It sounds unbearably erotic, and he drops another doting kiss on my exposed neck.
My cheeks flush with shame, and my clit pulses in response.
In this moment, I hate myself. I hatehim.
His paint slicked hand wedges beneath me, sliding under the neckline of my dress to cup my breast. The pressure is uncomfortable, but the bite of pain makes my nipple throb where it’s crushed against his palm. He squeezes gently, and Igasp into the canvas. I’m writhing, and I tell myself it’s because I’m still trying to escape.
But my struggles only fuel my lust, just like in all of the terrible, forbidden fantasies I so foolishly shared with him.
“Dane…” His name is a whimper, a plea.
“Better,” he praises. “But I want you to scream for me.”
His other, unpainted hand finally releases my hair, but his bulky frame is heavy enough to keep me pinned. He traces the shape of my body with something like reverence, coveting every inch of me. When his fingertips skim my thigh, I tense.
“You’re safe with me, little dove,” he soothes. “Submit.”
I choke on a sob, and pleasure sizzles through me when he pinches my nipple. He tugs and torments it in the exact way I like. He knows his clever ministrations will make me come undone.
My body uncoils for him even as my heart hammers against my ribcage.
His fingers skate up my thigh, easing my dress up to expose my ass. They dip between my legs, and he releases a low, satisfied hum at the slick arousal he finds there.
Mortification sears my cheeks when I realize that I’ve never been so wet.
He was right: he’s unleashed something dark inside me that craves this cruelty, the struggle and forced submission.
“So soft and ready for me,” he says with rough desire. “Is your sensitive little clit aching?”
“Don’t…” I choke on the plea before I can fully verbalize it.
He shushes me again. “Only my name, remember?”
His fingers brush my clit, and I buck beneath him as stars burst across my vision at the punch of pleasure.
“Don’t worry, pet. I’m not going to fuck you now. I won’t break you.”
The ragged sound that heaves from my chest is somewhere between a maddened laugh and a sob.
No, Dane doesn’t want to risk breaking his precious pet. He said he wants all of me, and that seems to mean that he wants my mind intact.
How can he not see that he’s destroying my soul with every tender touch and soft word of praise?
With every masterful brush of his hands over my most sensitive areas, I feel the caresses of the man I loved, the man I trusted with my whole heart. The fact that a monster is holding me instead is exquisite agony. My body welcomes the pain of his cruel fingers pinching my nipples, smearing paint over my breasts like I’m his most passionate work of art.
And my core is molten for him, my inner muscles contracting around nothing as he toys with my clit. I’m aching to be filled, but there’s nothing I dread more than the prospect of his cock inside me.
He promised not to fuck me, but that doesn’t mean this isn’t a violation.
It’s just like the night he attacked me as the masked man.
He hadn’t taken his own pleasure in my body on that night, either. But I understand now that his carnal satisfaction was far more sadistic than simple physical release. Forcing orgasms from my reluctant body seems to please him on a primal, perverted level that only a complete psychopath could understand.
I can feel his thick erection pressing into my upper thigh. He’s getting off on this: the control over me, my helplessness to stop my body from responding to him.
I’m on the cusp of the most powerful orgasm of my life. Pleasure coils low in my belly, and I thrash against the wet canvas. I fear that I’m no longer struggling to get away; I’m desperately seeking more stimulation. My clit is painfully hardas he teases around it in maddening circles. His low, arrogant laugh dances up my spine like a caress, and I shudder at the answering rush of pleasure that washes through me in a warm wave.
“Come for me, pet.”
