Ican'tstop.
He's breathing for me at this point, as I don't think about what I'm doing, acting on instinct alone.
I fumble with the first button, but without tearing free, I can't see what I'm doing, so I grip the fabric of his shirt in either hand and wrench it apart with all the strength I can muster. It's more than I expected, sending buttons popping and fabric shredding as his shirt falls away from him. I'm rewarded by the warmth of his hot skin against mine, my nipples constricting beneath the spandex as we devour one another, until I press myself against him hard.
He doesn't try to overpower me or take back control, happy to surrender it to me as I grip his hair and tug, forcing him to arch his back, baring his throat to me. When I glance down, I don't know what I expect to see. But the look in his eye is desperate, so incredibly needy as his lips tremble.
I think he's working on a plea for mercy, but I won’t be granting it.
My core is warm against his skin. Can he feel how wet I am, how fucking erotic this is for me?
I've never liked being in control, but having him helpless beneath me, his eyes absolutely begging me to put him out of his misery, makes me feel slippery...powerful.
Isthisthe high men feel when they take from women just because they can?
Am I as bad as the rest of them for getting off on his powerlessness? Maybe.
But I can't be bothered to care about it.
A glance at him shows me his eyes are hooded, focused wholly on the pleasure he knows will come soon, so I yank his boxers and pants down hislegs, letting his cock free. It slaps against my stomach, making him moan, and I feel just a little bit of the wetness from his precum.
His eyes roll back when my hand closes around him. He's too girthy to be able to close my fingers all the way, so I squeeze tighter, trying to leave no part of him untouched. It earns me a buck of his hips, but it doesn't get me any closer to fully enveloping him.
“Fuck, little doll.” He moans, his ass falling against the bed when I remove the friction he wants, reveling in the way his frustration crawls across his beautiful face.
Since I can't envelop him with my hands, I decide I'll have to try it another way.
My breath has just rushed over his balls, my lips barely brushing the skin on his inner thigh before he whimpers. He fuckingwhimpers, and it's the most addictive sound I've ever heard. I press my mouth to the head of him, planting firm kisses on his cock as he strains to control himself, his chest heaving like he's just run a damn marathon.
When my tongue slides over his slit, he groans, his fingers twisting in the sheets as I revel in swirling my tongue over him. I take him into my mouth slowly, exploring the depth and how it makes him react. His hands come to my hips, fingers digging into the fabric that separates my skin from his.
I release him with apop.
His eyes fly open as I hurry off of him, and he tries to stop me before I can get too far. But I'm not trying to run from him.
I'm trapping him.
I don't know if he’s used the handcuffs in the nightstand for nefarious purposes or if they're simply a kinky thing he's enjoyed in the bedroom with someone else, but they serve me as I brandish them between us.
“No touching.” I scold, making it clear that I'm going to prevent him from being able to do any more of that... making it clear that he has no say over what happens right now.
He's awfully trusting for a serial killer.The thought flashes through my mind when I close the cuff over one wrist first, loop the chain beneath the headboard, and secure his other wrist in the cuff.
I could leave him here, bound to the headboard, while I go to the kitchen and grab the biggest knife he has. My brain has contemplated it a time or two… not because I want to do it. But if it comes down to him or me, could I fight him off? Do I have what it takes to stab him deep enough, drive it past bone and muscle enough times, or with enough accuracy? Do I have what it takes to kill a person?
But I'm not going for a weapon.
Iamthe weapon.
“You seem to like this costume.” I muse. “Is it better like this?” I slide the zipper all the way down the front, letting the dress part down the middle and leave me bare.
I drop it to the floor. “Or like that?”
“That.” Cal swallows. “Definitely that.”
I smirk, not surprised by the answer, and climb up him. His jaw flexes as he watches me settle over him, his cock erect between us, desperate for the release only I can give him.
I'm drunk on the power he's giving me, high on the eroticism in the air as I lift my hips, grip the base of his cock, and slide on top of him, slowly taking him inch by inch until at last I'm flush against the base of him. His chest heaves as he strains against the handcuffs as if he's forgotten they're there.
