“This is a modified box tie,” he explained, his voice taking on that instructional tone. “It will keep your arms secure but comfortable while still allowing some movement.”
I watched, fascinated, as he worked his way up my forearms, creating diamond patterns with the purple silk that contrasted against my skin. The methodical process was almost hypnotic—the soft sound of rope sliding through his hands, the gentle pressure as he adjusted each section, the quiet concentration on his face. I relaxed into his expert handling, surrendering to his care in a way that would have terrified me weeks ago.
“Good?” he asked, fingers trailing over the finished work. I nodded, testing the bindings by flexing my arms. They held secure but not tight, leaving enough room for circulation while displaying my arms in what felt like an artistic arrangement, something to be admired.
“You are breathtaking, my love,” he cooed, his eyes darkening as he took in the full effect of his work—me sprawled on his bed, arms bound in intricate patterns, skin still flushed from orgasm and marked with fading sugar crystals. “Now, I want to feel that perfect mouth of yours.”
He guided me to kneel on the bed, arranging my bound arms in front of me so I could balance. The position emphasized how the ropes framed my upper body, making me aware of my vulnerability.
When he positioned himself in front of me, his jeans discarded. Heat flooded through me all over again. The sight of him—powerful thighs, taut abdomen, cock hard with a bead of pre-cum already gathered at the tip—made my mouth water. The first taste of him made my head spin.
His fingers twisted in my hair, grip tightening as he took control. Instead of letting me set the pace, he thrust forward, filling my mouth in one smooth movement that made my eyes water.
“Take it deeper,” he growled, the command sending shivers down my spine. “I know you can.”
He pushed again, cock hitting the back of my throat. I gagged, unprepared for the depth, throat convulsing around him. My eyes watered, vision blurring as my body fought between the need for air and the desire to please him.
“Relax,” he instructed, not withdrawing despite my struggle. “Breathe through your nose. You can take all of me.” His grip held me firmly in place, leaving no room for retreat. I forced my throat to relax, focused on pulling air through my nose in desperate little snatches. My head swam, oxygen-deprivation making the edges of my vision darken.
Just when spots began dancing across my sight, he pulled back—not fully, just enough to let me gulp a partial breath before he thrust deep again. This time I was more prepared, throat opening to accommodate him as he sank impossibly deeper.
“Perfect,” he praised, voice ragged with pleasure. “Look at you, taking my cock so beautifully.”
Pride surged through me despite—or perhaps because of—the ache in my jaw and the burn in my lungs. His hips began a rhythm that left me on the edge of breathlessness, pulling back just enough to prevent me from passing out before driving deep again. Each thrust pushed my limits further, training my body to accept him, to want him deeper.
A deep groan ripped from his throat as I hollowed my cheeks, the vibration of it buzzing through his cock and onto my tongue. When I swallowed around his tip, he hissed, hips jerking forward. The sound shot straight to my dick, which twitched against all logic, filling again, though I’d already cum twice. My jaw ached, stretched to its limit around his girth. My scalp burned where his fingers twisted in my hair. My knees dug into the mattress, pain flaring with each tiny shift.
He thrust again, cock hitting the back of my throat. I gagged, eyes watering, throat convulsing around him. Couldn’t breathe. My lungs seized, panic flaring for a split second before his gruntof pleasure drowned everything else out. The rope bit into my wrists when I tried to pull back. His grip tightened in my hair, holding me firmly in place as black spots danced in my vision. My chest screamed for air, cock throbbing painfully in counterpoint to my racing pulse. Just when darkness started closing in, he pulled back—just enough for me to drag in half a breath through my nose before he pushed in again, somehow deeper than before.
The slick, obscene noises of my mouth stretched around him, of spit running down my chin, filled the room along with his ragged breathing. His thrusts grew faster, more desperate, his composure cracking with each movement. His fingers twisted painfully in my hair, holding me exactly where he wanted me.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he growled, voice barely human. “I’m going to cum, bunny.”
His cock swelled against my tongue, pulsing hard before the first hot burst hit the back of my throat. I swallowed, surprised that it still tasted like candy apples. How the hell did he do that? Another pulse, stronger than the first. His grip held me in place, ensuring I couldn’t pull back even if I’d wanted to.
“That’s it,” he groaned, hips jerking forward with each wave. “Swallow all of it. Every. Last. Drop.”
I gulped desperately, the sweetness flooding my mouth, overwhelming my senses.What the fuck? Why did he taste so good?
His body shuddered above me, muscles tensing and releasing as he emptied himself down my throat. When he pulled back enough for me to breathe, my head spun from oxygen deprivation and the lingering sweetness on my tongue.
Time blurred. His grip gentled in my hair, stroking rather than pulling. My jaw ached as he withdrew, thumb catching a string of saliva and cum from my swollen lips. My body felt disconnected, floating in the aftermath of submission.
Strong arms lifted and arranged me against solid warmth. I collapsed against him, boneless and dazed, the rope around my wrists suddenly gone, though I hadn’t felt him remove it. The world narrowed to his heartbeat under my cheek, his scent filling my lungs as I gulped air.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice a warm rumble against my ear. “You did so fucking well for me.”
He cradled me close while my breathing steadied, one hand running through my hair, working out tangles with careful fingers. After a few moments, he shifted to examine my wrists where the rope had been, pressing gentle kisses to the faint marks left behind, the sensitive skin tingling under his attention.
“How do your shoulders feel?” he asked, fingers finding and working through any tension the position might have left, his touch both clinical and intimate. I hummed, too blissed out for words, floating in the peaceful aftermath. His warmth and the soft sheets were pulling me toward sleep, but I fought to stay awake, wanting to savor this moment—the safety of his arms, the tenderness that was so at odds with the wolf I knew lurked beneath the surface.
“Rest,” he murmured, tucking the blanket around us both, his body curled around mine. “I’ve got you.”
“Thank you,” I said, as I let my eyes drift closed. The last thought before sleep claimed me was how strangely perfect this was—me, bound and pliant in the loving arms of this wondrous man, feeling safer than I ever had before.
Chapter Fifteen
Comeuppance
