He let out a long, drawn-out groan and buried his face between my legs.
The stockings went up to my torso, but his tongue found my center as if there were no barrier at all. He pressed against me, broad strokes of his tongue running the length of my covered slit, and I let out a moan that echoed off the bedroom’s high ceilings.
“Oh god, Rowan. That feels so good.”
He gripped my thighs, his fingers digging into soft flesh as he widened my legs even more. The stretch burned perfectly, and then my heels were hooked over his shoulders, my body completely opened to him.
I was on display—aching and needy and desperate—and he fucking knew it.
“You look so gorgeous like this, Violet.” He nipped at the stocking covering my inner thigh, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin beneath. “Spread open for me. Dripping.”
“You like making me beg, don’t you, Rowan?” My voice came out breathless, wrecked already.
More teeth, and I felt the stocking tear. Cool air hit newly exposed skin. “Want me to punish you when all you deserve is praise and rewards for being so fucking perfect?”
I whimpered as his thumb moved to circle my clit through the ruined stocking, the wet fabric creating delicious friction. I could feel how drenched I was, my arousal soaking through the black nylon.
“Please, Rowan. Tie me up and show me how good I’ve been.”
He chuckled, the sound vibrating against my inner thigh and causing me to shudder. “You always know exactly what to say to get your way, do you not, myvolchok? Showing me your teeth when all you really want is to be fucked senseless.”
“Yes,” I pleaded, past any pretense of pride. “Just for you. I need you to.”
I felt the stocking rip more—a decisive tear—and then two fingers slid inside me without warning.
I nearly vaulted off the bed, my hips lifting, a moan tearing from my throat that was half pleasure, half shock. He was thick, his fingers stretching me, curving immediately to find that spot inside that made stars burst behind my eyes.
“Such a goodvolchok.” His voice was pure gravel now, wrecked and wanting. “Move against my fingers.”
I didn’t need his urging. I was already moving, my body dancing with a want that felt all-consuming. He thrust into me with steady rhythm, his fingers crooking on each stroke, his thumb finding my clit and circling with maddening precision.
The orgasm built fast, racing towards me like a freight train. I couldn’t help the way his name tore from my lips in ragged pants. “Rowan, I’m close—”
He removed his fingers abruptly, leaving me empty and gasping.
“Wait, no. Why?” I pleaded, my voice breaking.
“Someone asked for rope.” He stood, leaning over me to shove his fingers into my mouth. “And I want you to come on my cock, not my hand.”
I choked as he pushed them deep enough to make my throat convulse, my body struggling for air. But I took it, tasting myself on his skin—salt and musk and something uniquely mine.
“Goodvolchoks get rewarded when they listen.” He removed his fingers slowly, and I gasped for air. “Now sit up and be still.”
I nodded mutely and sat as commanded, my body thrumming with anticipation.
He tilted my head up to look at him, and slowly—deliberately—licked the fingers he’d used inside me. My eyes fluttered, my body going molten as I watched him taste both my saliva and arousal like it was the finest delicacy he’d ever encountered.
“Fucking delicious,” he muttered, confirming my thoughts.
He leaned forward and began the tie, his movements deft and confident. The rope was soft against my skin—not scratchy like I’d expected, but smooth. He worked with practiced efficiency, wrapping and knotting, his breath warm against my collarbone as he concentrated.
I relaxed into his touch, into the ritual of it.
He paused at one point, assessing his work, then moved behind me to finish. I felt strong arms wrap around my chest as he pulled me deeper into the bed, positioning me exactly how he wanted me.
Then teeth sank into my shoulder—a sharp, claiming bite that pulled a moan from somewhere deep inside me.
The pain was hot and unrelenting and exactly what my body craved. I cried out, the sound echoing off brick and glass, as he pulled back and gently ran his tongue over the mark he’d left. My legs quivered, the orgasm that had been building threatening to crest if he continued this perfect torture of pain and pleasure.
