He pushes me back down with one hand against my abdomen, his hazel eyes glittering with something that takes my breath away.
"You know what this is for?" he asks, holding up the dry-erase marker, one brow arched.
I shake my head, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. It isn't fear, though. It's something else, something wicked and dirty and excited.
He keeps his gaze locked with mine as he runs the bottom of the marker up the inside of my thigh.
"Don't you dare," I rasp when he pops the cap off, pressing the tip to my thigh, but I might as well not have spoken at all. He ignores me like I didn't, the marker gliding across my skin as he scrawls his ownership across me, stamping me with the same degrading names that make my blood steam.
"PRETTY SLUT" on my left thigh, "MY TOY" on the right. "COCKWHORE" on my stomach. The bastard even scrawls his name across my bare mound like he's signing a contract.
"Too bad it's not permanent," he mutters, recapping the marker.
I just glare at him in response, trying desperately to pretend the words written across my skin don't mean a damn thing to me. That they don't mark me as his in ways far more permanent than the ink. Except…they do. I think we both know it.
Once he's finished writing his filth, he uses the marker to toy with me again, barely brushing my inner thighs with it, grazing the lips of my sex, never quite touching where I need him to.
"You like this," he says, half surprised, half triumphant.
"Fuck you," I whisper, refusing to admit that I love it.
He leans in, sinking his teeth into my inner thigh in a punishing bite, right beside where he wrotepretty slut. "If you want to come, you'll ask nicely."
I shake my head, but my body is already betraying me, my hips lifting toward him again.
He laughs, that same wicked, dangerous sound that always thrums against my clit. "Still such a fucking brat," he says, "even when you're tied up and begging for it."
He pushes the marker inside me, slow and unhurried, and I nearly arch off the chair. His name cracks on my lips, but that only makes him smile.
"I could fuck you with anything right now, and you wouldn't tell me no, would you, you filthy little slut?" He pumps the marker in and out, never going deep enough to finish the job. And damn him, I love it. I love that he uses me like this. I love that he knows me so fucking well. I love that he's the only one who could possibly make me desperate enough to want a fucking marker inside me, binder clips on my nipples, and filth scrawled across my skin.
He watches my face the whole time he fucks me with the marker, drinking in every quiver, every gasp.
"You're going to come when I decide you can," he murmurs. "Not a second before."
I clench my teeth, determined to hold out, but he's too good. He knows my body better than I do, and every touch is calculated to drive me insane.
He brings me to the edge and then stops, again and again, until I'm a shaking, breathless mess.
"Please," I whisper, broken.
His grin is cruel and gorgeous at once. "Not yet."
He stands, towering over me, and leans in until his lips are at my temple. "You look beautiful like this," he says, so quietly it almost doesn't register.
For a split second, his mask slips, and I see something vulnerable flicker in his eyes. But then it's gone, replaced by the monster I know so well.
He drops to his knees between my splayed legs, burying his face in my pussy. His tongue lashes over my clit before he works the marker into my ass, slowly at first and then deeper, harder, faster, until I'm biting my lip to keep from screaming so loud the whole goddamn office hears me.
Just when I'm about to go over, he pulls away, leaving me empty and aching.
He unties my wrists, his hands gentle. "Finish it," he says, like it's a mercy. "Use the marker to fuck your ass while I watch."
I do, one hand shaking around the marker as I fuck myself with it, every move desperate and wild. My other hand is between my legs, desperately trying to finish the job he started. He watches, his eyes locked on the sight of the marker in my ass and my fingers between my legs.
"Come now," he orders.
My body responds to his command on instinct.
