But it doesn’t take him long to remove it all, his fingers caressing and practiced in their movements.
He leans over me, filling my lungs with that devastating scent—spice and adrenaline—and lifts each of my wrists, securing them with smooth black rope I hadn’t even noticed. It’s already threaded through the headboard, waiting for me.
That’s new—it definitely wasn’t there the last time I looked.
Then he moves lower.
Lips, tongue and teeth graze across my skin—my neck, chest, stomach—with slow, deliberate hunger. He pulls moans from around the gag, silken and ruined, and every sound makes him groan against me like he’s counting them.
He grabs one ankle, tying it to a hidden cuff at the bed’s edge. Then the other.
Now I’m completely exposed—arms stretched, legs parted, spread-eagled across the sheets. Vulnerable and caged, completely at his mercy.
And it’s fucking electric.
“Want a safe word, Nell?” he murmurs, voice brushed with something darker.
Please. Does he not know me by now?
I shake my head emphatically, locking eyes with him, brows furrowed to underline the point.
It catches him for half a second—his brows lift, caught off guard—then a crooked smile curls across his lips.
Game on.
The sting from the clamps rips straight through me in punishing perfection. My nipples throb with each second they’re pinched, and when he gives them a slow, measured twist, my back arches, nerves flaring with equal parts pain and bliss. I whimper through the gag, eyes rolling up as my body trembles beneath him.
It hurts.
It’s intense.
And I fucking need it.
“Stay still, baby,” he murmurs, palm pressing into my stomach with just enough pressure to pin me. That voice—so soft it barely brushes the surface, yet commanding enough to keep me tethered.
My body obeys, even as it writhes for more. I watch him hungrily—every shift of his mouth against my skin, every deliberate tug of the clamps that makes me gasp around the bit.
Then his fingers trail lower, slow and teasing, until he reaches the slick heat between my thighs. He parts me without hesitation, fingers spreading my lips and exposing everything. I moan, raw and shameless, the sound guttural and wet behind the gag.
He’s staring.
Devouring.
Eyes heavy-lidded, tongue grazing his bottom lip like he’s restraining himself—but not for long.
I want to beg. To tell him to ruin me. Fill me up until I’m nothing but moans and tremors.
But I can’t speak—just a string of muffled cries and drool tracing the edge of the gag.
He reads every noise though. Every goddamn twitch of my muscles.
Then—God help me—he slides two fingers inside, curling them like he’s done this a thousand times before.
He hits every spot like he owns it, pumping slow, twisting, stroking. My body responds instantly, wet and greedy, the sound of it obscene.
When my breath hiccups and my eyes squeeze shut, fighting back the burn deep in my core, he stops—only to peel me open wider, tongue poised.
And then he’s lashing me.
