“Mmm… that’s my Babygirl,” I growl, voice rougher now.
She presses back against me, her body begging, even if her lips don’t.
My hand trails up her thigh, close enough to tease, but not touching where she needs me most.
“You want more, don’t you?”
She nods, breath hitching. “Yes.”
I pull back just enough to leave her aching. Let her feel the void and miss me.
“Not yet. I told you how this works. When you’re ready… you’ll ask. You’ll beg. You’ll burn for it, and I’ll make the wait worth every second.”
I run my fingers through her hair. The softness is intentional, a contrast to the promise in my voice.
“And when that moment comes… I’ll wreck you in the most beautiful way. I’ll take you apart with my mouth first, make you come so hard your body forgets how to stand. Then I’ll slow it down, make you beg again before I even think about entering you.”
She trembles, barely holding it together. And I’m still not touching her where she aches the most.
This is control.
This is part of the game.
No, thisisthe game.
I stay close, letting the moment linger. Then I lean in, my breath brushing her cheek, and press a single kiss to the corner of her mouth.
She shivers.
“You’ve been perfect tonight.” My hand finds the curve of her hip and lingers, just long enough to claim it. “So obedient. You have no idea what that does to me.”
I reach into my pocket. “I have something for you. A gift.”
I pull out the velvet box and open it quietly, the lid lifting on a hinge of intent. Inside, the gold chain rests in a loose coil, the small flat disk nestled at its center, simple and understated, meant only for her.
“It’s a necklace. A gold disk. One side displays Saint Leonard—patron of the bound. The other, the side that touches your skin, is engraved with a B.”
She stills.
“No one will ever see what’s on the back. No one will ask what it means. But you’ll know. You’ll feel it resting there, my initial against your throat, quiet ownership, just between us.”
She inhales sharply as I brush her hair aside and fasten the chain around her neck. The disk settles over the dip below her throat, the hidden B warming to her skin.
“Wear it for me,” I whisper. “Always.”
I touch the pendant where it rests at the base of her throat. A second later her hand rises, uncertain, and our fingers brush. Her breath catches, but she doesn’t pull away. And neither do I. For one heartbeat, we hold it together—this silent pact, this unspoken claim.
Then I wrap my hand around her throat and pull her against me, my mouth ghosting over her ear. “You’ll see me again soon, Babygirl. And next time you won’t be wearing anything at all.”
Her breath catches, but she doesn’t speak or move.
She doesn’t have to.
I press a kiss to the side of her face, then release her and rise from the bed.
I step back, watching her for one last moment, still kneeling, blindfold on, body taut with tension and need.
Next time we meet, there will be no teasing or restraint. I’ll push her further, take her hard, let her see the monster she invited in and show her how good it is to be devoured by him.
