"You can." His voice was firm, commanding. "Hold it because I told you to. Show me how much control you have of your body, Angelina. Take what I give you without breaking. Give in to me and let me show you what you’re capable of."
Tears pricked at my eyes from the effort of holding back. Every muscle in my body was taut, straining, fighting against the orgasm that wanted to crash through me. Instead of running from it, I embraced it and wore it like armor. I gave in to him, but that didn’t stop the begging.
"Please," I sobbed. "Please, sir, don’t stop. I need?—"
"Beautiful," he murmured, and I felt his lips curve into a smile against me. "Absolutely beautiful when you beg. But not yet."
His fingers withdrew, his mouth lifted away, and I made a sound that was half-sob, half-scream of frustration.
"Shh." He moved up my body, his mouth finding mine in a kiss that tasted like me. "You're doing so well. So fucking perfect for me."
"I was good," I whimpered against his lips. "I begged, I asked permission?—"
"You were very good." He kissed me again, deeper. "Which is why you're going to get a reward. Just not the one you think."
He reached down and removed his boxer briefs, and my eyes went wide. He was bigger than I'd expected, thick and hard and already leaking at the tip.
"See what you do to me?" He wrapped one hand around himself, stroking slowly.
"Please," I whispered. "Please fuck me, sir."
"Oh, I'm going to." He reached over to the nightstand and pulled out a condom and rolled it on with practiced ease. "But on my terms. At my pace. You’re going to meet my needs the way I want. I’m going to use you until I’m satisfied."
He positioned himself at my entrance, the head of his dick pressing against me but not entering.
"Beg me for it," he commanded. "Tell me what you want."
"I want you inside me, sir. Please. I want you to fuck me. Use me. I'm yours! Please?—"
He slammed into me in one brutal thrust.
I screamed, the sudden fullness overwhelming, the stretch bordering on too much but not quite. He filled me completely, and I could feel every inch of him.
"Fuck," he groaned, his forehead dropping to mine. "So perfect. Like you were made for this."
"Yes, sir," I gasped. "Please move, please?—"
"Not yet." He stayed buried deep, not moving, just letting me feel him. "I want you to remember this. Remember how it feels to be stretched around me. Helpless. Unable to do anything except take what I give you."
"I'll remember," I promised. "Please, sir?—"
He pulled out slowly, almost all the way, then slammed back in.
The rhythm he set was brutally hard, deep thrusts that had the bed frame hitting the wall with each movement. His handsgripped my hips tight enough to bruise, holding me in place while he fucked me exactly how he wanted. And I took it. Took every thrust, every possessive grip, every filthy word he growled against my ear about how tight I was, how good I felt, how he was going to ruin me for anyone else. It all felt wonderful, made me tremble.
"Touch yourself," he commanded suddenly. "Your clit. I want to watch you."
"I can't—" I pulled against the wrist restraints. "I'm tied up?—"
"Fuck." He reached up and released my right wrist with quick, efficient movements. "Now you can. Touch yourself. Show me."
My freed hand flew between my legs, fingers finding my clit, and circling frantically.
"Slower," he ordered, his hips never stopping their relentless rhythm. "Match my pace. When I thrust in, you press down. When I pull out, you ease up."
I obeyed, and the coordinated rhythm was devastatingly perfect. Every thrust drove him deep while my fingers provided exactly the right pressure on my clit.
"Better," he approved. "Look at you, baby… Are you close again?"
