He knows me so well that it should scare me. Even virtually, our connection has always been potent enough to satisfy my needs.
“If I chased you through the woods, how long do you think you would pretend to evade me?”
“Who’s pretending?” I breathe, teasing my nipple with my thumb. I won’t dare to stimulate myself more without his direction.
Already, I'm slipping under his control.
“I’m very fast,” I assert. “Try to keep up.”
His low chuckle is pure, predatory satisfaction. “But I’m stronger. Once I catch you, you’ll regret defying me. I’ll make you apologize with your mouth while I grip your hair in my fist. Then you won’t be capable of sassing me.”
I suppress a whimper at the phantom feel of his shaft sliding along my tongue. I’ve never experienced anything like that in real life.
“Put your fingers in your mouth,” he commands. “Show me how you’ll suck my cock.”
I resist complete obedience; I ease the tip of one finger between my lips, teasing him. I flick my tongue over it and keep my eyes locked on the black pools where his are hidden by the mask.
“You can do better than that,” he says. “I want those fingers touching the back of your throat so you can hardly breathe unless I allow it. You’ll be such a good girl taking my cock nice and deep.”
I slide two fingers along my tongue, moaning at the decadent sensation as I imagine it’s his thick shaft filling my mouth. When I push deeper, I suppress my gag reflex—just like he taught me.
“Hold them there,” he orders.
I still my fingers, but the rest of my body writhes in my sheets. My clit pulses madly. I can barely breathe, but I don’t dare withdraw my fingers. I don’t want to.
He waits until I’m dizzy with need before he relents. “Good girl. Now lick them. Show me how you’ll worship my cock.”
I comply, caressing my fingers with long, hungry strokes of my tongue. I wonder what his precum would taste like. Just the thought makes my eyes roll back on a low groan.
“Eyes on me.”
My gaze snaps to the shadowy sockets of his skull mask, and I fall into the inky darkness, allowing it to swallow me whole.
“There’s my sweet kitten,” he praises. “Don’t stop. Pinch your tight little nipple with your other hand.”
I prop up my phone on my nightstand so I can comply, freeing up both hands to play with myself. He’ll get a full view of my body, just as he likes.
Pain flares when I pinch my nipple between my thumb and forefinger, sending answering sparks of pleasure dancing straight to my core. My inner muscles contract, aching to be filled.
But I don’t reach for my vibrator again. Bones is thoroughly in control now, and I revel in the release.
“Harder,” he insists. “Make it hurt. You’re my good little pain slut, aren’t you?”
I increase the pressure, tugging and twisting in the way that I like best. My eyes almost roll back again, but I resolutely keep my stare locked on him.
His low rumble of approval in response to my desperate whimper sends me flying higher, as though the primal sound vibrates though me with far greater intensity than my sex toy.
“That’s it,” he encourages. “Torture yourself for me. Take those wet fingers out of your mouth and reach for your clit.”
My free hand glides down my abdomen, and I can almost feel the buttery caress of his leather glove rather than my own bare fingers against my silky nightgown.
When my touch dips lower, he says, “Stop. Wait for me.”
I freeze, and a whine eases up my throat at his denial.
“Are you wearing underwear?”
“Yes,” I sigh breathily. “The pink ones you like. With the white lace.”
