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He withdraws his touch just when I start to pant in earnest, when my hips start to roll helplessly against his hand. I make a sound, a broken whimper of need.

He chuckles low in his throat, the sound vibrating through my entire body.

“That’s your punishment, Aria,” he says, his voice a silken whip. “You’re not allowed to come until I say you can.”

Tears of anticipation blur my vision as he slides his hand back under my panties, this time slipping a single finger inside me. I cry out and turn my face to the glass, my cheek resting there as my body gives in again by arching towards him, clenching around him shamelessly.

He adds another finger, stretching me, working me slowly now, methodically. His thumb brushes my clit just enough totease, to drive me higher, but never enough to tip me over the edge.

“So wet for me,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “So ready.”

I writhe against his hand, desperate for more, desperate for release.

He keeps me right there, balanced on the knife’s edge of pleasure and frustration, his fingers moving inside me with a precision that feels cruel.

Every time I get close, he pulls back, leaving me gasping and aching and empty.

“Please,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “Please, Marco…”

“Please what?” he demands, his mouth brushing the shell of my ear.

“Please don’t stop,” I whimper.

He presses his body against mine harder, his erection pressing into my lower stomach, a silent promise of everything he’s holding back.

“You don’t get to come yet,” he growls. “You haven’t earned it.”

Tears begin to well in my eyes, my body shaking, my legs barely holding me up.

And still, he teases me. His fingers find that spot inside me again, rubbing slow, deliberate circles against my clit, making my whole body tense with need.

“You’re mine now,” he says, his voice a dark, brutal promise. “Every inch of you. Every sound you make. Every tear you cry. All mine.”

I nod, tears spilling down my cheeks, my body betraying me completely as I ride his hand, desperate, wild for release.

Finally, finally, his fingers press harder, faster, relentless.

“Now,” he says, his mouth against my ear. “Come for me, Aria.Now.”

The crude command pushes me over the edge.

My back arches, my body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash through me.

It’s different from that night in the dark, when I had some control.

This is surrender. Submission. A pleasure so intense it borders on pain.

My inner walls clench around his fingers as he continues to thrust, prolonging my orgasm until I’m sobbing his name, begging him to stop because I can’t take any more.

But he doesn’t stop. He drives me higher, keeps me suspended in that exquisite space between pleasure and madness. My vision blurs, my throat raw from cries I didn’t realize I was making. My entire body is a live wire, sparking and dangerous.

“Oh my god,” I sob, not recognizing my own voice.

“One more,” he demands, his fingers relentless. “Give me one more, Aria.”

And impossibly, my body obeys, fracturing into a second orgasm that eclipses the first. It’s as if every nerve ending ignites simultaneously, a wildfire racing through my veins. I scream his name, my wrists straining against his grip, my hips grinding shamelessly against his hand. The pleasure is so intense, it’s almost like dying.

When I finally come down, trembling and gasping for air, Marco releases my wrists. My arms fall limply to my sides as he withdraws his fingers from me with deliberate slowness. My dress is still bunched at my waist, my breasts naked to the eye. I’m a wreck, and he looks immaculate except for the prominent bulge in his tailored pants and the flush high on his cheekbones.