"Yes."
His fingers circle and press and tease until I'm trembling on the edge of release.
He knows exactly what I need.
I'm gasping.
Watching myself in the mirror fall apart under his hands.
So close. So desperately close.
"Ask," he commands.
"Please—please can I come?"
"You can do better than that. Beg properly."
"Please, Vaughn, please let me come. I need it. I need it so much. Please?—"
"Keep going. Tell me why I should let you."
"Because I—because I did what you asked. Followed your commands. Used the words. Please, I've been good, haven't I? I've been so good. Please let me come, please, I'm begging you?—"
"Why should I let you?"
"Because I need it. Because I can't—I can't think about anything else. Because it hurts to be this close and not—please, Vaughn, please, I'm begging you, please let me come?—"
"Do you belong to me?"
"Yes! Yes, I belong to you."
"Say it clearly. Tell me who owns you."
"You own me. Vaughn Sutherland owns me. I'm yours. Please, I'm yours,pleaselet me come?—"
"Good girl. Come for me. Now."
The permission is all I need.
My body obeys immediately, like it's been trained to do.
The orgasm crashes through me with devastating intensity, making my knees buckle.
Only Vaughn's arm around my waist keeps me upright as pleasure tears through every nerve.
I watch myself in the mirror coming apart.
See my face contorted in ecstasy.
See my body shaking.
See proof of my complete surrender.
See the woman I've become.
When it finally subsides, when I can breathe again, I realize what I just did.
I begged. Pleaded. Said I belonged to him. Admitted he owns me.
