Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 93463 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93463 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
“You’re a good girl, Zoya.”
I sigh. There it is.
His voice is almost too soft, deceptively gentle. It slides over my skin like silk, wrapping around me.
“I don’t think you need a severe punishment, do you?”
But oh, something inside me wants it.
Wants the punishment.
Wants to earn it.
Wants to see exactly how far he’ll go.
Wants to feel everything he’s capable of giving.
Still, I shake my head, my voice barely above a breath.
“No, sir.” I swallow. “I really didn’t mean to disobey you. I’m sorry.”
The words come out quiet and broken, fragile like glass on tile.
A tear slips down and hits the floor before I even know it’s there. My chest tightens.
“There,” he says again, softer this time, smoothing his palm over me, again and again. Each pass is reassurance and claim, comfort and control.
“That’s a good girl.”
The way he says it… god, the way those words wash over me.
Then his hand shifts and slides between my thighs, nudging them apart with the back of his fingers. A subtle command.
His fingers find me wet, throbbing, and desperate, and he groans low, like the sound was pulled from somewhere deep in his chest.
“Just as I thought,” he murmurs, his voice thick now, heavy with knowing. “You’re aroused again, aren’t you?”
I nod, almost ashamed by how badly I need him.
The desire climbs through me like fire, licking every nerve and demanding more.
It’s shocking how fast it returns. How much harder it hits.
I’ve never come more than once in a night, but with him? With Seamus?
Everything is more.
Every breath is sharper.
Every part of me is lit up like he’s flipped some hidden switch.
I used to think about him when I touched myself in the dark.
Sometimes I’d let myself come. Sometimes I’d stop at the edge, then fall asleep aching for him.
He’s pulled every string in me, tuned me to the brink of madness.
“Good girl,” he whispers reverently, like he’s promising something only I get to hear.
“There you go, baby. On your back. I want to taste you.”
“Seamus…” I’m already trembling, as he pinches the heat of my ass cheek, grounding me.
“What do you call me?” His tone is sharper now.
“Sir,” I choke out, my pulse hammering.
“Do you really plan on talking back to me just after I strapped you?”
I gulp and move to obey.
He moves with quiet purpose, going to the drawer. Metal cuffs gleam in his hands.
When he snaps them around my wrists, they click into place, my arms stretched above my head.
I’m held. I’m open. I’m his.
“Oh god…”
“Spread your legs.”
He kneels and settles between my thighs like he belongs there, and he does.
Then his tongue drags slowly, maddeningly, over my clit.
I cry out. My hips jerk, chasing the feeling, already trembling under the weight of his mouth.
I didn’t know it could feel like this.
Didn’t know I could want again so fast.
Didn’t know I could need this way.
But I do. God, I do.
He sucks. Licks. Flicks. Over and over.
I rise from the bed, straining for him, moaning for him, aching.
Then… he stops.
A kiss to my thigh, maddening in its gentleness.
“You’ll stay like that,” he says quietly. “Your punishment isn’t over.”
Then he stands.
“I need to do a few things.”
“Seamus,” I gasp. “My god, you can’t. Please… Seamus.”
“What’s my name?”
“Sir,” I breathe out, wrecked.
“Don’t leave me like this. Please. I’m sorry, I promise I—”
“And I promise you,” he cuts in coldly.
“I’ll let you come. You’ll love it when I do. But you’ll learn to obey me, Zoya. First, because I love it. Second, because it’ll keep you alive.”
Then he walks away, leaving me cuffed, wet, exposed.
Burning.
I squeeze my thighs together, seeking relief, anything, but it’s useless.
The ache only grows.
Even if I had the key, I wouldn’t use it.
I wouldn’t move.
I want to obey him.
I want to please him.
I want to be perfect for him.
I want to be his good girl.
God, I love when he calls me that.
So I wait.
I count. Ten. Fifty. Two hundred. Three hundred.
The storm outside rages, rain slamming the glass, thunder shaking the sky, but inside, it’s still warm. Still him. Still us.
Then he appears in the doorway.
“Still here, my love?”
His voice sends a shiver through me.
I nod.
“Spread your legs again,” he says, rough now, full of hunger.
“Seamus, sir, please…”
“That’s what I like to hear,” he growls. “I love to hear you beg.”
He drops to the floor again and licks me with purpose, his tongue flicking just where I crave it.
I cry out, my hips lifting off the bed like I’ve been shocked.
I want him.
I need him.
“Tell me you want me,” he says, low and commanding, his lips brushing against my thigh like a brand. It’s not a question, it’s a demand. A dark, brutal need.
“I want you,” I whisper, broken open. “God, I want you so bad.”
He exhales, slow and heavy, like he’s been holding his breath underwater. He reaches up, and his hand finds my throat, not choking, not tight, just resting. Possessive.