“Another,” he rasped, faster now. Tendons corded in his neck as he stroked. Kneading as he watched with feet spread. Chin tipped back, eyes gone utterly bottomless.
And it was then, as I obeyed, adding another finger, that I knew an instant of power over this man. This impossible, infuriating Caledonian elite who would know what it was to kneel…
He grunted. Straining. “Use your thumb,” he barked. “On your clit. I want to see you fuck yourself for me.”
I couldn’t look away. Could hardly blink as I watched the way his hand moved, enthralled by the grip. The way his forefinger and thumb encircled his shaft and twisted at the end. Entranced by the lewd squelch of bubbles foaming and white against flesh that was quickly growing purple.
“That’s it,” he breathed, jaw bunched tight at the corner. Fist a noisy blur.
One hand kneading my nipple, the other edging me closer to victory or complete destruction, I let my chin fall so I might watch him from beneath a curtain of silver-blonde hair.
To hide the smirk as I seized upon a rule of this sordid game—to mirror Captain Asher Rawlings and give the visual creature exactly what he wanted.
I moaned. Like a whore. Like Carina, all confidence and stolen instinct, I spread my ankles for a better angle, and said, “Please,” in a desperate, breathless sort of way that made him lurch toward me. “A-Asher,” I whispered, begging through the fan of my lashes. “Please, Asher—”
“Fuck,” he snarled, and aimed at my pumping fingers. “Don’t stop. Work that clit, Mila. That’s it,” he groaned, and his fist stopped. Knuckles white, a pearlescent rope gushed from his tip. Splashing against my mound, coating the back of my hand in a sticky warmth I could feel even through the falling water.
He pumped again, and sent another jet to splash against my swollen flesh.
Again.
And again.
Coating my fingers in a creamy glaze, his seed made my work slippery and unfocused—enough that I was distracted when I might have fallen into ecstasy. Prevented from following him into orgasm, I turned away from the temptation of that fall and dove instead into the comforting numb that was my shield.
He took no notice.
Falling forward, one hand braced on the wall beside my cheek, he continued to milk himself dry. Breath ragged against my lips as he emptied himself against me, the captain painted my pussy. Eyes glassy as he tainted that obscene canvas.
It wasn’t until his fist came to a slow stop that he frowned at my still fingers. Ebon eyes flicking up, glazed and suspicious, he found my lips stretched over a smug smile.
I said nothing.
Merely existed behind the shimmering wall of insulation that kept us separate. Working instead to calm my racing heart. To ignore the throbbing, empty ache where his seed marked me yet again.
He snorted, then, showing off a row of straight, white teeth. “Oh, well done, Mila,” he breathed. “But are you sure you want to play this game, pet?”
Serene, I lifted one shoulder in casual indifference. Refusing the bait dangling before me.
“You think denying yourself is a victory?” he purred, and looped his forearm behind my neck just to tangle his fingers in my hair. To tip my head back as he crowded in. Pressing too close, his lips moved against my cheek—his free hand moved to cup my mound. Fingers slipping through the mess of slick folds to tease and circle. “You think”—he ground the heel of his palm against my clit, smearing himself all over me—“it hurts my pride to know you haven’t peaked, is that it?”
Two rough fingers plunged inside, stuffing his come inside me, and I choked on a gasp. Tenuous grip on my shield rocked, but held in place.
“Ilikeknowing you’ve been left on the edge,” he confided, and nibbled at my ear. Sucked and pinched. “That you’ll spend the night aching and ripe. My cock filling your dreams the way it won’t fill this greedy…” He sent a careful tendril of energy straight into my core, grinning when I squealed and twisted. “…needy…” A throbbing pulse bloomed behind my pelvic bone, everything south of my bellybutton growing taut with tension. “…desperatelittle cunt.”
He pulled back with speed enough to leave me reeling. Clenching around nothing, left hanging on the cusp of a truly powerful release, he forced my every muscle to still. Kept me frozen, lips gaping around a silent scream as the drive to seek my climax was diverted.
Cut off.
A tormented, desperate sound crackled over my lips. But that was all.
Cruelty etched deep into the lines on his face, he swept his fingers through the mess of clotted cream cooling against my flesh. “Taste it before you swallow,” he murmured, and fed me the very same digits that had driven me to humiliation so quickly. With the sort of expertise I could never hope to match.
Salty and strong, the captain’s brine wrinkled my nose—but I swallowed him down.
“Good girl,” he cooed, and shut off the water. Stooped, and hauled me off my feet.
I clung to naked flesh as he walked, trembling with fatigue. My senses reeling and overwrought. Teased by a victory only to lose it in an instant.
