“Please, Hook—please let me—let me cum?—”
“You’ll thank me first,” I snarl, slapping her clit just hard enough to make her wail, “You’ll thank me for ruining you. For making you feel like this. Say it, or I’ll edge you until the sun comes up.”
She thrashes weakly, hips grinding against my hand, face red and broken and soaking wet with tears and arousal, but she wants it desperately.
God, she fucking wants it and I can feel it in every clench of her muscles.
The hunger. The humiliation. The way her cunt clenches around my fingers like she was born to be fingerfucked into submission and I won’t give her a goddamn drop of relief until her soul bows for me.
“Say it,” I breathe hotly against her ear, voice dark and low and poisonous, “Tell me you’re mine. Tell me your cunt’s mine. Tell me you’d crawl through hell for one more second of my fingers inside you.”
She whimpers—raw, pathetic, beautiful in its honesty—and I grip her chin, forcing her eyes open.
“I want to see it when you give in,” I snarl. “I want to see the moment the fight dies in those pretty little eyes and gets replaced with obedience.”
“I—I’m yours,” she sobs. “Fuck—Hook—I’m yours—I’m—please?—”
“Keep going,” I order.
“My pussy’s yours—fuck—I’m yours—thank you—please let me—please let me cum?—”
I push deeper, press hard against that spot inside.
Then stop movement entirely.
Right at the edge of her release.
Her entire body locks rigid.
She screams without sound.
“Not yet,” I whisper. “You beg like a slut, you cum like one.”
I fuck her with my fingers, brutally—driving them deep, curling and grinding and dragging her over the edge in sharp, wet, punishing strokes until her body jerks and her thighs clamp around my wrist She sobs against my palm, nails gouging at whatever skin she can reach, and the way her cunt grips at my hand as she shakes out every hidden atom of pleasure is enough to make my cock throb painfully against my zipper.
"Fuck," I growl, and my voice is gutted, raw, the sound of a man very close to combusting.
Her pupils are blown. The tears on her cheeks shine in the dashboard light, and her jaw trembles as I keep working slow, relentless circles with my thumb, so she can't come back down, can't catch her goddamn breath.
"Please—" she hiccups, and fuck if that doesn't make me harder.
"Please what," I rasp, not a question, just a dare, and I slip a third finger in, stretch her to the edge of pain, and she keens, arches so hard her head bumps the glass.
She doesn't finish her sentence: her whole body convulses and she soaks my hand, a hot, shamefully pretty sound torn out of her. She cums so hard her legs tremble, knees kicking stickers off the glove box, her hands fisting so tight her knuckles flash bone-white in the dark.
I watch her shatter. I watch her come apart for me. The power of it makes my blood sing, a roar in my ears. The car fills with her scent, sweet and sharp and all for me.
She cums hard enough to see stars.
Screaming my name.
Convulsing around my fingers.
A sobbing, writhing, soaking mess in my lap, tears running down her face, legs shaking uncontrollably, mouth gasping my name like it’s the only word she remembers.
I don’t stop.
I keep her there, keep her drowning in sensation, rubbing her clit through the aftershocks until she’s begging again—not for permission this time, but for it to stop.
