Page 48 of The Tower (Billionaire Brothers Grimm #1)

“Such a needy little cunt,” he says, the filthy word making me moan. “But you know the rules, don’t you? You don’t get to come until you beg me for it.”

As I nod, a slow, dangerous smile spreads across his face. “Are you ready for that, Princess? Ready to beg for what you want?”

My heart races, anticipation and desire warring with the last vestiges of my pride. But I know what I want now. “I—” I start, then hesitate.

His expression softens slightly, though the heat in his eyes remains. “It’s not surrender,” he says, as if reading my thoughts. “It’s power. The power to ask for exactly what you want. To claim ownership. Hell, to grab control.”

His finger traces a line from my collarbone to the center of my chest. “Tell me, Sasha. What do you want?”

My breath catches at his touch. “You.”

“Go on,” he urges, his finger continuing its journey downward, between my breasts, across my stomach. “Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you.”

Heat floods my cheeks, but also pools lower, a liquid warmth between my thighs. “I want—I want you to touch me.”

“I am touching you,” he says, his finger now tracing the waistband of my panties. “Is this what you mean?”

“More,” I manage, my voice barely audible.

His smile is predatory now. “What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

“More,” I say, louder this time. “I want more.”

“Show me,” he commands, taking a step back. “Show me how much you want it.”

For a moment, I’m frozen, uncertain what he means. Then understanding dawns, and with it a rush of both embarrassment and arousal. He wants me to kneel. To physically demonstrate my surrender, my need.

He wants me to get on my knees and beg.

Pride wars with desire, a battle that’s been raging since that first night when he laid down his rule. But tonight, desire wins. My eyes never leave his as I sink to my knees before him.

His eyes darken at the sight, his chest rising and falling with quickening breaths. “Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs. “Now tell me what you want.”

“Please,” I whisper, the word finally escaping after weeks of being held captive behind my pride. “Please touch me. Please … everything.”

“Again,” he demands, his voice hoarse. “Louder.”

“Please, Liam,” I say, my voice stronger now. “I’m begging you. Please.”

In one fluid motion, he pulls me to my feet and into his arms, his mouth claiming mine in a kiss that’s all heat and hunger and victory. I surrender to it completely, giving myself over to the sensations that ripple through me as his hands roam my body with newfound possession.

“Mine,” he growls against my lips. “All mine.”

“Yes.” I gasp as his mouth trails down my neck. “Yours.”

“Tell me the rest,” he demands. “Beg for what you want.” He thrusts me backward toward the bed, his movements echoing the urgency I can feel in both of us. When my legs hit the edge, he stops, his hands coming up to cup my face. “Tell me.”

“Everything,” I whisper. “I want you to fuck me. And—and I want everything.”

A devilish smile tugs at his lips. “Are you sure, Princess? Because once we start, I won’t stop. Not until you’ve had everything you begged for.”

The promise sends a shiver of anticipation through me. “I’m sure.”

He reaches into the nightstand drawer and pulls out a length of black silk. My eyes widen at the sight, a flutter of nervous excitement in my stomach.

“Trust me,” he says, not a question but a statement.

I nod, unable to find words as he moves behind me, gently pulling my arms behind my back. The silk is cool and smooth against my skin as he binds my wrists, the knot secure but not painfully tight.

“A pretty package, just for me,” he whispers his voice close to my ear.

I close my eyes and moan, surprised by how the restraint heightens every sensation, makes me more aware of my body, of his presence behind me.

“Close your eyes,” he orders, and I comply without hesitation.

I feel him move away, then return. Something cool and soft brushes across my collarbone—another piece of silk, I realize, as he uses it to blindfold me.

Darkness envelops me, and I focus on the sound of his breathing, the scent of his cologne, the heat of his body as he moves around me—all somehow more wild and sensual now that I’m in the dark.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs as his finger traces the curve of my shoulder, down my arm, then back up. The light touch sends shivers across my skin, my nipples tightening in response. “So beautiful.”

His hand tangles in my hair, pulling my head back gently but firmly to expose my throat. His lips press against the sensitive skin there, then move lower, across my collarbone, then lower still until they close around one nipple.

I gasp, arching into the sensation, the inability to use my hands making me feel both helpless and strangely powerful.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs, his voice soft against my ear.

“Touch me,” I whisper. “Please.”

His fingers skim over my ribs, tantalizing but avoiding where I need them most. “Here?”

“Higher,” I breathe. “Please.”

“So polite,” he murmurs, his fingers sliding up to cup my breast, thumb brushing over the nipple in a touch so light it’s almost painful. “Is that what you want?”

“More,” I manage, my voice breaking on the word. “Harder.”

His thumb and forefinger pinch gently, and I cry out, the sensation shooting straight to my core. “Like that?”

“Yes,” I gasp. “Please, yes.”

