“Come for me,” I growl, fucking my hand faster. “Now.”
Her second orgasm hits her like a freight train, her whole body going rigid before she begins to convulse, a string of creative profanity spilling from her lips that would make a sailor blush.
She’s fucking magnificent. Fucking mine.
“One more,” I insist, even as she’s still coming down from the second. “Play with those beautifully decorated nipples while you bounce on that toy. I want to see you come completely undone.”
“I can’t,” she gasps, even as her hands move to comply. “It’s too much.”
“You can,” I assure her, my voice brooking no argument. “And you will.”
Her fingers twist her nipples, pulling on the piercings as she resumes her movement on the dildo. The combination of pain and pleasure transforms her expression into something transcendent. Her mouth falls open, eyes glazed.
“That’s it,” I encourage, my own orgasm building at the base of my spine. “Let go for me, Raven.”
The use of her name—not Little Thief—seems to push her over the edge. Her third orgasm crashes through her with an intensity that has her crying out my name, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks as her body convulses uncontrollably.
Watching and hearing her coming triggers my own release. I come with a guttural groan, spurts of hot cum shooting over my hand and stomach in thick ropes, more than usual from the extended buildup.
Some land on the tablet screen, partially obscuring my view of her, which only makes the moment hotter somehow.
For several minutes, the only sounds are our labored breathing as we both come down from the high. She collapses forward onto the bed, the dildo slipping free as she curls onto her side. Despite her exhaustion, there’s a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I tell her, the words escaping before I can stop them.
Her eyes widen slightly at the unexpected compliment. “You’re not so bad yourself, psycho.”
I chuckle, reaching for tissues to clean the mess I’ve made. “Get some sleep, Raven. I’ll bring breakfast in the morning.”
“Is that a warning or a threat?” she mumbles, already sounding half-asleep.
“A promise,” I answer honestly, a smile tugging at my lips. “Sweet dreams, Little Thief.”
I end the call before she can respond, my gaze lingering on the tablet screen where she’s already drifting off, hair splayed across her pillow. Something tightens in my chest at the sight.
Tomorrow, breakfast. For now, I have other business to attend to. And I’m pissed as hell I had to turn down playing with Raven all night long for this.
I watch her sleeping form on the tablet for a moment longer before wiping it clean. The mess on my stomach is coolingrapidly, but I don’t mind. There’s something satisfying about the evidence of what we just shared.
Proof of what she does to me even through a screen.
I clean myself with careful precision, tissue after tissue until my skin is dry and spotless again. Time to switch gears. The night is still young, and I have an appointment with someone who’s been waiting far too long for my attention.
Rising, I move to my bathroom, discarding the soiled tissues in the toilet and flushing away the evidence. The marble countertop is cool beneath my palms as I lean forward, studying my reflection in the mirror.
The prosthetic eye stares back at me, a perfect match for my real one in color but lacking the life, the spark. For what I’m about to do, I prefer the eyepatch.
My fingers work with practiced efficiency, removing the prosthetic and placing it in its case. The socket beneath is a map of old pain, scarred tissue that never quite healed right. I clean it carefully before covering it with the patch.
After changing my clothes, I grab my beloved lighter. Once I’m sure I have everything, I get into the elevator that quickly takes me from my penthouse to the private garage beneath the building.
My car waits in its reserved spot, a sleek black thing that doesn’t draw attention but carries enough power under the hood to outrun trouble if necessary. Not that I ever run.
Cleveland blurs past the windows as I drive, the city lights reflecting off rain-slicked streets. This is the other side of who I am—the collector, the enforcer, the man whose name makes grown men weep.
The industrial district emerges from the darkness, a graveyard of forgotten buildings and broken dreams. My headlights cut through the night, illuminating the crumbling façades of warehouses long abandoned.
I navigate through streets that don’t appear on most maps, finally pulling up to a nondescript structure that looks like any other from the outside. The difference is what waits inside.
