I can’t see him when he kneels on the bed behind me. I can’t see him as he squeezes something that makes a slurpy, thick sound, like sucking a slushy through a straw.
I catch just the faintest sliver of him in my peripheral vision as he pushes my kilt up to my waist, then my shoulder protests at the angle and I bury my face in the pillow. A cramp won’t help gain insight into what the hell he has planned.
My underwear is dragged down to my knees and Zane lifts my hips, an angle I can’t hold myself. My limbs are stretched too far to kneel. A situation he must figure out for himself as he adjusts my bonds, giving me a little more wriggle room.
“Steady,” he whispers as I try to twist around, needing to see his face. Then he’s lying beside me, cupping my head, sucking my lower lip into his mouth and grazing his teeth over the sensitive skin as he releases it. “You’ll have to follow my instructions, otherwise this will hurt more than it should.”
And then he does what I feared he would, what some deep, sick part of me hoped he would. His finger smears lube around my hole, circling it while my heat increases, while my ears fill with cotton wool, while I see each pulse flash in my eyes.
“No,” I whimper as his digit circles, circles, circles, then pushes inside, the slick lube easing its passage.
“I don’t answer to no,” Zane murmurs, then gives his soft, rumbling chuckle. The one he uses when he’s enjoying himself.The one that makes my insides simultaneously curl and shiver with pride. “And I don’t answer to stop. Or please. Or your sobbing tears of pain and fright.”
The smooth tones are a caress by a slippery slithering snake. Venomous but so entrancing a girl can’t help but listen.
“What do I answer to?” he whispers.
“Rose.”
“Good girl.” His finger circles again, then presses back inside me, further this time, far enough to feel the edge of pain in the stretch. “And are you saying that in answer or in earnest?”
My throat clicks as I swallow. The steady thrum of my pulse beats between my legs and I clench, trying to squeeze my thighs together, seeking that delicious friction, not getting close. “In answer.”
His eyes continue to scan my face, growing darker. I imagine him pushing ahead despite any words, any blinks, and my hips tilt, seeking more than he’s allowing.
The pressure moves deeper, and I react without thinking, without control. And he must feel my muscles tightening but he continues sinking into me, then slowly pulsing in and out, feeding off the winces and flinches, flirting with my pain.
My mouth opens wider, eyelids drooping. I tug at my right hand, my strongest hand, and there’s a short leash but there’s no give in the bond. No easy way to wrench my way free.
“You can take more for me, can’t you?”
Another finger presses into me before I can answer. Before I nod.
The sense of danger increases, our fledgling trust a thin string already stretched tight, but that has its own appeal. A part of my brain that’s wired to want the things I shouldn’t want, ignites. Overriding the joy of what I can give is the dark excitement of what he might just take.
“I can feel your pussy begging.” His rough whisper dances on the edge between teasing and scorn. “Crying out for attention, dripping down your thighs. Clench for me. Give me a little taste of how needy you are.”
My muscles tighten, not giving enough to satisfy any part of my craving as I grow wetter, exactly as he said.
A soft whimper encompasses my displeasure as the movement makes it feel like the intrusion’s expanding.
“First, I’m going to fuck your arse with my fingers, then I’m going to fuck it with a plug and if you can take that, I might relent and give you what you need.”
Another sound comes out of my throat, indescribable.
“And maybe watching your pleasure and your pain will be enough for me. Or maybe… maybe I’ll want to do more.” His fingers slowly withdraw, then slide deeper. “And I’ll replace the plug with my cock and see how much you can really take.”
My clit jumps, pulsing, demanding. If he would just move his thumb, just give it one tiny little nudge, it would be enough.
And I would beg but already know he won’t respond, not even if I twist and plead and grovel.
I clench again, trying to get there for myself and he feels it, his fingers picking up speed, stretching me with their careless haste, igniting a deep burn.
It’s now like he’s shoving something far bigger than fingers in there and my muscles tighten, increasing the burn into pain. He stills, then he reaches underneath my torso until his hand closes on my opposite shoulder, thumb stroking, soothing. “Relax. You need to relax.”
“I don’t think I can.”
“Then this will hurt far more than it needs to,” is his breezy response, not a care in the world. But also draws his fingers back a little, going down to one, teasing me again.
