I stood above her, watching her breathe softly, her mouth open, a slow line of drool making its way to her silk pillowcases. Drooly girl, this one. Even without a gag in her mouth.
It made me wonder, not for the first time, what she would look like with my cock in her mouth, gagging and choking, sucking on it as if it were her lifeline.
But I wasn’t willing to go that far yet. Ripping her orgasmsfrom her was one thing, sticking my cock into her was another.
My heart was already thudding at the anticipation of taking this payment though. Of making her realize that she wasn’t safe from me, not even in her own bed.
I leaned forward and slammed my hand over her mouth.
Her eyes flashed open, absolute terror filling them as her hands wrapped around my wrist, her breathing labored.
“Hello, little writer,” I hummed, glancing to her heaving tits and back, my cock already aching.
She blinked a few times, the fear slowly shifting to absolute rage.
Perfect for me, I needed the fight.
“Shh,” I instructed. “Wouldn’t want the poor police coming around here. I would hate to have their dead bodies on your conscious.”
She said something under my palm, causing me to roll my eyes and lift it from her mouth. “Say again.”
She licked her lips, taking her time to adjust herself, her pajama top, before finally repeating herself. “Fuck you.”
My expression dried. “You can get on your hands and knees willingly or I can force you to do it.” I stepped back, watching her carefully, her eyes fixated on mine, shining and bright, filled with life and challenge.
She folded her arms across her chest and lifted a brow. “Why would I everwillinglylet you do anything to me?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “You already know the answer to that.”
Her expression shifted into death. “No, I don’t, why don’t you write it out for me.”
The already burning anger in me grew. I whipped my hand out, wrapped it around her jaw, and watched her wince when my fingers pulled on the wounds on the side of her face. New scars marring her perfect skin. They fit her far too well. “It’s not thenight to play games with me.”
“Says the guy obsessed with chess,” she bit.
I snarled and ripped my hand away only to grab her arm and flip her onto her stomach.
I crawled onto the bed as she began struggling and fighting. It didn’t matter how much she fought; we both knew the truth of how she felt about this. We both knew exactly how much she craved it.
She grunted and struggled, blankets and pillows going everywhere as I forced her ass up, tore off her pink silk pajama bottoms, spread her knees, and finally grabbed for her wrists.
She continued to fight and struggle, but as soon as she saw the ribbon in my hand, I felt the fight ease. Either she knew she had lost, or she was tired of fighting what she craved.
Whatever the case, I had won. I always win.
I tied each of her wrists to the design in her headboard, forcing her to grab the top of it, her hair now coming out of her already unruly bun.
I sat back on my knees, admiring the view of her curved spine and little round ass pushed out just for me.
She glanced back, rage burning in her eyes. “Finally have the balls to actually fuck me?” she taunted.
Is that what she wanted? A taste of my cock? There was a deep, needful part of me that wanted to give her exactly what she wanted, but another part of me, the angry, pissed off part, that still hated Beckett for what he said. She didn’t get a say in how she paid her debt. Not even if it aligned with my own lustful need.
I straightened up behind her, my cock as hard as a rock in my pants, my hands shaking in anger. “I fuck you every time I see you,” I reminded, finding her eyes. “Or have you already forgotten what that collar means?”
She scoffed, turning away from me, pulling on the restraintsaround her wrists, only for the ribbon to tighten. “It’s hard to forget the man who brutally dismembered my ex right in front of me.”
“Having nightmares about me?” I hummed, taking in her ass, her exposed cunt.
