Page 76 of Tyson
"Patience," he murmured, pressing a kiss to each palm before releasing them. "We have all the time in the world."
But that was the problem—I didn't want all the time in the world. I wanted him now, wanted to ease the ache that had been building since this morning, wanted to feel him everywhere at once. My body hummed with need, every nerve ending alive and seeking.
He started with kisses, devastatingly soft things that made my toes curl. His mouth found mine with reverent care, tongue tracing the seam of my lips until I opened for him. The kiss deepened, his hand tangling in my hair to angle my head justright, and I melted into the mattress with a sigh of relief. Finally. Finally, he was—
Then he pulled back.
"No," I whined, chasing his mouth, but he'd already moved out of reach. "Come back."
"Shh." His lips found my jaw instead, pressing feather-light kisses along the line of it. "Let me worship you properly."
Worship sounded good in theory. In practice, it was torture. His mouth traced patterns on my skin that had no pattern at all—the hollow of my throat, the curve of my shoulder, the sensitive spot where neck met collarbone. Each kiss was perfectly placed to make me arch and seek more, but he never stayed in one spot long enough to satisfy.
His hands joined the exploration, fingertips skating over my ribs with touches so light they almost tickled. He traced the cherry blossoms on my shoulder, followed the vine wrapping my ribs, found every sensitive spot I didn't know I had. But always, always, he avoided where I needed him most.
"Please," I gasped when his fingers ghosted over the underside of my breast without actually touching. "Tyson, I need—"
"I know what you need." He caught my reaching hands before I could pull him closer, that easy strength making my stomach clench. "But you're going to wait. Going to show me you can follow directions now. I’m going to teach you the benefit of letting me be in charge of your orgasms. Can you handle it?"
The callback to my earlier disobedience made heat flood my face. "I can," I promised desperately, trying to still my writhing body. "I'll be so good."
"You already are." He punctuated the praise with a kiss to my stomach that made my muscles jump. "So perfect for me."
Perfect. The word settled into my chest like warmth, even as the denial made every cell in my body scream for more. He continued his sweet torture with methodical precision—theinside of my elbow, the dip of my waist, the crease where thigh met hip. Every touch deliberately placed to build arousal without providing relief.
When I tried to press closer, he simply held me still with one hand splayed on my stomach. The casual display of control made me whimper.
"Such a responsive girl," he murmured against my hip bone. "Look how beautiful you are like this. All flushed and needy."
"Too needy," I corrected, squirming under his weight. "Dying of needy. This is how I die—denied to death by my sadistic boyfriend."
His laugh rumbled against my skin. "Dramatic."
"Accurate," I countered, then gasped when he nipped at the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. "Oh god, please, just—"
"Just what?" He pulled back to look at me, and the intensity in his eyes made my protests die on my lips. "Tell me exactly what you want."
But that was the problem—I wanted everything. His hands, his mouth, his cock, his control. I wanted to be taken apart and put back together. I wanted to be claimed so thoroughly that I'd feel it for days. I wanted, wanted, wanted with a desperation that should have embarrassed me but didn't.
"Can't," I managed. "Can't think when you look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like I'm yours." The words came out raw, honest. "Like you own every part of me."
His expression shifted, something possessive and pleased flickering across his features. "You are mine. Every inch, every breath, every thought." He moved up my body with predatory grace until he could frame my face with his hands. "Mine to protect. Mine to pleasure. Mine to deny when you need to learn patience."
"I've been patient," I argued weakly.
"Have you?" His thumb traced my lower lip, and I fought the urge to suck it into my mouth. "Because from where I'm sitting, you've been squirming and begging for all of five minutes."
Five minutes that felt like five hours, but I didn't say that. Couldn't say much of anything when he was looking at me like I was a puzzle he was solving, a code he was cracking, a challenge he was determined to meet.
He kissed me again, deep and claiming, until my thoughts scattered like startled birds. His weight settled over me, not crushing but present, inescapable. I could feel how hard he was through his jeans, evidence that this affected him too, but his control never wavered.
When he pulled back this time, I actually whined. "This is mean."
"This is discipline," he corrected, but his eyes crinkled with amusement. "Learning that good things come to good girls who wait."
