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Weeks of unimaginable grief battling primal need, all undone in a single night by the man on his knees.

Yet I’m the one begging, even as he makes me groan in pain.

“All this time, I’ve been watching you.” His gaze drowns me in the ocean of his control. “Or did you forget?”

“How could I forget, sir?”

“Then you already know I can keep you like this for as long as I want.”

“You can, but I’m begging you not to…sir.”

The devious curve of his smile speaks of triumph, promising my downfall.

And that’s when he parts my slick folds.

His tongue finds me, all sinuous heat sliding into intimate flesh, and those licks ricochet clear to my toes. My body bows into the pleasure, straining against the rope as he edges me like he’s been watching for weeks.

Because he has.

Each suck and lick ignites new sparks, as if he’s memorized every dip, fold, and hidden place on the map of my desire. He’s mastered the art of the tongue, knowing exactly how to use it to make me sing in his language.

“Sir.” The title escapes on a breathless sob, my voice the only part of me that can break free. So I open the floodgates and let the sounds spill.

Moans and whimpers.

Groans and cries.

Desperate pleas.

And the chant of his favorite word…

Over and over again.

Oliver has dissolved me into a state of incoherence, where thought slips through sensation and all I can do is feel.

His fingers press into the curve of my ass, holding me firm under his relentless mouth. The clamps bite sharper each time I move, layering pain atop pleasure until I’m strung tight, seconds away from shattering.

As if on cue, he backs off, leaving me keening at the edge of climax.

“Don’t stop!” I blink as the ground of denial rushes up to meet me. “Please, sir.”

“You’re getting too close.” With infuriating composure, he stands and drags the back of a hand across his lips.

“What are you do?—?”

“Shh.” He frees me from the wall. “I want you silent for this next phase.”

“What? Why?”

He gives the clamps a final tug before removing them. Intense pain storms through me, and I lose my breath and my ability to make a sound.

“Trust me, Novalee. I promise it’ll be worth it.”

But when he leads me to a leather bench and bends me over the end, it isn’t trust that keeps me there.

It’s surrender.

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