His other hand slides down to slip beneath the waistband of my panties. I hold my breath, waiting for the touch I’ve been craving. Desperate for it.

“Tell me,” he says. “Beg for it.”

“Please,” I cry, beyond pride now. Beyond anything but the need burning through me. “Please touch me. I need you. Please, Liam.”

His fingers finally, finally slide lower, finding the slick heat between my thighs. I moan, my hips bucking into his touch, desperate for more.

“So wet,” he murmurs, his voice full of masculine satisfaction. “So ready for me.”

He guides me backward until my legs hit the edge of the bed, then eases me down onto it. The feel of the silk sheets against my bare skin is another sensory shock, the coolness a contrast to the heat building inside me.

I feel him tugging at my panties, pulling them down and off completely, leaving me naked and bound and blindfolded on the bed. The vulnerability should be terrifying, but instead it’s liberating. I trust him. Despite everything, despite how we began, I trust him completely.

The bed dips as he joins me, his hands guiding me to lie back against the pillows. I feel him positioning himself between my thighs, his hands sliding up my legs, gently urging them apart.

“Remember,” he says, his voice rough with desire, “you asked for this. Begged for it.”

“Yes,” I whisper, trembling with anticipation.

His mouth moves up my inner thigh, hot and insistent, then higher still until it finds the center of my need. I cry out at the first touch of his tongue, my back arching off the bed.

With my hands bound and my eyes covered, there’s nothing to do but feel—the slick heat of his tongue as it explores, the firm pressure of his hands holding my hips in place, the exquisite tension building inside me with each deliberate stroke.

Just when I think I can’t bear any more, when I’m teetering on the edge of release, he pulls away. I make a sound of protest that turns into surprise as I feel him shift, the warmth of his body moving up along mine.

“Not yet,” he says, his voice at my ear again. “Not until I say.”

The command sends another rush of heat through me. This is what I begged for. Everything . His possession. His control over my pleasure.

I feel the silk around my wrists loosen as he unties them, but before I can reach for him, he’s guiding my arms above my head, securing them to what must be the headboard.

His weight shifts, and I hear the rustle of fabric, the clink of a belt buckle. He’s undressing, I realize, and the thought of him naked above me, watching me bound and blindfolded, sends another wave of arousal through me.

The bed dips again as he returns, and this time I feel the heat of his skin against mine, the hard planes of his chest, the undeniable evidence of his desire pressing against my thigh.

“Last chance,” he says, his voice strained with the effort of control. “If you want to stop?—”

“Don’t you dare,” I interrupt, lifting my hips in silent invitation. “Please, Liam,” I beg. “I need you.”

His groan of surrender is the most satisfying sound I’ve ever heard. In one smooth, hard thrust, he enters me, filling me so hard and so deep that I cry out in response to the sweet pain and brutal pleasure.

For a moment, he’s still, allowing me to adjust to the feel of him. Then he begins to move, each thrust deliberate and controlled, building a rhythm that has me straining against my bonds, desperate to touch him, to pull him closer.

“More,” I gasp, wrapping my legs around his waist to draw him deeper. “Harder.”

He complies, his control fracturing as he drives into me with increasing urgency. One hand slides between us, finding my clit, circling it in time with his thrusts.

The dueling sensations push me over the edge, my release crashing through me in waves of pleasure so intense they border on pain. I cry out his name, my body clenching around his cock as I surrender completely to the ecstasy he’s created.

He follows moments later, a groan tearing from his throat as he finds his own completion. His weight collapses onto me, his breath hot against my neck as we both struggle to recover.

After a moment, he shifts to the side, his hands gentle as he removes first the blindfold, then the bonds at my wrists. I blink in the dim light, my eyes finding his, surprised by the tenderness I see there.

“I like having you bound. At my mercy” The words are hard, a contrast to the fingers softly brushing a strand of hair from my face.

“I like it, too,” I whisper. And it’s true.

I’d willingly given up control, but not only had it been the stark opposite of terrifying, it was also empowering.

Because I was the one who’d given it up.

It wasn’t taken from me, ripped away without my consent.

I’d surrendered willingly, and in doing that, I’d found a new kind of bliss.

He gathers me against him, his arm a warm weight across my waist, his heartbeat a steady rhythm beneath my ear. We lie in comfortable silence, our bodies twined, our skin hot. The city lights twinkle beyond the windows, casting patterns across the ceiling.

His arms tighten around me, and I feel him press a kiss to the top of my head. “You’re perfect,” he murmurs, the words soft enough that I wonder if I was meant to hear them.

I drift toward sleep, wrapped in his warmth, more content than I can ever remember being.

Tomorrow brings uncertainty—the hearing, my father, the public scrutiny—but tonight, in this moment, I’m exactly where I want to be. In the arms of a man who demanded everything and gave me more in return than I ever thought possible.