“Open your legs.”
She shakes her head, sobbing. “I can’t—Damien, please—I can’t?—”
I slap her pussy, hard, three sharp strikes that drag a scream from her throat. The sound is raw, primal. “You can.”
Her legs fall open. I clip the other nipple, slowly, watching her fall apart under the pressure, her whole body rocking between pain and desperation. She’s so beautiful like this—wrecked, soaked, caged in me.
I light the candle. Tip it slowly. Let the first drop of wax fall across her collarbone. She jolts, a broken gasp punching out of her chest as the heat sears her skin. She scrambles to grip my thigh, her nails biting deep into me. I let another drop fall, this time lower, just above her nipple, close enough for the heat to tease the clamp, to draw a sob from her throat.
“Thank me,” I murmur.
“Thank you,” she gasps.
I drip wax lower, over her belly, a trail of red-hot stings that pull tears from her eyes. Her breathing cracks, sobs rolling insharp waves as her thighs rub together, desperate for relief. I grind my boot harder against her pussy. She moans so loud I feel it echo in my spine.
“Not yet,” I growl, dragging the wax lower, letting it drip across her hip, her inner thigh, right to the edge of where she wants it most. Her whole body quakes. Her hands claw at me, at the couch, at the floor. She’s so close. So fucking close. And I won’t let her have it. Not until she shatters.
I drag her closer by her throat, my boot still pressing between her legs. “Beg,” I growl, my breath hot against her lips. “Beg until you’re sobbing.”
Her tears fall harder. Her voice breaks on every word. “Please, Damien—please—I can’t—I need—I need you—I need to cum—I need you—I need?—”
I slide my hand down, my fingers replacing my boot, stroking her just hard enough to make her cry out, just soft enough to keep her teetering. She’s soaked. So fucking soaked.
“Tell me why you need me.”
“Because you’re the only one—” she sobs, hips rocking, “—you’re the only one who can break me—you’re the only one who can put me back together—you’re the only one—please—please?—”
Her legs shake, her whole body convulsing in my grip. I grip her jaw harder. Force her eyes to mine. “You won’t cum,” I growl. “Not until you say it.”
Her sobs crack. Her voice shatters. “I’m yours,” she screams. “I’m fucking yours—I’m yours—please—please?—”
I shove my fingers deep inside her, curling them, dragging against that sweet, swollen spot she can’t reach on her own. She comes apart instantly, screaming my name, sobbing into my chest as her pussy clenches violently around my fingers, her whole body rocking under the weight of it. I don’t let up. I fuckher through it, dragging every last tremor from her body, owning her moans, drinking her sobs.
Her legs give out. She collapses against me, panting, tears soaking my shirt. I kiss the crown of her head. My grip doesn’t soften. Not even now.
Especially not now. Because she’s mine. And the other one? He can watch all he wants. But I’m the one who makes her fall apart. I’m the one who pulls the strings. I’m the one she fucking begs for.
And I’m not done. Not even close.
Her body’s still shaking. Trembling against me like her bones aren’t hers anymore, like her muscles forgot how to hold her up.
Good.
She should feel it. She should carry it. She should drown in it. I peel my fingers out of her, slow, watching the way her cunt tries to follow, clenching around nothing now. She’s a mess. Dripping down her thighs. Slick coating my skin, my boot, the floor beneath us.
I slide my hand into her hair, grip the strands tight, and tug her head back until her glassy, tear-wrecked eyes meet mine. “You’re not done.”
Her breath stutters. Her lips tremble. I drag her toward the dark stain on the floor. “Clean it.”
Her throat bobs, the panic flickering there, the hesitation like she’s still waiting for me to tell her I’m joking. I don’t joke. I press my boot to the mess. I smear it into the grain of the wood. “Use your mouth.”
Her tears fall faster now. Her hands shake as she braces herself over the floor. I don’t let go of her hair. I keep her exactly where I want her. “Say thank you.”
“Thank you,” she whispers, broken and raw.
She lowers her mouth to the mess—her mess. Her tongue drags across the floor, slow, trembling, her whole bodyshuddering as she licks herself clean. I push harder on the back of her head. “Sloppier.”
Her breath hitches. She drags her tongue wider, wetter, louder. Her moan splits through the silence. She hates this. She loves this. She doesn’t know where one ends and the other begins anymore. I grip her hair tighter. Force her to sit back on her heels when I’ve decided she’s done.
