“God,” I gasped as the widest part slipped past the tight ring of muscle. My body accepting rather than fighting the intrusion. The change was immediate—discomfort melting into a fullness that bordered on revelation.
Kronos watched my face with laser focus, cataloging every micro-expression. “There we go,” he said, voice rough with approval. “Your body’s learning.”
“I can take more than that,” I managed, though my voice shook as his fingers traced teasing patterns along my inner thigh, never quite reaching where I wanted them.
His laugh was dark and rich, vibrating through me where his chest pressed against my leg. “Oh, I know you can, little bunny. But Iwant to watch you fall apart.” He nipped at my hip, soothing the sting with his tongue. “I want to see every reaction, hear every sound, and feel you tremble for me. I need to know exactly how to wreck you.”
The last words were almost a growl, sending a fresh wave of heat through me. This wasn’t just about pleasure—it was about claiming, about marking me from the inside out.
The first plunge of the toy inside made me gasp—even before he turned it on, the smooth glass was overwhelming, the curve of it pressing places that made lights dance behind my eyes. Kronos kept his movements torturously slow.
“Beautiful,” he cooed, adjusting the angle.
Then he clicked the first setting, and my world exploded. The vibration started gentle but still drew a sound from my throat I’d never heard myself make—something between a gasp and a moan that pleased him, judging by the darkening of his eyes.
“That’s it. Let me hear you.” He played my body like an instrument he’d mastered years ago, knowing when to increase intensity, when to back off, when to add that maddening rotating feature that made stars burst behind my eyes. The pressure built in waves, receding just before cresting, keeping me suspended in a state of desperate need.
“Please,” I gasped, not even sure what I was begging for—release? Mercy? More? My hands clawed at the leather cushions as he found yet another pattern that made coherent thought impossible, the glass toy brushing my prostate with unerring accuracy.
“Not yet,” he purred, free hand sliding up to pinch my nipple, adding a sharp counterpoint to the deep, pulsing pleasure inside me. “I’m nowhere near done with you.”
Just when I thought I couldn’t take anymore, he clicked another button. The thrusting motion combined with everything else had me crying out his name, back arching so hard it almost hurt. My whole body shook as pleasure built to impossible heights, every muscle straining toward a release he kept just out of reach.
His touch was both possessive and reverent, like he couldn’t get enough of watching me come undone beneath him. His eyes gleamed in the low light, tracking every twitch, every gasp, every aborted thrust of my hips.
“You’re doing so good,” he breathed, adjusting the angle again, so the glass pressed even more firmly against that spot inside me that made my vision blur. “So responsive for me.” When he clicked to the next setting, combining thrusting with that maddening rotation, my back arched off the couch, a broken moan tearing from my throat. His name became a prayer, a plea, the only word I remembered how to say.
“Look at me,” he commanded. It took an enormous effort to focus, to drag my eyes open and meet his. When I managed it, his eyes were blazing with that predatory hunger, pupils so dilated they swallowed the silver. His face was flushed with arousal, lips parted, breath coming faster than usual. The knowledge that watching me like this affected him so deeply pushed me even closer to the edge.
Release hit like lightning, pulses radiating outward from where the toy pressed inside me, through every inch of my body. My vision whited out, muscles seizing as I came harder than I ever had in my life, untouched, just from the toy and his hands and the heat of his gaze. Through the haze of ecstasy, I felt his hands steadying me, heard his voice praising me, anchoring me as wave after wave of bliss crashed through my system.
When I could remember how to breathe, he was gathering me against his chest, one arm supporting my shoulders while the other carefully removed the toy. His heartbeat thundered under my ear as he stroked my back, pressing soft kisses to my temple, my cheekbone, the corner of my mouth. My entire body felt liquid, boneless, as if all my muscles had dissolved under the onslaught of pleasure.
“You did such a good job.” I could hear the smile in his voice. He let me catch my breath for a few moments. Though my body was spent, I could feel his arousal pressed against me, reminding me he hadn’t found his own release yet. The knowledge sent a pleasant shiver through me, despite my exhaustion.
“Think you need a moment?” he asked, his voice gentle but tinged with that hunger I was coming to crave, the edge that reminded me what he was, what he wanted from me.
“I’m good,” I replied, surprising myself with how much I meant it. My body might be wrung out, but I wanted to taste him, wanted to feel him lose control the way I just had. “What did you have in mind?”
He shifted, reaching for something beside the couch. The soft whisper of rope against leather made my pulse quicken again - the purple silk rope from the dining experience. This time, his expression promised something more intense.
“Think you can handle more?” he asked, the purple rope sliding through his fingers like liquid shadow. “I’d like to try something a bit more complex this time.”
He paused, studying my face with careful attention. Something in my expression must have shown my fatigue, because his demeanor shifted.
“Actually, come here.” He gathered me into his arms before I could respond, lifting me as if I weighed nothing at all.
“I can walk,” I protested, though my legs still felt like jelly, muscles trembling with aftershocks every few seconds.
“Mmm, but I enjoy carrying you.” He pressed a kiss to my temple as he headed for his bedroom, navigating the doorways with practiced ease despite his burden. “Besides, I want you comfortable with what comes next. The bed will be better for rope work than the couch.”
His massive four-poster loomed before us, sheets turned down as if he’d prepared for this hours ago. He laid me on the Egyptian cotton with surprising gentleness for someone who’d just spent the last hour driving me crazy.
“Now,” he said, the rope catching the soft light as he moved to join me, kneeling beside me on the mattress. “Let’s try something alittle more elaborate than last time. Hands in front of you, bunny.”
The mattress dipped under his weight, the familiar scent of him—cedar and storm and something wilder—enveloping me as he leaned closer.
The rope wound around my wrists as Kronos worked, each loop carefully placed for my comfort. His touch remained gentle but deliberate, checking the tension with care, his fingers slipping beneath the bindings to ensure they weren’t too tight. Unlike our first rope experience, where he’d bound my wrists while feeding me, this pattern created an intricate web that was both decorative and functional.
