Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 54871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
"Don't come," he says again.
His fingers curl inside me, hitting that spot that makes my vision go white, and I bite down on my hand so hard I taste blood.
"Good girl. Hold it."
Another spank. Hard. Right on my already burning ass.
I scream.
His fingers don't stop. They keep working. Keep pushing me higher.
Another strike.
Another.
The pain and pleasure merge into something I don't have words for. Something that makes me feel like I'm fracturing apart and being rebuilt all at once.
"Please." I'm begging now. Full-on begging. "Please let me come. Please. I can't—I need—"
"Not yet."
His fingers pump faster. Harder.
My orgasm hovers right there—right fucking there—and he won't let me have it.
Spank. Spank. Spank.
"Please!" I'm sobbing now. Actual tears streaming down my face. "Please, Master, please—"
He leans over me. His chest presses against my back.
His mouth right next to my ear.
"Beg me properly."
I don't even know what that means. I'm too far gone. Too desperate.
"Please let your slut come," I gasp. "Please, I need it, I'll do anything, please just let me—"
"No."
His fingers withdraw completely.
I make this sound—this broken, desperate, animal sound—because he just took everything away and left me dangling on the edge with nothing to push me over.
"You come when I decide you've earned it."
Another spank. Brutal this time.
My ass is on fire. Every nerve ending screaming.
But my pussy is still throbbing. Still desperate. Still needing.
His fingers return. Slower now. Teasing.
"Count for me again. From one. And this time, thank me after each number."
Oh god.
His hand comes down.
"One! Thank you, Master."
Again.
"Two! Thank you, Master."
The rhythm builds. His hand. His fingers. My voice counting and thanking and breaking apart with each strike.
"Ten! Thank you, Master!"
His fingers slide through my wetness—so much wetness I can hear it, slick and obscene—and circle my clit with maddening lightness.
"You're dripping all over my hand," he says. "Making such a mess."
I am. I know I am. I can feel it running down my thighs.
"Filthy little slut."
His fingers push inside again. Deep. Curling.
"Don't come."
I'm dying. Actually dying. This is how I die—sixty feet up in a tree, restrained and desperate and so close to orgasm I can't see straight.
"Please." It's barely a whisper now. "Please, I can't—I can't hold it—"
"Yes, you can."
Another spank.
Another.
His fingers work faster. Harder. Relentless.
"Hold it."
I'm breaking. I can feel it happening. The part of me that's still trying to maintain control, still trying to be good—it's shattering.
"Please let me come. Please. I'm begging you. I'll do anything. Anything."
"Anything?"
"Yes! Yes, anything, just please—"
His fingers stop moving.
Still inside me.
Not moving.
"Then prove you can obey me first."
Chapter 5
Caleb
I've got Scarletta Mae Desmond exactly where I want her.
Trembling. Soaked. Desperate enough to promise anything if I'll just let her come.
But I won't.
Not here. Not at Station One.
She needs to understand what this hunt actually is. She doesn't get relief just because she begs prettily. Her body belongs to me completely—including her orgasms.
I withdraw my fingers slowly. Deliberately. Dragging them through her folds one last time before pulling out entirely.
Her reaction is immediate. A broken whimper, that turns into a moan, that turns into frantic writhing against the beam. Her restrained wrist pulls at the cuff. Her secured ankle strains against the leather.
"No—wait—please don't—"
I wipe my hand on her ass. Marking her with her own wetness.
"Are you leaving?" Her voice cracks. "Please don't leave me like this—"
I stand, step back, and watch her try to twist around to see me despite the restraints keeping her bent and exposed.
"Master, please—"
The panic in her voice makes my cock throb.
She genuinely thinks I might just walk away. Leave her edged, and desperate, and tied to this beam sixty feet off the ground.
I'm not that cruel.
Well. Not yet.
"I need—you can't just—" She's gasping now. "Please, I'm sorry, whatever I did wrong I'm sorry—"
"You didn't do anything wrong."
I crouch beside her. Run my hand down her spine.
She arches into the touch like she's starving for it.
"Then why—"
"Because you don't come until I decide you've earned it." I lean closer. "And you haven't earned it yet."
Her breath hitches.
"But I did everything—I climbed up here, I put the cuffs on, I took the spanking, I didn't come even though—"
"I know."
My fingers trace idle, wandering patterns on her lower back—slow circles, figure eights, random swirls that make her muscles flutter and twitch beneath my touch. Light enough to tease every nerve ending still screaming for release. Not nearly enough pressure to satisfy the desperate ache I've built inside her.
Each stroke deliberate. Calculated to keep her simmering right at the edge of madness.
"You've been very good," I murmur, letting genuine approval color my tone. "Better than I expected, honestly."
I let my hand hover there above the reddened skin of her ass for a long, suspended moment. Let her feel the radiant heat of my palm lingering just millimeters away from contact. The anticipation alone makes her tremble beneath me.