His mouth.
The vibrator.
The climb.
The sudden withdrawal.
I begged without words.
But he still didn’t give me what I needed.
Or maybe he did.
He pushed me to the edge, then pulled me back.
Again.
And again.
And again.
When he’d deprived me of an orgasm for probably the fifth or sixth time, I was practically sobbing.Still, I wanted more.Neededmore.
The bed dipped, and I held my breath, bracing for another round of exquisite torture.
Instead of wax dripping on my clit, I felt something else rub against me.Something warm.
Then he slammed into me, and the world detonated around me.
Every thrust was amplified.
Every slap of skin on skin.
Every pulse.
Every breath he ripped from me with the force of his body claiming mine.
I couldn’t see him.
Couldn’t hear him.
Couldn’t touch him.
But I felt him everywhere.
Pleasure tore through me in a violent wave I couldn’t stop, couldn’t soften, couldn’t hide.My body arched so sharply the restraints pulled tight, my cry echoing in my ears as an orgasm spiraled through me, relief mixing with need.
But Henry didn’t slow down.Didn’t drag out my pleasure.
He drove into me again.And again.And again.Pushing me past the edge, past reason, past everything I thought I understood about my own limits.
I climbed again.
Faster.
Higher.
Right as I reached the breaking point, he ripped the headphones and blindfold off me.
