“Please,” I whisper. “Let me taste you.”
He tilts his head like he’s considering it. Then his mouth curves into a dark smile.
“You begging?”
I nod, lips parted, desperate and wrecked. “Kinda hard to move, though.”
With a few swift moves, he removes my restraints and tosses them aside.
As I readjust to my newfound freedom of limbs, his fingers curl under my chin, lifting my face.
“On your hands and knees,” he says with a wicked grin. “And open that pretty mouth.”
I do.
And coincidentally, being on my hands and knees is the perfect height to take him.
He groans as I take him into my mouth, slowly, deliberately, until the tip hits the back of my throat. He fists my hair with onehand, the other gripping the edge of the dresser like he’s holding on for dear life.
“Fuck,” he mutters, jaw tight, head falling back. “You’re gonna ruin me, Cassie.”
He starts to move—slow at first, then deeper. I breathe through my nose, letting him guide the rhythm, letting myself be used…but not helpless. Not even close.
My hands slide up his thighs, over the ridges of his hips, until I reach his abs. They’re hard and defined as they flex beneath my touch. I press my palms against him, fingers splayed, feeling every quiver, every tremor I cause.
He looks down at me with glassy eyes, pure heat blazing behind them.
“You like knowing what you’re doing to me?” he pants. “You like watching me fall apart?”
I moan around him, and the sound makes him shudder. His grip in my hair tightens, but it’s not control—it’s desperation. Like he needs me to keep going just as much as I need to be there, on my knees, driving him mad.
“You’re so fucking hot like this,” he growls. “So goddamn filthy and sweet.”
And for one wild second, I realize: I might be the one who can barely breathe, but I’m the one who has him undone.
I can feel him twitch in my mouth, and I know he’s close—but he doesn’t give in.
Instead, he gently pulls back, the tip of him slipping from my lips with a hissed breath. “Mmmm,” he groans, voice ragged. “You’re gonna kill me.”
My cheeks are flushed, lips swollen. I look up at him with a smug, satisfied smirk—and then I feel it.
A pulse right on my clit.
My breath catches. “Oh my God.”
He holds up the remote, eyes wicked. “Forgot for a second I had this.”
I whimper as the next pulse rolls through me. My thighs clamp together, hips bucking slightly as the tension inside me coils tighter and tighter.
“You thought you were in control?” he teases, brushing a hand over my cheek, then tangling it in my hair. “Cute.”
I try to glare, but it’s hard to look intimidating when you’re gasping and moaning on the floor, undone by one little toy and the sight of his abs flexing above me.
“Get on the bed,” he says, low and firm.
I don’t hesitate. My legs barely work, but I scramble up and crawl backward across the mattress, the vibrator still humming against me, sending shockwaves through my core. I’m trembling.
He follows me, slow and predatory.
