“That’s okay,” he says smoothly. As he says it, he presses two fingers inside me, careful not to brush the clit. “Fear and arousal share the same pathways. Your body can’t always tell them apart.”
He picks up the needle again.
My thighs tremble. My pussy clenches around nothing. I’m losing my mind.
“You can let the fear in,” he murmurs, sliding his free hand up until his palm cups the mound above my clit. “It’s okay.”
I open my mouth—
but he moves first.
He presses the blunt end of the needle to my nipple.
Pleasure detonates.
White-hot. Nasty. Immediate.
I arch violently, a broken gasp clawing out of my throat, and he pins my hips down with his forearm.
“Isn’t it exactly what turns you on?” he whispers, his lips brushing my ear. “The danger of me?”
He drags the metal around my breast, down my sternum, across my stomach. His other hand cups my pussy, spreading me, rubbing lightly along the outside, teasing everywhere except where I need it.
By the time he brings the needle to my inner thigh, I’m shaking.
“Don’t move,” he breathes.
I freeze instantly. My body obeys before my mind can catch up.
“Good girl.”
The praise punches straight into my core.
He traces the shape of my swollen lips with the blunt end. My whole pelvis pulses.
“Control,” he murmurs, “can be very erotic.”
My moan rips out of me before I can stop it, a desperate sound dragged from deep in my chest. I feel split open by sensation, flayed by anticipation. It takes every ounce of will not to move, not to grind into the metal, not to chase the touch he keeps withholding.
“Does it feel more intense?” he asks.
“Yes…” My voice fractures. “Yes.”
It’s incomparable to how it feels when I touch myself. Then it’s blunt, clumsy, and basic in comparison. This is something else. Something impossible. It’s like he fine-tuned my very nerves. Like my sensitivity belongs to him now. How is that possible?
“How about this?” he asks, and his fingers dip lower, rubbing the slickness up and down, spreading it, coating me until every inch of me feels raw and exposed andstarving.
His mouth moves down, breath hot on my inner thigh. Electricity licks up my spine.
“Nathaniel—please—“
“Please what?” His voice is maddeningly gentle.
“Touch me—“
He drags the needle up my thigh again, and presses the blunt end into the tender skin beside my folds. I swear I feel it echo in my nipples, in my throat, in the center of my chest.
“Grab the bed,” he orders.
