Page 164 of Chandelier Sin
“Banksy,” I said loud enough for them to hear.
They wouldn’t know about that painting hanging above Atticus’ bed that I’d discovered when I’d visited him in Playa del Rey. That beneath that frame we’d made love for the first time. And now it was a memory I cherished.
Claiming this space as ours, we began the session as though no one was watching.
Atticus lifted his thumb to my mouth and inserted it. “Suck.”
That one daring gesture soothed me. His thumb firm in my mouth, the taste of him, the sensation of his control, all things of beauty.
What came next was that familiar rush.
Atticus controlled the space around us, the air, the mood, the tone. He dimmed the lighting, so I’d only see him. The walls closed in, the audience fading from view.
When he prowled around me with that long leather whip, I questioned everything, the way he wielded it bringing on waves of doubt.
But when he snapped the end against my skin, it hardly hurt. This was all showmanship that offered up an optical illusion.
I played along, crying out as though the pain was unbearable. He arched a brow, proving he could see I was tolerating his snaps to my flesh.
He proceeded to use a smaller whip on me, circling, striking my limbs and bringing a delicious sting where it touched.
He used the fronds to play with my sex, tapping and brushing until I could feel that first swell of pleasure, wetness soaking my thighs.
With gentle fingers he eased my labia apart and teased me, bringing a deep pang of pleasure, a tingling sensation that thrummed brilliantly. Aroused and spellbound, I descended into sub space.
“Eve,” he warned me, reminding me to rebel.
I screamed out like this was unbearable, all along wanting and needing more of this stunning clit play. My arousal soaked his fingers.
Now and again, he checked in with me, making this session ours and altering my perception of what this could have been like. Somehow, someway, he made me feel empowered even as I appeared to be their victim.
“Fight me,” he whispered, and then lowered to his knees.
His mouth clamped down on my pussy and he began lavishing me with untold pleasure, causing my arousal to spike.
Obeying, I wriggled and struggled against him as though insulted by his sensual attack between my thighs, even as he gripped my legs and kept me pressed firmly against the cross, proving he had dangerous control of my sex.
I became a wild woman, recklessly squirming, and it only increased the bliss in my core. Yet I continued to act full of resistance, even as it was obviously useless, my orgasm rising higher and higher into the stratosphere.
Craving for this session to go on and on, I shuddered hard when he slipped two fingers inside me, and finger-fucked me.
I was desperate to screamyesbut forced myself to yellno.
He pushed to his feet and leaned in for a kiss—rough and cruel, forcing my mouth open like he was savaging me.
He whispered against my lips, “I’m going to make you endure endless orgasms. Fake it, okay?”
I gave a frantic nod, glad he’d shared the plan with me, that he had some idea of how to pull this off.
This, our fantastic ruse—a fucking of heart and mind and body that brought with it an unearthly bliss.
Atticus studied the equipment that had been laid out for me.
He brought over the electric vibrator and rested it on my pussy, playing me like an instrument, making a show of how much he had tamed me with endless violent pleasure, and proving his reputation for a man who knew no bounds. A man willing to push his submissives to the edge and then force them past their limits until they were rendered speechless.
Until they had nowhere to go but inward.
I was no different, boneless and weak, completely surrendering to all he did to me. Instead of faking each climax, I chased after them, demanding they be mine, wanting to prove to myself as much as to him that I could endure this bright vision of ecstasy.
