Another meow—louder this time, insistent.
Cam growls under his breath. “Your fucking cat.”
He peels himself off me, leaving me tied, dripping, and shaking with the kind of frustration that borders on madness.
The door swings open, flooding the room with light that cuts sharp shadows across my body, accenting just how naked and restrained I am.
And there she is.
Kyla.
Standing dead centre, staring him down like she’s walked into her own twisted fantasy.
Her eyes dip—lingering on the rock-hard length straining against his boxers—then they slide over me, bound and wanting and desperate for her tofuck off.
For fuck’s sake.
Boomerang was clearly acting on orders.
Of coursemy cat’s been recruited by the dark witch herself.
But a part of me is glad, because this is it. There’s no hiding now, no confusion, no soft denial. Let her stare. Let her witness just what I mean to him.
I’m his.
And after this? She’ll have no choice but to swallow that truth whole.
He nudges Boomerang aside with the edge of his foot, muttering something under his breath to Kyla too quiet for me to catch. Then the door shuts—blessedly.
At least he didn’t invite her in. That would’ve been a mood killer.
His eyes flick back to mine, molten with mischief.
“Now… where was I?”
He grabs the nipple clamps again—no hesitation—and pulls, rough and purposeful. The sharp twist sends a feral moan tearing from my throat, gag-muffled and soaked in need.
In one swift motion, he unbinds my legs and shoves them up to my chest, folding me down so tight I struggle to catch my breath. Then he leans over, unties one arm, and manipulates me like a doll—like his personal plaything—curling me onto my side, hooking my freed arm behind my knees.
“Hold them there,” he growls, voice thick with possession. “If that arm twitches, you get spanked. Understand?”
I nod furiously, fingers clenching hard around my own leg. Pins and needles shoot through my grip, but I don’t dare move. I’m too focused—too obedient—to break the tension.
I try to catch a glimpse of what he’s doing from this twisted angle, but all I feel is anticipation slicing through me.
He grabs my ass with one hand—gripping tight, spreading me open—and then his tongue drags from my soaked pussy to the sensitive ring of my ass, rimming with slow, decadent circles.
I gasp, back arching on instinct, but he doesn’t pause. Doesn’t speak.
His finger presses against me—firm, probing—and my body opens, greedy and aching, drawing him deeper with needy clenches and whimpering pleas.
Another, I want to cry.More.
But the gag holds my words hostage, leaving only wet, helpless sounds.
And he listens.
Every squirm. Every twitch. Every muffled scream.
