But in a heartbeat, I’m yanked right off the counter.
Holding me to him, Samick carries me out of the bathroom and through the door opposite.
The torchlight is stolen completely, and in total darkness, Samick throws me off of him.
I gasp with the fright, my stomach flipping.
Then I land with a bounce on a mattress. A bed.
And Samick follows me down.
His hand hits the mattress, dipping right next to my head, and his other finds my slit without so much as a fumble.
But I might as well be blindfolded.
I don’t see a thing. Not more than darkness.
But I feel it.
The pressure of a cold touch dragging wetness and his seed from my opening, up to my clit.
I feel each stroke alighting my body. His breaths softly brushing over my face. His teeth slowly grazing over my cheek.
A guttural sound threads through me.
Samick’s fingers dive into my opening, bringing the pressure of his thumb firmer against my clit—and he finds a rhythm, plays me like an instrument.
My legs stay spread for him.
The gag blocks my whimpers, muffles them as my breaths grow louder, turn into sharp moans.
The small of my back lifts off the mattress.
My heels dig into the crumpled sheets, pushing them down, wrinkling them, and I start to writhe, start to squirm—
And I wonder if he watches.
In darkness, with me blind beneath him, if he watches my fingers curl in the sheets, my face tense, as I hold onto that rope of pleasure unravelling through my body.
An echo of his climax, his moan as he unravelled for me, thrums in my mind. The way his face tightened, his brow furrowed, his lips parted around that guttural sound—
It finishes me.
My back arches against the darkness, my toes point into the mattress, and I still. Frozen for a heartbeat, two heartbeats, then it strikes me.
I bite down on the gag.
Gritted against the surge of pleasure, I moan through it. Like golden threads unspooling throughout my body, along my bones and around my muscles, the climax takes over me—every single bit of my body.
Until I’m completely alight, and writhing on the bed, clenching my thighs shut on his stubborn hand.
It’s only when I try to shove and worm away from him that his fingers slow inside of me, that his thumb stops sliding over my clit, and he lets me come down.
Faintly, I’m aware of the mattress dipping and shifting under me. Then, with one hand, he threads his clean, dry fingers through my hair, around to my nape, then finds the knotted towel fabric.
I breathe through the dwindling golden threads.
My lashes flutter in the dark, but I’m distantly aware of him untying the knot, until the gag loosens.
