Victor shook his head slowly. “Not until you agree to what it is that I require.”
“Anything,” she whispered, desperate for his tongue to continue.
“You will crawl to me with the beads nestled deep in your arse, and you will beg me to fuck you there. Promise me, and only then will I permit you completion.”
Her eyes widened at the demand. “I . . . I . . .”
“The correct response is, ‘yes, Daddy,’” he interrupted, his expression implacable. “You will come to me on your knees, and you will plead for me to claim your arse. Say it.”
She swallowed hard, arousal warring with trepidation. “Yes, Daddy.”
“Good girl,” he praised, the two simple words sending an unexpected flood of warmth through her. “Now turn over. Onto your hands and knees.”
Olivia obeyed, positioning herself as commanded, her backside raised vulnerably in the air. She felt the mattress dip as Victor rose, heard the rustle of clothing as he unfastened his breeches. Then his hands were on her hips, his hardness pressing against her entrance from behind.
“Since you have been so good for me and you tasted sweeter than honey, I just might allow you to come.”
With one powerful thrust, he entered her, filling her completely. Olivia gasped at the intensity of the penetration, her fingers clutching at the sheets as Victor established a demanding rhythm.
One of his hands slid beneath her, finding the sensitive bud at her core and massaging it while he continued to thrust into her from behind.
“Can you feel how deep I am?” he growled. “Tomorrow, I’m not holding back. I’ll fuck your arse just as I fill your sweet cunt.”
The combination of his words, his skilled fingers, and the relentless depth of his possession pushed Olivia to the edge. She began to clench around him involuntarily as pleasure built to an unbearable peak.
“Daddy, please—I’m going to?—”
“Do not,” he commanded sharply, removing his hand from between her legs. “You will be allowed to come when I say so and not a second before.”
Olivia whimpered, fighting against her body’s desperate need. “Please, Daddy, let me finish.”
His rhythm faltered for a moment, a groan escaping his lips, and then he pounded into her so hard and fast that her chest fell to the bed. It made the pleasure more torturous at the new angle.
“No,” he refused, his pace increasing as his own control frayed. “My good girl will learn that pleasure comes when I decide, not before.”
He gripped her hips with both hands now, driving into her with increasing urgency. “I’m going to fill you and you will not come. Do you understand me?”
His release came with a strangled groan, his fingers digging into her flesh hard enough to leave marks as he spilled himself deep inside her. Olivia remained on her chest and knees,trembling with denied pleasure, tears of frustration stinging her eyes.
She felt Victor withdraw, expecting him to collapse beside her. Instead, his hands spread her thighs wider, and before she knew what was happening, she felt his fingers sliding into her opening, slick with his release.
“I love the feel of my seed inside your cunt,” he murmured, his voice dark with possession. “The way it marks you as mine.”
Olivia gasped as his fingers curled upward, finding a spot inside her that sent sparks of renewed pleasure through her body. Then, to her shock, she felt his mouth on her again. His tongue found her clit as he knelt behind her while his fingers continued their relentless exploration.
“Victor,” she sobbed, overwhelmed by the dual sensation.
He lifted his head just long enough to issue one final command. “Beg me. Address me properly and convince me you deserve release.”
“Please, Daddy,” she cried, past all pride now. “Please let me come. I’ll be your good girl. I’ll wear your beads tomorrow, crawl to you, submit in any way you demand. I need it, I need you. Fuck. Please!”
His tongue flicked against her once more. “Come for Daddy now,” he teased, his fingers moving inside of her as he worked his tongue again.
Olivia shattered, her release crashing over her with staggering intensity. She cried out “Daddy” over and over as her body convulsed around his invading fingers, wave after wave of pleasure washing through her until her body couldn’t stand it any longer and she collapsed onto the bed, utterly spent.
Afterward, her husband pulled her against him and massaged her back as they laid together in their bed. His care and tenderness were in contrast to the man who controlled her every movement, and the guilt returned. What would Victor do ifhe found out that she’d kept the letter from him? And how could she possibly meet Reynolds while her arse was being stretched?
The implications of Reynolds’ letter went beyond personal scandal or blackmail. The references to French patrons interested in Victor’s military connections suggested something far more sinister. Matters that could destroy not just reputations, but lives.
