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We’re in double digits now with thelittlenow. I’m getting an idea of how I can pay him back. I just need to bide my time. “Electric. Fireworks. Everywhere.”
“Surely you can do better than that, Specter?”
“God, just… just fuck me.”
Tap tap tap tap tap tap.
One finger hooks through my collar as he taps out a rhythm. A reminder of who’s in charge. Who controls my pleasure. Action and consequence. Obedience and reward.
I grit my teeth and pleasure and discomfort detonate through my bloodstream.
“Beg for it.”
I remember what he said to me the first night. The threat and promise. “Please!”
“More.”
“Please. Please, Sir. Fuck me.”
Another long minute.Tap tap tap. Then I feel him grip the base.
“Breathe out, baby. Long and slow.”
I let out every ounce of air trapped in my lungs. Shudder when he pulls the plug out.
Then Dante’s hand closes over the collar. Over my neck. Fingers splayed against my carotid.
The kiss of his crown against my pussy makes me both tense and eager. The touch of the barbell against my wetness makes my mouth water.
His fingers tighten, holding me in place.
I catch the faintest indrawn breath.
And then he’s inside me—inch by inch, that hard, metal-studded cock stretching me open. It’s too much. It’s not enough. I whimper as he sinks deep, and the sensation—the pressure, the fullness, the faint tug of the piercing—makes my eyes roll back.
He groans. “Fuck, you feel like heaven. Small, fragile. Like you’re breakable. But you’re not, are you?” he grates.
I grip the bench. Roll around in the guttural sound of his second groan. Whimper when his fingers dig into my neck and my hips. He’s too fucking big. It fucking hurts. And I love every inch of him I can take and the many I can’t.
What I don’t love? He’s stilled.
I feel his cock beating like a heartbeat inside me. I can’t turn my head or move my body. I’m fully under Dante O’Driscoll’s control. Can barely breathe. And it’s heaven and hell.
“God—please—Sir!”
But he doesn’t move.
He just stays there, buried deep, one hand at my throat, the other slipping between my thighs, pressing just above my clit until I’m writhing.
“Come when I say,” he growls. “Not before.”
My body betrays me. Muscles tighten, everything coils.
But I hold on.
For him.
For me.