It’shim.
Relief unfurls through me like smoke, and the fight drains from my muscles. The panic melts, replaced by something molten and familiar.
“My, my,” he murmurs, voice soft enough to rake across my skin like velvet. “What a beautiful sight.”
His hand presses flat against my stomach, warm and steady, before sliding upward in an unhurried path between my breasts. The touch sparks something inside me—butterflies erupting in my stomach and fluttering up into my ribs.
His hand shifts, gliding to the side. His palm cups my breast before his thumb rubs across my hardened nipple. A sting of sweet pain blooms outward, tightening low in my belly, and my body arches despite the ropes.
I ache for more.
“Are you scared, little shadow?” His voice rumbles deep, a low tenor vibrating straight through my chest.
I can’t see clearly, but I know—he’s staring into my eyes, the question threading beneath the surface like a hidden current. It’s not about the terror anyone else could provoke or the fear I would feel if it were someone unknown.
This is different. This is fear only he can conjure. A fear laced with twisted need, morphing into something I cannot name—pleasure that curls inside me and claws at my control. The kind of fear I want him to draw from me until there is nothing left.
Because it makes me feel more alive than anything else ever could.
I’m fully awake now, every sense is sharpened to a knife’s edge. Nodding, I push against the ropes again, my limbs writhing, my pussy growing wetter with every futile struggle. Each movement sends sparks shooting through my body, eyes rolling back, muscles aching and screaming for more.
A low chuckle emanates from his chest. “Scared, cornered little thing,” he murmurs, voice rich and hungry. “Too bad foryou, I plan to draw every last drop of that fear, every ounce of hopelessness, right out of you.”
Calloused fingers seize the hem of my dress, roughly tugging it upward. The fabric slips away, revealing naked skin beneath. One hand slides to my belly, circling slow, deliberate patterns, waking goosebumps in their wake. Moans bubble from me, breaking free, stifled only by the tape sealing my mouth.
He inhales sharply, his own desire filling the space between us. Before I can catch myself, his wet mouth clamps over my nipple. My fists clench instinctively as he sucks, rough and possessive, while his tongue rolls and teases the hardened bud, every flick driving me higher.
A pulse of heat spreads low in my belly, growing faster than I can process, tears pricking my eyes from the sheer intensity of it.
“You’re so fucking magnificent,” he mutters against my skin. “I could play with you all day like this.”
His teeth sink into me, and I gasp, nearly choking, body thrashing against him, but he only tightens his hold. My senses shatter, the world splintering into spots and flashes, reduced entirely to him, to this, to the relentless torment and pleasure.
Sweat beads at my hairline, some trails slicking down my temples. My body burns hotter, more flushed, every nerve strung tight as he refuses to relent—his tongue circling, kneading, spreading a cruel, delicious heat against the rawness of my skin, like fire licking ice.
Dante pulls back with a loud, wet pop, the sudden absence of his mouth giving me a moment to drag in air. My chest heaves, but the relief barely forms before he lowers his head again—this time to the other nipple.
My muffled pleas scrape against the tape, words dissolving into nothing as he repeats the same cruel rhythm. Sharp, electric pain detonates, skittering through my nerves before plunginglow, pooling heavy and dark in my stomach, only to melt into a wave of sweet, devastating pleasure.
By the time he pulls away, I’m gasping, nostrils flaring, every breath shaky. My entire body trembles beneath him.
“Oh, poor thing,” he whispers, almost tender. His palm cups the side of my face, thumb tracing my flushed skin as if studying the ruin he’s made of me. “Do you want it off?”
I nod, and his fingers catch the edge of the tape before he peels it away. My mouth opens wide the moment it’s freed, a desperate gulp for fresh air.
Eyes closed, chest rising, I don’t realize he’s leaned in until the warm slickness of his spit lands on my tongue. Instinct makes my mouth close around it, swallowing, dazed and disoriented from his teeth still lingering on my skin. Then more spit hits my mouth, and instinctively I open up and swallow that too—the need pulling at me like a fist closing around my core: hot, frantic, sick with want.
I lean forward, mouth open again, asking without words. He denies me instantly, pressing the tape right back over my lips while a cruel laugh drips from him.
Asshole.
“You’re so desperate, and I haven’t even done what I came here for.”
My eyes widen as he pulls back, shifting, rummaging for something. I try to turn my head, to see what he’s doing, but the dark keeps him hidden, every movement of his body a shadow brushing at the edges of my senses.
Of course that’s what he wants—this helplessness, this frantic anticipation. Leaving me with only ashes on my tongue, stoking my hunger while giving me nothing real.
It’s baffling to realize he still hasn’t been inside me—not really. Only his mouth and his fingers, and I can only imagine what it will feel like when he finally decides to do it.
