Page 77 of Safe Word

I found her first – long before he’d laid his eyes on her. He was just borrowing her.

My chest heaved as he pulled away from her, his hand skimming her cheek as if she were some trembling little creature he had just tamed.

And then he walked away.

She lay there in ruin with her radiant cunt still wanting, aching with the absence he had left behind. I could see everything – the way her entrance still twitched, hungry even now, and the milky trail he had painted down her inner thigh.

God… she was divine in her debasement. Holy in her desolation.

I would have carved out Heaven itself to take his place now.

My eyes darted to the corner, finding him.

‘What are you doing, arsehole?’ I growled aloud.

He was crouched by the duffel bag. And when his hand dipped inside, when the zip opened and he drew out—

I choked on a sound I didn’t recognise.

The silver glinted under the light.

Polished and pristine, just for her.

After placing the mask back on, he yanked at her blindfold and she looked at him, eyes wide and wet with worship as he brought the plug to her face.

And he smiled. I knew he did. I could feel it down to my bones.

Her knees quivered, but she shifted on her own, spreading wider, a choice masquerading as surrender.

Her breath came in broken gasps, and somewhere beyond the double-mirror a sound formed.

Oh, she was such a good girl – mine in every filthy thought, even if she didn’t know it yet.

He pressed the plug into her palm, holding it between them like a dagger and a benediction. A steel gospel about to be written into her arse. He turned it slowly, showing her, letting the light catch along the steel. Then he went back, reached into the bag again – lubricant. I recognised the brand. Expensive. Scentless.

My cock twitched in rage and need.

He knelt before her like a god claiming tithe. One hand braced her thigh open while the other slid the cool plug against her entrance.

She whimpered. Not a protest. A plea.

Filthy angel.

No… No. My angel.

He didn’t say much. Just moved with that same quiet authority, spreading her cheeks with a reverent force firm enough to remind her whom she belonged to. I fantasised about cutting each of those fingers that touched her pebbled skin and fucking her with them.

She shimmered like a promise, open and waiting, twitching at the chill in the air and the weight of his gaze. Exposed. Prepared.

His gaze never wavered. I watched the tension in his shoulders, the angle of his neck – not a single wasted movement. He was focused. Present. A man carving out devotion with every breath.

Leaning in, he whispered something to her. She spread wider.

God, she spread wider.

Then—

His tip pressed deeper inside.