His words spur a cascade of sobs that have me crumbling into raw, all-consuming grief. Because I believe him. He’ll get me through it. And somehow, that knowledge is as reassuring as it is devastating. I cling to him as I let everything out. The regret of not being stronger and reporting Killian to the police. The shame of having succumbed to his manipulative ways again. And not just his. His father’s too. And all the fear and longing that has curdled inside me for the last two weeks.
The fear is still there, potent and alive in the depths of my brain, but as I let Ian hold me through the storm, it loosens its stranglehold on my body. The longing loosens too. Because this—his comfort—is all I’ve wanted since that first time he brushed the hair off my neck.
“It’s so wrong,” I say, unable to hold back the words. Somehow, he has cracked open my defenses too, letting all the despair and insecurities rush out. “I shouldn’t want this. Not you, not Killian. Not this depraved proposition you made. Not any of it.”
“It’s okay. We’re all more than a little twisted here. You’re not alone.”
Those last three words tear an ugly sob from my throat. It’s like he sees straight through me. All my wounds and scars and the deficit-driven desires they have created.
“I’ll take care of you. Will you let me do that?” he continues.
I nod. Eagerly. Because that promise hits straight into my deficiencies as well.
“Good girl.” Pushing a hand between my thighs, he slowly opens them. And I let him. I slacken my muscles so he can push my legs over his thighs, parting them to give him full access to my pussy.
Slowly, touch gentle, he slides a finger through my folds. Finding them soaked, he tuts. “You’re still so very wet. I’ll have to clean you after this. Probably change my pants as well.”
I whimper in humiliation, but when he slips his finger through my slit again, I can’t suppress the moan that’s fueled by those same words.
“Oh, sweet little girl. You just can’t control yourself.” He starts circling my clit, sending staggering jolts of sensation through the tight bundle of nerves.
My mewls break into a staccato rhythm as electricity coils tight inside me, seizing my body in a rush of tremors and shivers.
“We’d better make sure you can’t move so much.” Tightening his grip, he moves us farther down the bed, away from the headboard. Stretching one leg onto the mattress, he pivots ustoward the foot of the bed. I realize why when he pushes forward and the collar snatches on the chain.
“Ah,” I moan as the leather tightens around my throat. The feeling is oppressive and uncomfortable, but it goes straight to my heated core—that same sensation as when I pressed my hand to my neck and touched myself, coming to the thought of him.
“Much better,” he croons, continuing the maddening circles around my clit.
My desire rises to frenetic heights as he maintains that light touch. Electricity crackles through my body in sharp bolts and prickling buzzing. I jerk and twist, inadvertently bucking forward—pressing my neck into the leather, pushing against his hand and the unrelenting grip at my waist. But it’s not enough. I need more.
“Please,” I beg, the desperation growing. “Please.”
“Please what?” he whispers, giving my earlobe a small bite.
“Please… make me come.” Humiliation washes over me, but my brain knows no self-defense under the onslaught of maddening need.
“Aww, this is not enough?” he taunts, keeping up the maddening motions. “Do you think this will help?” He releases my waist to reach under me, and I gasp when he grabs the base of the plug.
“No,” I cry.
“What’s that?” he growls in a terrifying tone. “Did you just lie to me?”
“No. I mean… Please don’t.”
“That’s not up to you now, is it?”
I shake my head, defeat making me collapse into him as he pulls slightly at the plug. I convulse against him, my legs tensing at the flare of sensation in that forbidden hole.
“I don’t want to come like that,” I whimper, unable to stand the humiliation—all those memories of Killian almost makingme come, but then hurling me into the worst experience of my life.
“Shh. I’m not him,” he whispers, somehow understanding my inner turmoil perfectly once again. “I’m not going to come all over you afterward. And I’m certainly not going to leave you or kick you out.”
“You did it that night,” I say, straining to resist the sensations that keep firing as he turns and twists the plug. “You watched me like I was vermin you just wanted out of your house.”
“I did. But I don’t see you that way anymore.”
I want to cry again at those two words.I did.But when he pulls a little harder on the plug, stretching my tight muscle, I cry out in desperate desire instead.
