“Say it,” he commands, his voice a dark, jagged edge. “Tell me you’re my fucking bitch.”
Miller’s laugh is a dry, jagged thing that scrapes against the raw nerves of my mind. He knows he has me. He knows that even though I want to rip his throat out, my body is a traitor, a separate entity that is currently drowning in its own wet heat.
“Nothing to say now, Hallow?” he whispers, his voice thick with a dark, triumphant pride.
He pulls his fingers out of my pussy with a slow, deliberate suction that makes me whimper. I’m pulsing, my entrance twitching and searching for the phantom weight of him, but he doesn’t give it back.
He moves his head up, his mouth hovering just an inch above my clit, letting the heat of his breath do the work. The air hits the slick, over-sensitive skin, cooling the moisture, sending a shiver of agonising tension through my core.
“You’re shaking,” he observes, his hands sliding under my ass to lift me, tilting my pelvis up so I’m shoved even further into the light. “I can feel your heart beating in your fucking thighs.”
He licks me then, but it’s not a full swipe. It’s the very tip of his tongue, darting out to flick against my clit like a lash. Once. Twice. Each contact is a sharp, electric spike that makes my vision flicker. I’m balanced on a knife’s edge, my muscles so tight they’re starting to cramp, my heels digging into the mattress as I try to find some kind of leverage.
“Please… Miller… please,” I gasp, my head thrashing.
“Please what, bitch? You want me to stop?” He licks the very bottom of my opening, tasting the trail of fluid running down toward the sheets. “Or do you want me to do this?”
He plunges three fingers inside me at once, a sudden, stretching invasion that makes me scream into the empty, humming room. He doesn’t move them. He just keeps them there, filling me to the point of bursting, whilehis thumb finds my clit and starts a slow, heavy, circular grind. It’s a rhythmic torture, a calculated pressure that builds the pressure in my lower belly until I feel like I’m going to shatter into a million jagged pieces.
“Don’t… please… stop,” I sob, the last of my pride dissolving into the chemical haze.
“I told you,” he growls, his face buried back between my legs, his stubble grazing my inner thighs until they’re raw. “I’m not stopping until you’re screaming my name so loud the whole fucking ward can hear it.”
He begins to suck.
He takes my clit into his mouth, his lips creating a vacuum that pulls the blood to the surface, his tongue swirling around the nub in a frenzied, feral pace. The sensation is too much. It’s a sensory overload that bypasses the Thorazine and hits the lizard brain.
I’m bucking, the leather straps groaning as I try to throw my weight against him, my pussy clenching around his fingers in desperate, rhythmic spasms.
I’m so wet that every time he moves his hand, I hear the slick, squelching sound of it, a filthy reminder of how far I’ve fallen. He’s reaching into me, his knuckles rubbing against my g-spot with every thrust, while his mouth continues to devour me.
“Look at you,” he mumbles against my skin, pulling back just enough to see the way my eyes have rolled back in my head. “You’re fucking pathetic. Just a hole for me to play with.”
He sticks his tongue deep inside my pussy, mimicking a cock, the warm, muscular slide of it sending a new wave of fire through my nerves.
I feel the first spark of an orgasm, letting the tensioncoil tighter and tighter until I’m literally vibrating against the bed.
“You’re not cumming,” he snarls, his fingers yanking at my entrance, stretching the skin until it stings. “Not until I say you can. Not until you beg me to ruin you.”
I can’t breathe. The room is turning a violent, bruised purple in my mind, the white lights shifting into a swirling vortex of heat and shame. I’m lost in the friction, lost in the way his rough hands are bruising my hips, lost in the feeling of being completely and utterly owned by a man I want to murder.
My clit is throbbing so hard it feels like a second heartbeat, and my pussy is a weeping, open wound of desire. I’m right there. One more lick. One more hard shove of his fingers.
But he stops.
He pulls back completely, kneeling between my legs, his chest heaving, his mouth glistening with me. He just watches me—watches the way I’m sobbing and twitching, my body unable to shut off the alarm he’s triggered.
“Beg for it, Hallow,” he commands, his hand hovering just inches away from my entrance. “Tell me how much you need me to fix this ache.”
The fog in my brain is thick, but the rage is thicker. It’s a hot, oily slick that rises above the chemical sludge Aris pumped into me.
Miller is hovering there, looking down at my ruined, wet pussy like he’s conquered a kingdom, his ego bloated by the way my body is twitching for the relief only he can give.
He wants me to beg? He wants me to whimper like abroken pet?
Fuck him.
I gather every bit of moisture left in my throat, every drop of spite, and I pull it from the depths of my lungs. When he leans back in, his hand reaching out to touch my swollen clit again, I lung forward as far as the leather allows and spray a thick, metallic glob of spit and blood directly into his left eye.
