“You’re repeating yourself now.”
“I despise you. I abhor you. Iloatheyou.” I can’t think of more than that. My brain is mush.
“And I love you,” he replies.
What?
“What?”
“My little hellcat. So wonderful. So fierce. So mine.”
“What did you say?” I must have imagined it.
But the egg leaps to its highest setting, and his fingers rub over my clit, back and forth. I jerk against him, pressing my hips back. Not trying to escape, but needing the solid feel of him behind me.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck… please, Declan. Please… please… can I come?”
“Come for me.” He pinches my clit, and my worldexplodes.
Pleasure washes through me and carries me with it. I can’t fight it, I can’t resist, and I don’t want to. My pussy convulses, my cries so loud they echo from the bare walls. I’m floating in it, my only anchor his arm holding me, safe and strong. I give myself to my release, and in that moment, I’m even grateful to the ropes. I can just hang, held by them, held by him, as my body shakes with the force of my orgasm.
It’s a long time until I can breathe again.
“Beautiful,” he whispers, tone reverent. “Absolutely fuckinggorgeous.”
His body against me is grounding, and I cling to that feeling as aftershocks make me writhe again, another sob escaping.
His hand leaves me, and a moment later the whir of the motor behind me precedes the ropes lowering. Declan holds me all the way down, until I’m sitting on the floor, arms relaxed for the first time since I woke up in this damn torture chamber.
“Such a good girl,” he says, turning my head and taking a kiss from me. It’s strangely passionate, his tongue seeking mine, and I’m responding before I even catch myself. It feels natural to do so. How does that work?
Did he really tell me he loved me, or was I hallucinating?
Why would I even want that?Expectthat?
I must’ve misheard. It must’ve been an illusion, or a pre-orgasmic delusion, my body convincing my mind of something I might want even though he’d never say it.
He steps away, leaving me sitting there on the mat, my thighs slick and wet from my orgasm. There’s a pool of stickiness beneath me, and I know it’s my own cum. He made me do that.
He’s going for his box of torture devices. I haven’t got the strength for any more of this, but that doesn’t seem to be stopping him.
Yet he’s not; he shifts the box to the ground, carefully placing my clothes within, my boots to the side. Then he starts dragging the vaulting horsetoward me.
That can’t be good.
He catches me looking, and smiles playfully.
“You don’t think we’re done, do you?”
I just sit and stare at him, too lost in post-orgasmic bliss to find any words.
Until what he said sinks in.
Shit.
I’m not sure how much more I can take.
But the worst part?
