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“I can’t.”
“You can.”
His fingers move harder. My boots scrape the stone floor as I struggle to obey. Callum leans over me.
“Who sent the invitation?”
“You.”
“Who built this altar?”
“You.”
“Who chose you first?”
“You.”
His thumb circles me. The pleasure building inside becomes unbearable.
“And whose ribbon are you still wearing?”
“Yours.”
“That’s right, little prey”
His fingers work faster. Pleasure rushes toward the edge. I pull against the restraints.
“Callum.”
“Ask.”
“Please let me come.”
“No.”
The answer tears a desperate sound from me. He stops. Completely. The silence rings. My body pulses around nothing.
“You’re evil.”
“I’m the Scarecrow.”
“Same thing.”
I hear fabric shifting behind me. A belt sliding through loops. A zipper lowering. Every breath sticks in my chest. Callum’s hand strokes slowly over my ass.
“You requested penetration.”
“Yes.”
“Rough?”
“Yes.”
“Against the altar?”
“Yes.”
“Protection?”
