Page 86 of What You left in Me

“Pleasewhat, slave?” I hiss, circling her entrance with my finger, slow and torturous. “Beg for it. Tell me you’re my little whore.” She moans, her hips bucking, but I pin her down with my other hand, keeping her still. “Say it.”

“I’m… I’m your whore,” she gasps, and fuck, those words make my cock twitch.

“That’s right,” I growl, plunging one finger inside her, deep and hard. She cries out, her pussy clenching around me, so tight it’s almost painful. I don’t go slow. I fuck her with my finger, rough and relentless, curling it to hit that spot that makes her shake. “This pussy belongs to me, Ariane. Every fucking inch of you is mine.”

She’s panting now, her body writhing under me, the ropes cutting into her wrists as she pulls against them. I add another finger, stretching her, and she’s so wet it’s obscene, the sound of my fingers pumping into her filling the room. I lean down, biting her nipple hard enough to make her yelp, then soothing it with my tongue. “You like that, don’t you? You like being my dirty little slave.”

“Yes,” she moans, her voice breaking, and I can tell she’s close already. I press my thumb against her clit, rubbing in tightcircles, and she screams, her body arching off the bed. “Finn, please…”

“Shut the fuck up,” I snap, biting her neck, leaving marks she’ll feel for days. “You don’t get to say my name. You call me Master, or you get nothing.” I pull my fingers out, leaving her empty, and she whimpers, her hips chasing my hand. I smear her wetness across her lips, making her taste herself, and she whines about it, her tongue darting out to lick it off.

“Master,” she whispers, and it’s like a fucking drug. I grab my cock, stroking it once, twice, before positioning myself between her legs. I don’t ease her into it. I slam into her, burying myself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. She gasps louder this time, her pussy gripping me so tight it’s almost too much, but I don’t stop. I fuck her hard, relentless, the headboard slamming against the wall with every thrust.

“Take it, slave,” I growl, my hands gripping her hips, bruising her skin. “Take every fucking inch of me.” Her cries are garbled and incoherent now, her body shaking as I pound into her. The whole fucking while, the ropes keep her helpless throughout. The blindfold keeps her lost in sensation, mired to my wishes. She doesn’t see it coming when I lean down, sucking her nipple into my mouth, pinching the other, letting her have no reprieve.

I take what I want from her, and she gives it all up to me.

It’s all mine to take.

“You’re mine,” I snarl, my thrusts growing erratic as I feel her tightening around me, her orgasm building. “Come for me, you filthy little slut. Show me how much you love being fucked like this.”

Stunningly, her body obeys, shattering beneath me, her pussy pulsing around my cock as she screams, her bound wrists straining, her blindfolded face contorted in pleasure.

I don’t stop, don’t slow down, fucking her through her orgasm, chasing my own.

“You’re gonna take my come, Ariane,” I growl, my balls tightening. “Gonna fill you up, mark you as mine.”

One more thrust, and I’m gone, spilling inside her, my cock pulsing as I empty myself, claiming every inch of her.

I collapse on top of her, both of us panting, sweat-slicked and spent. The ropes are still tight, her wrists red, the blindfold still in place. I don’t untie her. Not yet. She’s mine, and I’m not done reminding her.

I press a kiss to her shoulder, slow and lingering, tasting salt and heat. She shivers under me, body still trembling from everything I dragged out of her.

“Don’t move,” I murmur against her skin. My voice is low, rough, the kind of order that doesn’t need to be repeated.

I reach into the drawer beside the bed. Metal glints in the dim light— a slim black band, smooth and cold in my palm. GPS. A tracker. Insurance. Control. Call it whatever the fuck you want. To me, it’s a promise.

I stroke her calf and slowly kissing it, easing down to her ankle. She jerks slightly at the touch, blindfolded, unsure, but she doesn’t pull away.

“Finn?” Her voice is soft, hoarse, still wrecked from me.

“Shhh,” I hush her, kissing the inside of her knee before sliding the band into place. “It’s nothing you don’t want. Do you trust me?”

Her lips part on a shaky breath. “Yes.”

The only word I like hearing coming out of her mouth.

The anklet clicks shut around her skin, snug but not cruel. I smooth my thumb over the metal, then over her ankle bone, gentle, almost tender.

I bought it last week when I was in New York.

“This,” I tell her, voice acidic and low in her ear, “means I’ll always know where you are. You can’t run and you can’t hide from me. You’re mine.”

Her chest rises fast, a tremor breaking through her restraint, but she doesn’t fight it. Doesn’t object. She nods beneath the blindfold, wrists still bound, surrender written in every line of her body.

I kiss her ankle once, slow and raw, sealing the vow.

And then I settle back against her, satisfied, knowing she belongs to me in a way no one else will ever touch.