His fingers curl inside me, his thumb dragging tight, perfect circles over my clit—fast, relentless, cruel. I’m already teetering, already climbing, already begging with my body even though I know better. I know he won’t let me fall. Not until he’s dragged me to the edge and carved his name into my bones.
My nails claw at his arm, at his thigh, at anything I can grip. He bites my shoulder—hard. His tongue drags over the bruise blooming there.
“You’re close,” he growls against my skin.
I nod frantically. Tears spill, my breath hitching, my hips grinding desperately against his hand.
“You’re not cumming yet.”
I whimper. The pressure coils tighter, sharper, hotter—right there.
“You’ll hold it.” His teeth scrape my jaw. “You’ll suffer for me.”
“Damien—” I sob.
He pulls his hand away. A sharp, broken scream punches out of me. He slaps my pussy—three hard, perfect strikes that make me jolt, make my body clamp around nothing, make me sob for the friction he just stole.
“Shh.” He drags his wet fingers up, smearing my slick across my lips. “Open.”
I part my mouth. I taste myself on his fingers as he pushes them deep, pressing down on my tongue until I gag. His grin cuts against my cheek.
“You taste that, little spider?” His thumb presses my chin up, forcing me to swallow. “That’s mine.”
I choke on the mess he’s making of me. His hand slides down, gripping the back of my neck as he shoves me forward, bending me over the desk, the cold wood biting into my ribs.
“You’re going to count for me now.”
I feel him step away—just enough to hear him rummage through the drawer. The soft clink of metal. The sharp flick of a lighter. I turn my head just enough to see the candle. Not the smooth taper from before. This one’s jagged. A dark, brutal shape with a wick that burns low and angry.
“You know how this works.” His hand smooths over my lower back. “You’ll hold still. You’ll take it.”
I bite my lip. I nod. He grips the back of my neck harder.
“Say it.”
“I’ll hold still. I’ll take it.”
“Good girl.”
The first drop of wax falls, sharp and hot, just above the swell of my ass. I cry out, my fists clenching against the desk.
“One,” I gasp.
Another drop. Higher. Between my shoulder blades. “Two.”
The next drips over the curve of my spine, scorching my skin in a trail of fire. “Three.”
The tears fall faster. The ache between my legs sharpens until I’m grinding into the desk, chasing friction I’m not allowed to have.
“Don’t you dare cum,” he growls. “I’ll ruin you if you do.”
Another drop. This one lower. Right over the curve of my ass, dangerously close to where I need him. “Four,” I sob.
He hums low in his throat, pleased. The wax drips faster now—five, six, seven—each one another choke of sound, another tremble in my thighs.
When I hit ten, his hand slides between my legs again but he doesn’t touch where I need him. He trails his fingers along my inner thigh, dragging the wetness down to my knees, painting me in the mess he made.
“You’re so fucking wet for me,” he breathes. His tongue drags over the shell of my ear. “You want to cum so bad, don’t you, little spider?”
