A lot more.
My jaw hurt as he pounded into me, his cock growing harder and harder, causing the barbells to scrape against my tongue more forcefully. I tried to roll my lips over my teeth, but his girth barely gave me room to adjust. Drool pooled down my chin, and his eyes latched onto where it dripped down.
“Fuck,” he groaned, then pulled out while taking a knife from his back pocket.
My eyes locked onto his cock as he fell to his knees. He tugged on the fabric of my shirt and twisted it in his fist, then used the blade to slice it open, exposing my breasts as he forced the fabric aside. Carver looked down at my soaked panties he’d pushed to the side, then slammed the knife down into the wooden floorboard, right in front of my pussy, the demand clear.
He stood and gripped my hair, and like some trained animal, I popped my lips open for him.
“Don’t worry about your teeth.” His thrust this time was shallower, and when he noticed my struggle to reach the hilt of his knife, he nudged it with his boot, then kept it there to make sure it wouldn’t move. “I like the way you bite.”
I anchored my knees to the floorboards, thrusting my hips up and down, and side to side as much as the bindings allowed. My clit throbbed as I rubbed against the handle, wishing it was his fingers, his tongue, or the pierced cock currently fucking my mouth.
My body lit up with every swipe across the handle, humming with desire that I hadn’t felt in years.
Ten years, to be exact.
Pressure built, stemming from my core. My sways became sloppy, and my jaw slackened, hoping he’d thrust deeper into the back of my throat to take my air away again. I moaned, and the act seemed to do the trick.
Black dots blurred my vision as my breath lodged behind the head of his cock. He pounded deeper, and I released a moan that expelled the rest of the air from my lungs. The knife nudged closer to my clit, giving me the pressure I needed right as my lungs started to burn.
“Fuck, Lyra.”
Car removed everything but the tip and I took a deep breath, sending a wave of rippling pleasure straight to my core as the black dots faded. Still, I writhed against the hilt, popping off him and tonguing the thick ridge under his cock, using my teeth gently over the barbells.
“You’re doing so good for me.” My nipples tightened painfully at the praise, the shredded pieces of fabric a torment to the way I wanted his fingers back on them.
“I bet your pussy is begging to be fucked, isn’t it?” I whimpered, and he cupped my jaw, guiding my eyes back to him. “Eyes on me at all times, Mrs. Roland.”
Using his freehand, he started slowly stroking his length while I swirled and nipped along his head. His eyes roamed over my chest, then latched onto my pussy. “Keep moving your hips. I want to watch you come. I want to see you make a mess of my fucking knife.” His words were my undoing. I sucked the head of his cock into my mouth, grinding the hilt ravenously as wave after wave of an intense orgasm wrung my nerves.
My lips parted in ecstasy, and Carver used that time to grip my head with both hands and ruthlessly fuck my mouth. I gagged with his jerky motions, but my body was vibrating with a carnal urge to taste him. When he suddenly pulled out and left just the tip on my tongue, my stomach fluttered. He stroked several times before groaning deeply, coating my tongue and throat with ropes of cum.
His hand ripped through his hair, then he bent down and yanked the blade from the floor. His breaths were labored as he inspected the knife, then darted his tongue out, lapping where a sheen of arousal coated the handle.
Myarousal.
“Be a good wife from now on, and next time, I’ll let you come on my cock.” He fixed his boxers and jeans, then slid the blade into his back pocket and went to work undoing my restraints.
I had no words as an odd sense of humiliation took over. Carver hadn’t used more than a knife and some words to get me to come while pleasing him. Yet, what he did couldn’t be calledusing. He made sure I came first and made me look at him as I did so. As much anger as I harbored for him, all I wanted was to do it again, and again.
Article Five wasn’t going to be an issue for much longer. It was the entirety of the contract that now loomed over my thoughts as my arms became free and I rubbed along the faint marks the leather had left behind.
Using his thumb and elbow, he wrapped the reins in a loop, grinning as he appraised my body.
“Quit lookin’ at me like that,” I spat on instinct.
“Can’t help it.” He grinned more. “You’re starting to look an awful lot like mine again.”
21
Carver
The Flip
When I was twelve, a lawyer came to the house. My grandpa had just passed a month prior, and while he left us a large sum of money from all of his investments, my parents were worried. Because as much as my grandpa loved them, healso had a soft spot for his only grandchild. He’d taught me how to hunt, how to fish, and when he died, he left me—his only grandchild—a separate, very large sum of money.
That money was to become mine when I turned twenty. When the head on my shoulders was supposed to be more level. Until then, it was untouchable. My parents made a good living, but nothing quite as comparable as to what he’d left for me. As for their portion, I’d been unsure of what had happened to it.
