Page 46 of Take Me Darkly

“Christ,” he hissed, his fingers digging into my hair. “If you keep doing that, I’m going to come down your throat.”

A bolt of dark pride shot through me. I wanted that. Wanted to taste him, to feel him lose control because of me.

But he pulled back, his cock sliding from my mouth with a wet sound. I heard him breathing hard, heard the music shift as a new song began. This track was darker, more intense than the last, with a driving beat. It was a haunting rendition of “Dark Horse.” It created an atmosphere thick with desire and danger, perfectly matching the shift in energy between us.

“Up,” he commanded. “On the bed and on your back.”

Disoriented without my sight, I fumbled for the edge of the mattress. Anton’s hands caught my waist, steadying me as I crawled onto the cool satin. I lay back, my chest heaving. He grabbed my ankles, parting my legs, before leaning over me to press his forearms against my inner thighs, locking me wide open.

“Beautiful,” Anton murmured, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “I love seeing you spread out like a feast.”

I felt his fingers make quick work of the clasps on my garter belt. His hands smoothed down my calves, removing my heels one by one, before sliding the sheer black stockings off my legs. Seconds later, a soft, padded cuff wrapped securely around my left ankle.

He was binding me to the four-poster bed.

“Anton, what are you—” I started, not sure how I felt about being tied up.

“Shhh,” he whispered, leaning down to press a warm finger against my lips. “Trustfall. Remember?”

I nodded, forcing myself to relax.

My heart raced, pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. There was a dark, hidden part of me that craved this—needed this. I needed to shatter my own rigid boundaries, to burn away the pious girl I used to be and embrace the heat.

The silk rope tightened around my left ankle, firm and unyielding, before he secured my right. The symbolism was intoxicating. I was literally bound to his bed, locked into the choice to yield. My breath came faster, shallow pants that made my head swim.

Then he moved up the mattress, capturing my wrists and securing them to the iron headboard above my head. Each knot felt like shedding a layer of heavy armor. Spread-eagle, completely naked except for the crotchless lace, I was totally exposed. I pulled against the bindings experimentally, but they held firm, offering zero leverage.

Trustfall.

Something deep inside me unlocked. My muscles relaxed into the satin as my body accepted what my mind was coming to realize—that true power lay in absolute surrender.

“Wider,” he demanded, his large hands pressing my knees further apart until I was completely vulnerable to him.

Heat flooded my cheeks. Without sight, I could only imagine how I looked—bound, exposed, wearing crotchless lace. I was completely at his mercy.

When his fingers brushed my wet folds, a sharp gasp tore from my throat. He slid two fingers deep inside me without warning, testing my readiness. I was slick, hot, and aching for him. As he began a slow, deliberate pump, a moan escaped my lips.

“So responsive,” he murmured. “I could play with you for hours, princess.”

Please.

A part of me wanted to beg him to end the torture and take me properly. I wanted him inside me, filling me, claiming me. I wanted him to take me down to the playroom, where everyone could see him thrust in and out of my body. I wanted strangers to hear my cries.

But another part of me held back, clinging to the idea that wanting any of that was more than just wrong.

It was sinful.

No matter how hard I tried to shake it off, the shame still gripped at me. But I knew the voice of guilt was a lie. The real sin wasn’t pleasure—it was denying myself the right to feel it. To want it, and to be wanted.

Anton withdrew his fingers, and a desperate whimper escaped me at the loss. Then, something shockingly cold pressed against one of my nipples.

Ice.

A violent shiver racked my body. “Anton, that’s really⁠—”

“Shhh,” he purred.

The ice traced down between my breasts, circling one nipple. The sensation was shocking—cold and wet against my body. My back arched off the bed involuntarily, a gasp tearing from my throat. Goosebumps erupted across my flesh, my nipple pebbling so tight it almost hurt.