Not in my world.
In my world, pleasure is punishment. And mercy is a myth.
Her thighs tremble, twitching against the restraint of my grip. I haven’t even truly touched her yet, and she’s already unravelling—already betraying every sharp word she’s ever spat at me with the raw, aching heat between her legs.
She’s glaring at me like she still has power. But her body’s telling the truth.
And I listen to the truth.
“You disobeyed me,” I whisper, my breath skating along her ear, teeth grazing the shell of it. “You touched yourself, and now look at you. Dripping for me like a whore. Is that what you are, Tinkerbell?”
Her breath catches—humiliation seeping into the flush on her cheeks—but her hips roll upward against nothing. Against air. Against denial.
I chuckle. Low. Cruel.
“I told you not to touch me. And now all you want is for me to touch you.” My fingers slip lower, ghosting over her clit but not enough to satisfy. “So I won’t. Not until you beg.”
Her lips part, but I cover her mouth with my hand before she can speak.
“Beg without words. Show me with your body. Let it betray you completely.”
I slide two fingers inside her—slow, relentless—and watch her eyes snap wide open. Her legs tense, her whole body convulsing like she’s not ready, like she’s too sensitive, like I’ve already found that edge.
She tries to twist her wrists free. I don’t let her.
I curl my fingers, hit that spot that makes her hips jerk—and then I stop. Pull out. Wipe her wet desire across her stomach like it’s warpaint.
She gasps. Shudders.
I lean close, licking the taste of her off my knuckles, slow and obscene. “You don’t get to cum yet, little thief.”
She looks destroyed. And I’ve never been harder in my life.
She looks like a ruined altar—hips arched in offering, wrists bound in silk, lips parted in silent rebellion. But her eyes… her eyes scream fire, even as her thighs betray her.
I don’t speak for a moment.
I watch.
I study the tremble in her stomach, the twitch of her fingers, the way her nipples pebble under the open chill of the room, untouched and aching for it.
Then I lean over her, slow, like a shadow swallowing light.
“Say it.”
She shakes her head. Just once. That sharp, stubborn flick of defiance she still thinks she owns.
So I tighten my grip around her jaw, thumb forcing her mouth open as I lower my voice to a whisper that drips venom.
“Say what you are. Say what you need.”
“I need…” she starts, and it sounds like a sob but it’s a snarl too. “I need you to let me go.”
I smile like the monster I am. A slow, patient thing. “Wrong answer.”
I slide my hand between her legs and slap her clit with an open palm. Just once. Hard. Sharp. She gasps like I’ve ripped a scream from her soul and the sound is better than music. She’s not quiet now.
“You cum when I say. You breathe when I allow it. And if you ever touch yourself without permission again, I’ll tie your hands behind your back for a week and make you watch.”
