Page 41 of Fractured Devotion (Tainted Souls #1)

“You’re so fucking hard for me,” she murmurs, her voice a dark caress, and I feel her lean back, her hands bracing on my thighs as she rides harder and faster, the couch groaning beneath us.

The blindfold keeps me tethered to her mercy, every sensation amplified—the slap of her skin against mine, the wet heat of her cunt squeezing me, the burn of the scratches on my chest. I thrust up to meet her, as much as the restraints allow, chasing the gasps that spill from her lips.

“You want to come, don’t you?” she taunts, her voice dripping with control. “But you won’t. Not until I say so.”

I nod, my teeth gritted, my body trembling with the effort to obey. She leans forward, her lips grazing my jaw, her breath hot and teasing. “Beg for it,” she commands, yet she doesn’t stop riding me.

“Please,” I rasp, my voice raw and desperate. “Please, Celeste, let me—”

“Not good enough,” she says, and her hand slides between us, her fingers circling her clit, the rhythm of her hips growing erratic. I can’t see her, but I hear her gasps and feel the way her body tightens around me, and it’s torture, exquisite and unbearable.

She’s close. I feel it in the way her thighs tremble and the way her nails bite into my skin.

Then, she snaps, her orgasm tearing through her with a fierce, guttural cry. Her cunt clamps down around me in pulsing waves, milking me so tightly that I nearly lose control.

Her nails rake down my chest, breaking skin, and her thighs lock around my hips, the couch creaking as she rides through her climax, her forehead pressing against mine.

But still, she doesn’t stop. She fucks me through it, slower now, and deeper, her body coaxing something feral from me. The tension in my core builds, unbearable, and when she whispers, “Come for me, Kade,” it’s my undoing.

My orgasm crashes through me like a live wire, raw and guttural, my cock jerking inside her in thick, uncontrollable pulses.

I yell, cursing her name, my body straining against the binds, the couch trembling beneath us.

The blindfold traps me in the intensity, every sensation magnified—the heat of her, the pain of her marks, the sound of her breath.

I thrust one final time, pinned and helpless beneath her, entirely hers. She stays wrapped around me, her body still, watching me come undone. I can’t see her smile, but I feel it, a silent triumph that says she owns me.

And maybe now… she does.

Her breath is ragged against my neck, a hot, uneven rhythm that mirrors the trembling of her thighs around my hips. The couch leather clings to my sweat-slicked skin, creaking faintly as her weight shifts.

I don’t speak, not yet, not while the last ripples of her climax pulse through her, her cunt still clenching faintly around my softening cock, a reminder of her power. My own body is a furnace, flushed and drenched, my pulse thundering in my ears like the aftershock of something sacred and savage.

The smooth fabric bites into my wrists, still bound to the couch rail, a tether that keeps me hers even in this still moment.

She lifts her head, her movements intentionally dragging out, and her fingers find the knot of the blindfold. With a gentle tug, she loosens it, the fabric slipping away to reveal her face.

My vision adjusts to the dim lamplight, and there she is… Celeste, with her hair damp and clinging to her cheeks. She brushes the strands from her face with a quick, almost impatient gesture, tucking them behind her ear as her eyes meet mine.

They’re unfocused and dazed, but not broken. No, there’s something fierce in her gaze, sated yet watchful, like a predator who’s fed but still hunts. The sight of her, raw and unguarded, sends a fresh wave of heat through me, even as my body aches from release.

She slides off me with a soft wince, her slick trailing down my cock and down my thighs, still hot and intimate, marking me as hers. The loss of her warmth is a kind of unbearable ache, but I don’t move, my wrists straining slightly against the restraints, my chest heaving.

Her hand finds my jaw, her fingers slipping beneath it and gripping with gentle authority, her nails a faint sting against my skin. “Don’t move,” she murmurs, her voice strict and commanding, yet laced with a tenderness that makes my heart stutter. “Not yet.”

I don’t. I wouldn’t, even if the scarf weren’t holding me fast. Her control is absolute, woven into every breath and every glance. She leans closer, her lips brushing the corner of my mouth, not quite a kiss but a claim, her breath warm and teasing.

Her fingers trace the fresh scratches on my chest, lingering over the shallow cut where she carved her initial, the sting a soft echo of our earlier intensity. “You’re beautiful like this,” she whispers, her voice a velvet chain, “marked, bound, and mine.”

My pulse quickens at her words, my body responding despite the exhaustion, and I feel the couch shift as she adjusts her position, her thigh brushing mine, an intentional reminder of her presence.

She doesn’t untie me yet, her dominance lingering in the way she holds my gaze, her hand still firm on my jaw. The air is thick with the scent of sweat, sex, and her—wild and intoxicating—and I’m caught in it, in her, willing to stay here forever if she commands it.

She keeps running her hand down my chest and over the carved ‘C’. Her eyes scan the line, the smear of blood. She traces it with her thumb, and for a second, I think she might apologize.

She doesn’t.

Instead, she whispers, “It’s mine. So I won’t forget.”

My voice is deep and hoarse when I say, “You won’t.”

She leans down and kisses me, soft and unexpected. There’s no tongue. Just lips pressed to lips, a ghost of tenderness in the wreckage of what we just did.

Then she reaches behind me and unties the scarf. My arms drop limp at my sides. They ache from being bound, and I flex my fingers continuously to return circulation.

She studies me for a long time, searching for something. Maybe fear. Maybe regret. But she doesn’t find it. I make sure she doesn’t.

“You like giving it up,” she says flatly.

“Only to you.”

The words slip out before I can weigh them, and they land with a strange gravity.

She doesn’t smile, doesn’t flinch. “You didn’t fight me.”

“You didn’t give me a reason to.”

She cocks her head. “Do you always need reasons?”

“No.” I pause and let the answer settle. “Only with people who mean something.”

That gets her. It’s just a flicker—barely there—but I see it. In the shift of her lips and the calm that hides just behind her eyes.

Then she moves to the kitchenette, pours a glass of water, drinks half, and leaves the glass on the counter. When she returns, she doesn’t sit. She doesn’t curl up beside me like she’s supposed to.

Instead, she kneels in front of me.

My brows lift. “Celeste—”

“Shut up,” she says. “I’m not finished.”

Her fingers glide along my thighs, and I flinch slightly. She’s watching my reactions now, not for weakness, but for verification. For calibration. I recognize the shift. She’s in scientist mode again, except this time, I’m the test subject she intends to learn by heart.

“You gave me control,” she murmurs. “I want to know what it cost you.”

My mouth goes dry.

She reaches for me again, not sexually, just to touch. My chest, my shoulders, the raw spot where her initial is still bleeding faintly.

“I need to know if this broke you.”

I close my eyes. “No.”

“Not even a little?”

“Yes,” I admit.

Her lips twitch. “Good.”

And then she stands.

“We’re not done, Kade. But I need sleep. And you need to figure out what happens next.”

She disappears down the hall without another word, leaving me raw, half-naked, and still hard in ways that have nothing to do with my body.