“What? Will you let anyone tie you up like this if they promised to fuck you hard enough?”
“Just the ones who might kill me.”
That shuts him up for a second.
Then he grabs my jaw, fingers digging in. The leash-like rope tightens again, pressing against the hollow of my throat. I can’t even swallow right.
“Say that again.”
I smile against his grip.
“Go on. Try to kill me if you’ve got the balls.”
He exhales rough, like a growl starting in his chest. Then he licks the sweat off my neck, his tongue dragging over my pulse point like he’s tasting my heartbeat.
“Tempting. But I like my bitches warm and screaming.”
I snort. Fucking asshole.
“Maybe after I’m done… It’d be so fucking hot to kill you on my cock.” He chuckles against my neck and then bites down hard on my shoulder. “But I have better manners than that.”
“Since when? Don’t start now.”
Instead of replying, he mouths against my collarbone, sucking at the skin right above my left nipple. Then teeth again, this time lower, scraping down the side of my stomach. The ropes creak when I jerk, leaving a burn across my ribs.
Ryo exhales a laugh.
“You twitch like a bitch.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I growl, earning another hard bite. I flinch so hard my whole spine arches off the bed, the rope burning against my chest and neck as I strain, gasping.
“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” His voice sounds smug. “Keep fucking around and I’ll gag you too.”
“Try it.”
He doesn’t. But he reaches between my legs and spreads me wider—not with his hands, but by grabbing the bar and pushing, so the stretch turns punishing. My thighs shake.
He strokes me slowly, and fuck, the bastard doesn’t care about technique. He wants to watch me squirm, hear me pant, see what happens when I’m right on the edge.
He slams his thumb against my piss-slit so fucking hard I see stars, grinding the sensitive flesh like he’s crushing a cigarette. My hips jerk, desperate for it and disgustingly pathetic. Then he bites lower—right above the root of my cock—and I moan like a cheap whore, head spinning with the fucking torture of it. Pleasure tears through me, not enough to blow my load but way too fucking much to ignore.
“Freak. You’re loving this.”
I choke out a laugh, breathless.
“What gave it away? My throbbing hard dick?”
For that, the bastard squeezes my ballsack, crushing them until I scream. Then he flips me face-down into the mattress, shoving my cheek hard against the sheets. The ropes dig into my chest and arms, grinding my skin as I twist, and I feel the blindfold slip as he jerks my hips up.
I hear the unmistakable clink of metal somewhere behind me. Then it turns into the sound of chains sliding against another metal. Then again. He grabs my ankles, one at a time, and it’s not metal I feel. It’s leather—those thick cuffs being buckled around my ankles, pressing firm into my skin. Then a pull, a creak above me like he’s anchoring the cuffs to something overhead—maybe a fucking hook in the ceiling I didn’t catch before.
And suddenly I’m being suspended.
My knees are lifted off the mattress, thighs splayed wide like some cheap glory hole slut. My asshole’s gaping open, all exposed for him to see. The ropes around my chest tighten when my back is forced to arch, the knots pressing into my skin.
This is pain more erotic than I ever thought possible.
I can feel him moving around the room again, his boots thumping against the concrete floor. It’s a strange sound, a reminder of how fucked up this situation is. Because I’m really here, vulnerable in front of someone who could grab a knife and cut open my fucking throat. But my body’s singing with it, thrumming with anticipation.
