lower, kissing down my ribs, my stomach, the jut of my hip bone. His breath is hot against my inner thigh, so close to where I need him.
"Open your legs."
I spread them, shameless, desperate.
He settles between my thighs but doesn't touch me where I'm aching. Instead, he presses kisses to the crease of my thigh, the sensitive skin just beside my folds, everywhere but where I need him most.
"Will." His name slips out before I can stop it.
"Did I say you could speak?"
I shake my head.
"That's the second time you've broken the rules tonight." His voice is calm but firm. "I don't punish during a first scene—we're still learning each other. But you should know that willful disobedience has consequences. Down the road, if you break a rule, there will be discipline. Understood?"
I swallow hard, a shiver running through me that has nothing to do with fear. "Understood."
"Good. Now be quiet. And be patient. You get what I give you, when I give it to you."
The waiting is its own kind of torture. I'm dripping, clenching around nothing, my hips trying to tilt toward his mouth without conscious permission. He notices and presses one hand flat against my lower belly, pinning me in place.
"I said stay still."
I whimper but obey.
"Color?"
"Green," I breathe. "So green."
He rewards me then, finally, his tongue sliding through my folds in one long, slow stroke. The sensation is so intense after all the buildup that I nearly scream. I catch it at the last second, turning it into a strangled gasp.
"Good," he murmurs against me. "Very good."
He licks me slowly, learning my responses. When his tongue circles my clit, I jerk against the restraints. When he slides two fingers inside me and crooks them just right, my back arches off the bed.
"You can make noise now," he says. "I want to hear you."
The moan that escapes me is raw and desperate. He works me with his mouth and fingers, building me toward a peak I can feel approaching like a wave. Higher and higher, muscles tensing, breath coming in sharp gasps.
And then he stops.
"No," I gasp. "Please, don't stop?—"
"You come when I say you can." He pulls back, his chin slick with my arousal, his eyes dark. "Not before."
I want to scream with frustration. Instead, I nod, chest heaving, body trembling.
He gives me a minute to come down. Then he starts again. His mouth on my clit, his fingers inside me, building me right back to that peak. And again, just before I crest, he pulls away.
