Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 56620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
I lean in close to that exposed flesh, my lips barely grazing the sensitive skin just below her ear, and whisper, "Just so we're perfectly clear, you already gave me permission to do all of these things, Scarletta. Every single one. This isn't a negotiation. I've bought these permissions. The transaction is complete. It's done." I let my breath ghost across her skin, feeling her shiver. "And if you stay—when you stay—all of that is going to happen. Not some of it. Not the parts you think you can handle. All. Of. It."
A single tear appears from a gap in her blindfold. It slides down her cheek, catching the dim light as it traces a path along the curve of her cheekbone.
I lean in slowly, deliberately, and press my lips to it—tasting salt and fear and surrender all at once. The intimacy of the gesture is at complete odds with the brutality of what I've just promised her, and I can feel her breathing stutter in response.
"It's okay," I murmur against her skin. "It's okay to be scared, my good little slut. It's completely normal. Natural, even." I pause, letting that sink in. "You should be scared. You don't know me—not really. For all you know, I could be someone truly evil. Someone who would break you and leave you in pieces." My thumb traces the wet track the tear left behind. "Being afraid right now? That's your job."
I lean in again, this time pressing my lips to the exposed column of her throat where her pulse hammers wildly against my mouth. I let my lips drift lower, trailing down to the curve of her shoulder, taking my time, savoring every tremor, every stuttered breath. I register the quick, sharp intake of air when my teeth graze her collarbone. I notice the way her nipples have drawn up into tight, hard points—her body responding even as her mind tries to process the enormity of what she's agreed to.
"My job..." I continue, my voice a low rumble against her skin, "is to keep you afraid until you don't care anymore. Until the pleasure I deliver is so delicious, so perfectly overwhelming, so goddamn heavenly—that it completely overpowers your fear. Your pain. Your doubt. Until all that exists between us is—us."
She bites down on her quivering lower lip, her chest rising and falling rapidly, each breath shallow and labored. "What... what if I can't take it?" The words tumble out in a rush, barely more than a whisper. A sob catches in her throat, and her whole body shudders with it. "What if I'm no good at this? What if I disappoint you? What if—"
"Shhhhh." I press a single fingertip to her lips, silencing the spiral before it can drag her down further. The touch is gentle, but the command behind it is absolute. "That's not going to happen, Scarletta." I hold her gaze, refusing to let her look away. "Because if you're not good at it—if you struggle, if you stumble, if you break—it's not your fault, darling. It's mine."
She sucks in three quick, desperate breaths through her nose, her ribcage expanding and contracting like a bird trapped against glass. She's teetering on the edge of hyperventilation, her pupils dilating with panic. "What?" The word comes out strangled, disbelieving.
"That's right, my sweet slut." I stroke her cheek with the backs of my knuckles, slow and soothing, grounding her. "Your job—your only job—is to show up for me. To do everything I tell you to do. Answer every question I ask you, truthfully and without hesitation. Hold any position I put you in, for as long as I demand it—"
"But what if I can't?" The interruption bursts from her, raw and ragged. Desperate for reassurance, terrified of the answer.
"Then you fail." I cup her cheek again, my thumb brushing away a fresh tear that's escaped the blindfold. My voice is calm, matter-of-fact, as if we're discussing something mundane. "Failing—when you're doing it with me, at least—is part of the experience, Scarletta. If you can't hold the position I've put you in, if your muscles give out, if you fall apart completely... well, that's information. That's me learning your limits." I lean in closer, my breath ghosting across her lips. "I come over. I reposition you. I adjust my expectations. I make you try again. I encourage you when you need it. I hold you up when you're trembling. I help you do what I'm asking of you. And then—then—I reward you for trying."
My hand slides down from her face, trailing over the curve of her throat, between her breasts, across the soft plane of her stomach. She's trembling harder now, her breath coming in shallow pants. When my fingers reach her pussy, I don't hesitate. I cup her roughly, possessively, and one finger slides easily between her thoroughly soaked folds. She's drenched—slick and swollen and ready.