"Fuck," he groans against my breast. "You're soaked."
I am. God help me, I am. His fingers trace the curves of my body, teasing.
"You're so wet for me," he murmurs. "Your body knows who it belongs to, even if your mind tried to resist."
When he slides two fingers inside me, I have to bite his shoulder to keep from screaming.
"Jesus, you're tight," he groans. "I want to be inside you so badly."
"Then—" I can barely form words. "Then do it."
"You’re such an eager one", he says darkly. "But tonight is not about me."
He brings me to the edge again and again, his fingers and mouth working in perfect coordination. Every time I'm close—so close—he pulls away, leaving me gasping and desperate.
"Nathan, please," I sob. "I need—"
"I know what you need." His voice is dark with satisfaction. "But you don't get it yet. Not until you've learned your lesson."
Time loses meaning in the darkness. It could be minutes or hours that he tortures me with pleasure, bringing me to the brink over and over without letting me fall. I'm crying now, begging, completely broken down to nothing but need.
"Tell me who you belong to," he demands, his fingers circling my clit with maddening lightness.
"You," I gasp. "I belong to you."
"Say my name."
"Nathan. I belong to you, Nathan. Please, please let me come."
He finally—finally—slides two fingers inside me, his thumb pressing firmly against my clit. "Then come for me, Eve. Come for your master."
The orgasm crashes over me like a wave, so intense after the prolonged denial that I scream. He works me through it, wringing every last tremor from my body until I'm limp and gasping.
When he finally removes the blindfold, his face is above mine, his eyes burning with possession and something that might be tenderness.
"Mine," he whispers, and kisses me softly. "Now and always, Eve. Mine."
Chapter 14 - Nathan
I should be reviewing financial reports, confirming that Fred Greyhound's acquisition proceeds exactly as planned. Instead, I'm sitting behind my monitors, watching her sleep.
Eve is curled on her side in my bed, the silk sheets pooled around her waist, her breasts bare for me to feast on. I didn’t allow her to put on a nightgown. I want her to know that I own her body now.
The camera angle shows the gentle curve of her hip, the fall of red hair across the pillow, the slight flutter of her eyelashes in dreams. Her wrists still bear faint marks from the restraints—not bruises, just the ghost of pressure that will fade by morning.
Mine. The word pulses through me with each breath she takes.
Years of watching through screens, and now she's finally where she belongs. In my bed. In my home. Under my protection and control. The storm that's raged in my chest since Alex's funeral has found a strange, fierce calm.
I lean back in my chair, allowing myself this moment of pure satisfaction. Every move I've made, every piece I've positioned, every threat I've eliminated—it was all for this. To bring her home to me.
She shifts in her sleep, and I watch the movement with an attention that borders on reverence. The way her hand curls beneath her cheek. The soft parting of her lips. The rise and fall of her breathing, steady and deep.
She's exhausted. I pushed her tonight, tested her limits, showed her what it means to surrender completely. And shegave herself to me—not easily, not without that beautiful defiance I adore—but completely.
A fierce, protective tenderness swells in my chest. She is mine to protect now. Mine to command. Mine to break when she needs breaking, and mine to heal when the breaking is done.
I promised Alex I would take care of his sister. Now, finally, I can keep that promise properly.
