Page 68 of Bad Girl Dilemma

Dragging his tongue over my nipples.Bite. Down my ribs.Graze. To the soft skin just above my clit, where he breathes hot and slow and cruel.Bite.

“I’m going to tease you until you sob,” he murmurs. “And then I’ll wreck you so thoroughly your every code breaks and all that’s left is you begging for your Master’s command like a good girl.”

He does exactly that.

Tongue flicking. Teeth grazing. Nipples bruised with pain and pleasure.

Fingers holding my cunt wide open as he watches every squirm and cry and filthy plea.

“Please, Sir—please—” “Please what?” he asks. “Beg properly.” “Please let me come. Please destroy me.”

“No.”

He edges me twice. I shake. Cry.

Thrash against the cuffs.

But I don’t use my safe word. Because this is pain Iwant.

When he finally stands, unbuckling his belt, his voice drops to something raw. “You’re shaking. Are you scared?”

“No,” I whisper. “I’mready.”

He prowls over me, hands on either side of my head, body bowed like an avenging god. His pierced cock rests on my pussy, just above my clit. Tapping every few seconds, reminding me of his power, his glory.

Tears stream down my temples into my hair. He licks them, watches me. Licks them.

Then, one hand—the very same attached to the chain around my neck, connecting us—fisted around his beautiful length, Dante spears me with his beautiful cock. Hilt deep. Pushing the sublime scream up, up, up my throat. When it rips, he begins. Fucking me slow at first—inch by inch until I’m split open, gasping, trembling.

He wraps his hand around my throat and says, “You want me to destroy you? Then look at me while I do.”

Every thrust punches a broken sound out of me. Every squeeze around my neck makes the world spin and contract until the only thing I know ishim.

“Who do you belong to?” he growls.

“You, Sir,” I choke. “Completely.”

His rhythm falters. Not with dominance. But with emotion.

“Say it again.”

“You, Sir. Completely.”

And I mean it. With every fucked-out breath. With every inch of me stretched to take him. Because somewhere between the bindings and the brutal honesty, I stopped fighting. Because I wanted this. Needed it.

Because for the first time in my life, being caught feels like safety.

Like maybe—just maybe—being kidnapped by Dante O’Driscoll was the best thing that ever happened to me.

Something cracks open between us. Not just my orgasm ripping through me like a scream, but the look in his eyes when he lets go and gives in to me at the same time.

“Come for me, Dahlia. Comewithme,” he commands.

I lead the only time my Master will let me. And he follows.

With my name a guttural punch gasp on his lips.

Not just as a command but as a rawconfession.

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