Only between us.
He groaned against my flesh, and I felt the vibration in my clit, in my core, in the base of my spine. "You taste like heaven, Beloved. Like the drug I've been craving my entire life."
Drug. Yes. That's what this is. I’m already hooked.
His tongue swirled around my clit, and the pleasure hit my system like heroin entering a vein—warm, spreading, obliterating thought. I could feel it flooding through me, thick and golden, drowning the last bits of my resistance in pure sensation.
My thighs trembled. My wrists pulled against the cuffs. My hips rolled toward his face, chasing his mouth, needing more, more,more. . .
He sealed his lips around my clit and sucked.
I screamed. “Oh!!”
The sound died in the white nothing of the space. The padded walls absorbed my cries like they'd been designed—to contain the sounds of someone losing their mind, to muffle the evidence of total dissolution.
His tongue flicked against my trapped clit in rapid, relentless strokes, and the pleasure was so intense it felt like mind-numbing pain.
Like my nervous system was overloading.
Like my brain was being rewired with each lick, each suck, each groan he made against my soaked flesh.
This is what addicts mean, I thought deliriously.When they talk about that first high. When they say nothing else ever compared.
He released my clit and licked lower, his tongue tracing my folds, dipping between them, gathering my slick like it was nectar he couldn't get enough of.
“Ohhh!” I felt him everywhere—the wet heat of his mouth, the scratch of stubble against my inner thighs, the firm grip of his fingers holding me open for his exploration.
"Rook!" His name came out broken, shattered. "Please!"
He didn't answer with words.
He answered by thrusting his tongue inside me.
I keened, my spine arching, my arms wrenching against the restraints hard enough to bruise. The sensation was obscene—his tongue pushing into my entrance, stroking my inner walls, fucking me with slow, filthy thrusts while his nose pressed against my clit.
He killed so many people. He laughed while he did it. He sent playing cards soaked in their blood to their families. And his tongue is inside me, and I never want him to stop.
The contradiction should have broken me.
Instead, it just made me wetter.
Hotter.
He pulled his tongue out and replaced it with two thick fingers, sliding into me with a wet, obscene sound that the silent room amplified into pornography.
The stretch was perfect.
Filling.
Claiming.
But not enough.
My body craved more.
Cravedhim.
Craved his cock.
