Page 32 of Enemy of the State

As I roll her abused nipple between my fingers, she lets out a prolonged, shrill whine. The enhancement drug I gave her must be working in overdrive because another tear spills down her cheek just before she throws her head back. I knew it’d hurt more for the clamps to come off than when I put them on, with all the blood rushing to the over-sensitized region, but her reaction is far more intoxicating than I could’ve imagined.

She’s sobbing after I repeat the entire process on her right nipple, her cries filling the room, her tears giving me a raging hard-on.

She doesn’t appear to be in quite the agony I expected, though. Her eyes are cloudy, her gaze distant. She looks like she’s floating through space, and I wonder if she’senjoyingthis. If that’s the case, I’m pretty sure that’llruinme.

I’m desperate to see if I’m right, though, and if I am, well, I’m going to stand amid the storm that’s sure to rain down around me.

“You’re such a little deviant, aren’t you, Lou? You like what I’m doing to you.”

Her head has lolled to the side, resting against the inside of her upper arm, but she glares at me as she bites out, “No.”

My head tilts, a hidden smirk creeping over my mouth, and I’d be willing to bet that she can see my mask tugging with the movement. Pulling on both of her nipples, I question, “Youdon’tlike it?”

She groans before clenching her teeth. “No, I don’t.”

Lou, you beautiful, enchanting liar.

I wonder if she can smell her wet cunt because I can, like a decadent wine I want to indulge in…to excess. Darting my hand out, I slide two fingers through her entrance, coating my fingers in her slickness. She inhales sharply, and I weave my hand up between our bodies, twisting my fingers in front of her face as the evidence of her arousal glitters in the warm fluorescent light.

My voice is low and smoky as I explain, “Lou, baby, your pussy’s weeping. You pretend not to like this, but your leaking cunt tells me otherwise.”

If I thought I wanted to lick her neck, it has nothing on my desire to feast between her legs. I try to resist my next move, I really do, but the damn siren can’t be ignored.

I tug my mask up from the bottom just enough to shove those two fingers into my mouth. A taste that can only be described as so very Lou settles on my tongue as I find myself licking off every drop. Lou’s eyes are glued to my mouth as a moan vibrates in herthroat. I’m not even sure she realizes the sound left her, but I revel in it, dying to hear it again.

Reluctantly, I remove my fingers from my mouth, righting my mask again before dipping a finger back inside her sopping cunt. Her brow creases and something akin to pain lances across her face as I pump my finger in and out slowly as her tight body bucks against the restraints. I add a second finger and continue my assault, then a third. She’s quaking now, but her body jolts violently as I brush up against her sweet spot. I do it again, eliciting the same gratifying response.

What the fuck am I doing? Why can’t I stop? More importantly, why don’t I want to?

If Louhi were a drug, I’d be deep into my addiction by now. Every part of her body simply seems to entrance me further, and now that I’m fucking her thoroughly with my fingers, I can’t seem to stop, no matter how bad this idea is.

“Digs,” she mewls.

“Yes, Lou?”

“Wh—what was the theory?”

The smile I crack beneath my mask is pure sin as I answer her honestly, “That I’d enjoy this more than making you bleed.”

“I…hate you,” she breathes, making me chuckle.

“I don’t care for you much either, but you can hate me while you come, can’t you?”

When the deviant minx doesn’t respond, I brush a thumb over her clit.

“Jeesus Kristus.”

“There’s no God here, only me,” I tell her, blindly stabbing at the translation of what she said despite the fact that I don’t speak Finnish or whatever language that was.

She’s writhing in her restraints as I continue to stroke that spot inside her. When I brush her clit again, it’s like getting a front-row seat to watching a bomb detonate: her deep brown eyes roll backinto her head and violent tremors wrack her body. She gasps for breath, her slender, elegant fingers—at least the unbroken ones—wrapping around the rope binding her wrists. She screams through her climax, sounding like a dark angel in worship.

It’s nothing short of stunning to see her unravel, especially knowing I’m the one responsible for getting her there.I’m the one she’s worshiping.

Her legs are still quivering as she comes down from her high, but she lifts her head enough to look me square in the eye as she pants. Where I assumed I’d see pleasure, or confusion, perhaps even a sliver of hostility, there’s nothing. Her expression is downright enigmatic and that stings a little.

I’m not sure what I expected or wanted to see, but it wasn’t…nothing. It’s not like anyone else is bringing her this level of ecstasy.

That thought prompts another, and I find myself wondering when someone else last got her off. Was it the day before she arrived? Two days? Six months? Five years? And who got her there? Was it another man? Maybe a woman?Fuck, why do I even care about any of this, and why do I suddenly want to be the only one ever bringing her pain or pleasure again?

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