“Not yet,” Kiernan told her.
The man in the room set the flogger aside and stepped behind the bound woman. He pressed himself againsther and reached around to cup her breasts. Even through the glass, I could see how her body melted into his.
“Surrender,” Kiernan said. “She’s giving him everything. Her pleasure, her pain, her trust.” He glanced at Ophelia. “You understand that, don’t you?”
“I do,” she said, barely above a whisper.
“Show me. Bear down on Oliver’s hand. Let him feel how much you want this.”
She did. Her inner muscles clenched, her thighs pressed together to trap my fingers on her clit, and I felt the desperate pulse of her arousal and the heat of her need.
“Good girl.” Kiernan’s voice was velvet and steel. “Oliver, one finger inside her. Slowly.”
I obeyed. She was so wet I slid in without resistance. Her whole body shuddered.
“Hold it there. Don’t move.”
The scene continued. The man freed the woman from her bonds, bent her over a padded bench, and entered her from behind. Ophelia whimpered against my shoulder.
“Another finger,” Kiernan said.
I added a second, and she clenched around me, her breathing ragged.
“Now, curl them forward. Find the spot that makes her shake.”
I pressed upward, and Ophelia’s knees nearly buckled. Only my arm around her waist kept her standing.
“There,” Kiernan said with satisfaction. “Keep pressure there. Thumb on her clit. Slow circles.”
I worked her as he directed, feeling her climb toward release. Her hips rocked against my hand, her moans muffled.
“She’s close,” Kiernan observed. “I can see it in the flush of her skin and the tension in her thighs.” He stepped closer, his mouth near her ear. “You want to come, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she gasped. “Please.”
“When the woman comes, you come. Not before.”
Ophelia whimpered but obeyed, her eyes fixed on the glass. On the other side, the man gripped the woman’s hips, and his pace increased. The woman’s mouth opened in what had to be a scream.
“Now,” Kiernan said.
I pressed hard against that spot inside her, ground my thumb on her clit, and Ophelia fell apart, coming with a strangled moan that she buried in my shoulder.
I held her through the aftershocks, feeling her pulse around my fingers.
“Beautiful,” Kiernan said. He lifted her chin with two fingers, studying her face. “Aftercare is important. The man in the scene is holding her now, wrapping her in a blanket. That tenderness matters as much as the pain that came before.”
Ophelia nodded, still trembling.
“Can you walk?”
“I think so.”
“Good. We have more to see.”
We drifted to another window. This room held two men—a dominant with his hand fisted in the submissive’s hair, controlling the rhythm as he fed the man his cock, pressing deeper until tears streamed down the man’s cheeks.
My mouth went dry.
