“Thank you!” she cries, voice raw and scraped.
And I still don’t move.
She’s not ready yet because I want her to break completely.
She says thank you like it costs her something.
Like it wounds her.
Perfect.
Her legs are trembling now—spread wide, held open by the ache between them and the weight of my stare. I haven’t eventouched her properly, not really. Just enough to remind her who she belongs to. Just enough to make her drip for it.
“You begged,” I murmur, voice a scalpel. “But I’m not convinced you meant it.”
I rise, watching her eyes snap open, wide and frantic. My fingers ghost up her inner thigh again—close enough to feel the heat pouring off her skin, but not close enough to satisfy. I trace a slow, maddening path, every movement calibrated to make her burn.
She bucks her hips. I pin her down again.
“Still so fucking impatient,” I whisper. “Still trying to take what hasn’t been earned.”
My palm presses down over her lower stomach, holding her in place whilst my other hand moves lower. She thinks this is it—thinks I’m finally going to give her what she’s been writhing for.
Instead, I drag two fingers through her slick folds, slow as sin, then pull away completely.
She lets out a sound that could break a priest. A choked, shattered sob that curls in the air between us like incense.
“Not yet,” I growl, bringing my fingers to my lips. “You taste like a fucking sin, little bell.”
I suck them clean.
Her chest heaves. Her fists clutch the sheets. She’s seconds from falling apart, and I haven’t even started yet.
“You want to cum?” I ask.
She nods violently.
“You want to fall apart for me?”
Another nod. Desperate. Ferocious.
“Then tell me,” I demand. “Tell me who you belong to.”
“Tell me,” I repeat, low and venomous, “who you belong to.”
She doesn’t answer.
Her eyes shine—furious, embarrassed, needy. Her lip quivers like she’s trying to hold back a sob or a scream. Or both. She’s never looked more beautiful than in this moment.
I lean in, mouth brushing the shell of her ear, voice nothing more than breath and threat.
“You think if you stay silent, I’ll let you cum anyway?”
My hand slips between her thighs again, stroking her with the kind of precision that makes angels weep. She gasps—hips arching, legs trembling, throat working around a curse.
“You think I’ll be merciful just because you’re shaking?” I whisper. “Because your cunt is so wet it’s soaking my sheets?”
Still, she doesn’t speak.
