Page 101 of Unrequited

“Yes, sir,” I whisper, this time with more certainty.

My eyelids flutter shut as his mouth captures mine. Then my cheek. The softest parts of me. He kisses me like a man starved, like he’s memorizing the shape of me with every press of his lips. Worshipping me, like I’m something rare and sacred.

“One night left,” he says, quiet but resolute, like a vow wrapped in steel. “Let’s make it count. Let’s do everything we can to bring our families together.”

He kisses me like time isn’t running out. Like we’re not on the brink of something terrible. Like this isn’t the eve of war and we aren’t teetering at the edge of a cliff, one step away from plummeting to our deaths.

Our lives, mine and his, are balanced on the edge of a blade.

And yet, when he speaks to me, it’s reverent, as if I’m his sanctuary in a world set on fire.

His mouth drifts lower, to my shoulder. The top of my breast. My nipple. My belly. Every kiss is a benediction.

I answer only with trembling fingers, clutching his shirt, and breath that breaks from me in shuddering bursts.

“Go to bed, darling,” he says, his voice darker now, thick with that same authority that makes my knees weak. “I want you to edge yourself. Slide your fingers between your thighs. But don’t come. Not until I get there.”

“But I’m cleaning the kitchen,” I try, my protest soft, uncertain. I like pushing just a little.

He leans in, his voice like smoke curling around my ear.

“That’s not your job anymore, and you know it.”

I nod, swallowing hard. “Yes, sir.”

“And if you make yourself come before I get there, Zoya…” His voice drops even lower. It’s dark, sinful… full of promises I’m half-certain I want him to keep. “I’ll take my belt to your arse before I fuck you.”

The words sear into me. Brand me. Heat flashes up my spine like a live wire. I’ve never been spanked with a belt. But the way he says it, possessive, certain, commanding,makes my body tense with the urge to disobey. Just to know what it feels like.

“Yes, sir,” I whisper, and I mean it.

So I do exactly what he said.

I go to the bedroom, take off my clothes, and lie back on the bed, sheets cool beneath me and my skin already flushed with need. I’m naked, aching, my nerves strung tight. I slip a hand between my thighs and gasp. I’m soaked. Slick. Swollen.Starving.

I think of him. His hands. His voice. His weight pinning me down. His belt.

I’m closer, chasing the edge, until I’m right there, right on the precipice.

Do I want to fall? Do I want to tempt him, tempt that punishment? Taste the wrath he promised?

No. Not yet.

Where is he?Seamuuus…

I pull my hand away, and my body trembles. Every nerve is on fire, desperate. I lie there, straining to hear. A dish clinks. Water runs. His voice floats in from the kitchen.

My heart leaps, but it’s just a phone call.

Frustrated, I roll onto my side. I touch myself again, fingers slipping into a rhythm fast, deep, and devastating. My other hand grips my breast, pinching, tugging, trying to hold on.

I think about the belt. The weight of it. The leather. The crack of it against skin.

And just like that, I fall.

I come hard. Too hard. My body jerks, wracked with wave after wave that refuses to stop. I try. I swear I try to stop.

But I can’t.