She needed to get out of there.
Turning off the vibrations, she pressed a button on the side wall and exited the room.
Eric met her in the hall. He paused when he saw her, his eyebrows raising.
“Is he alive?”
She paled. She must look bad. “Of course he is,” she said, standing a little straighter. As she moved past him, she said, “Get him cleaned up and put to bed. He can stay the night in there.”
Eric’s expression burned into her as she walked, no, wobbled, to her bedroom.
Nothing had happened. She had punished him. No sex, no intimacy, just corrective action.
It had to be done.
Who was she trying to convince?
The shower was cold. Adria tried desperately to snap herself out of the overwhelming arousal she felt. Her entire body shook from it. The need and desire burning across her, consuming her.
The cold water continued its assault on her flesh, and her body shivered, but it did nothing to reign in the fire below.
She needed more.
Her hand drifted to her clit. Her mind told her she shouldn’t be getting off on this. But her cunt and her hand had other ideas.
Her knees buckled as her fingers slipped between her slick folds. Adria leaned against the shower wall, her breath ragged.
Visions of Bryson tore through her.
His body straining against the restraints. His hands clenching into fists. The soft, broken screams slipping from his throat.
A shudder ran through her.
She reached for the dildo, her fingers fumbling, her body already shaking with need.
With a sharp inhale, she slammed it into herself. Her back arched against the hard tile.
Head tilting back, her gaze blurred into the cascading water above.
She fucked herself furiously.
Hard.
Fingers gripping.
Breath ragged.
Her eyes fluttered closed, and the gentle sound of water disappeared—Bryson was there.
Behind her eyelids.
On his knees.
Lookingupat her, that cocky fucking smirk still painted across his face. But his eyes, they burned with something electric.
A silent confession.
That he submitted to no one. No one but her.