She was flushed, doing her best to breathe through her nose.
I took her in, committing the sight of her to memory, knowing I’d never be able to forget this. She wasn’t the first I’d had here, but this was different. The more I knew, the more I tasted, the more I wanted.
Circling the chair, I swatted her thigh, then immediately soothed the same spot with my palm. I kept her guessing. Some strikes, others gentle. When my hand brushed her ribcage, she twitched, a soft, startled sound slipped free, that she hadn’t meant to allow.
She was ticklish. That surprised us both and something I’d make sure I remember for later.
I set the crop aside and stepped between her thighs, my hands sliding up the insides of her legs, following the slow line of muscle to the tops of her stockings. When I reached her center, I snapped her garter belt once, deliberately, watching the red bloom against her skin. I lingered there, letting the sting settle.
I stayed there, close enough for her to feel the heat of me without giving her what she wanted. My hands slid back down her thighs instead of higher, thumbs pressing lightly where she needed them most, then retreating.
She shifted, testing, chasing a sensation. I rewarded the effort with another slow pass, never lingering long enough to give her any satisfaction. A touch here, a pause there. Pressure, followed by none.
“Patience,” I murmured, more for myself than for her.
I let my fingers trace the inside of her leg, then pulled away entirely, leaving her with nothing but the ache, her breath uneven, body begging while the restraints held her exactly where I wanted her.
I wanted her right there. Wanting. Waiting. Balanced on the edge of a cliff I had no intention of letting her fall from, at least not yet.
She went rigid when I tugged her panties free, the fabric giving way in my hands. The evidence of her surrender clung to her, and I smiled at just how deeply she’d given herself over to the loss of control.
I tucked the torn scrap into my pocket, a keepsake, then squeezed her thigh once, grounding her. My other hand followed, drifting deliberately to her folds.
Her moan slipped out before she could stop it.
My index and middle finger ran up one side and down the other, circling her clit as she tried to move closer but the restraints did their job and held her in place. She was trying so hard to be good, to be silent.
She was so wet that my fingers met with no resistance when I thrust my fingers into her slick core, my attention fixed on her face.
I watched every breath, every tremor ripple through her as I pushed her closer, then eased back again. She bit down on the gag, muffling the sound she was trying to contain, and the sight of it was satisfying in a way I hadn’t expected.
There was a rare power in watching someone surrender so completely.
She knew she couldn’t come without my permission. I knew her well enough to take her right to the edge and keep her there.
She was close. I knew that, but instead of doing what she wanted, I stopped and withdrew my hand completely. Her body sagged as she sobbed. As soon as her body settled, I thrust three fingers back in, watching as her head fell back and she started to climb again.
My cock pushed against my zipper, pleading to bury myself inside her, but it would wait. My hand gripped her thigh while the other one thrust into her at a brutal pace again before I eased up.
I was pinned between want and restraint. Never in my life had I ever wanted anyone so bad and it was threatening my control.
Pulling out of her again, my hands clutched her thighs and I watched her muscles relax again, her body glistening with beadsof sweat. Her breath began to slow until the edge dulled just enough to hurt.
“Please,” she sobbed, around the ball gag.
In the office, she met me head-on. She didn’t flinch when I raised my voice. She didn’t shrink when I pushed. She argued back, sharp and unafraid, eyes bright with challenge. She made me work for every inch of ground.
Here, she was stripped bare in a different way. No armor. No arguments. Just trust laid open in her hands.
My grip tightened on her thighs, not to punish her, though I knew there would be bruises tomorrow, but to steady myself.
I lowered my head, closing my eyes, forcing my breathing to slow. Grounding myself in the reality of her. The woman who challenged me in daylight and yielded to me in the dark, hidden behind a mask.
But I didn’t truly have either of them. Not with the noncommittal clause in our contract hanging between us like a quiet warning.
She whimpered.
The sound cut deeper than her plea ever could.
