Page 58 of Her Soul to Own

My lips twitch into something dark. “You can make yourself come anytime. That’s not why you’re here.”

She hesitates, her breath catching. Then, quieter, when she says, “I want you to do it. I want you to make me come.”

“But you know you shouldn’t even ask for that.”

“I know,” she breathes. “But I still want it.”

God help me, that wrecks me. Because it is wrong. All of this is wrong. And that’s exactly what makes it so damn irresistible.

“Lick,” I command, my voice raspy.

I don’t touch her. I just sit back and watch as she leans forward with her mouth open, her tongue sliding along the length of my cock in one long, torturous stroke. I hiss, my knuckles whitening where I grip the arms of the chair. Her tongue is soft, sure, and precise, tracing the underside of my cock with maddening care, flicking the sensitive ridge, and then circling the head like she’s memorizing it.

Still, she doesn’t take me in. She just licks, teasing, her eyes wide and locked on mine through the soft light, her tied hands twitching at her sides.

“Suck,” I growl.

She smiles, just a flicker, clever, knowing, and unapologetically confident. It’s the kind of smile that could walk into a boardroom and walk out owning it. Then she lowers her head, and all I can see is a mess of dark waves between my legs.

I groan, deep and involuntary. Fuck, this… this I’ve missed. Her mouth wrapping around me, warm and wet and hungry. But my mind flashes to other things too—her bent over on the bed, riding me in the dark, and the sound she makes right before she shatters.

So many sights I’ve missed. So many I want to burn into my memory.

My legs are vibrating with the restraint it takes not to thrust. But I give in just enough, threading my fingers through her hair, tightening, guiding. I push up into her mouth, slow and steady until I feel the resistance of her throat, then pull back, her lips dragging with delicious friction.

Every stroke is fire. Every gasp from her throat is a prayer answered.

I’ve never been harder. Never wanted anything more than to come down her throat, then bend her over the railing and ruin her all over again.

And this? This is only the beginning.

“On the bench,” I command.

She wordlessly obeys. She’s perched on the edge of the bench now, the soft light catching the curves of her body and turning her into something almost too unreal to touch. Her wrists are still tied, the rope wrapped firm and neat, resting in her lap like she’s waiting for judgment, or worship.

I approach slowly, my pulse thick in my throat. The air is warm, scented with her skin and something faintly citrus from the garden beyond the glass, but all I can smell is her arousal. It clings to the space between us like static. Electric. I wantto consume her. Mark her. Break whatever composure she’s clinging to.

She watches me. She doesn’t blink, doesn’t flinch.

I step between her thighs and spread her legs apart, deliberate and slow, watching the way her breath catches. The bench squeaks as she shifts and instinctively angles her hips forward, offering more than she probably realizes. My cock pulses against the line of my slacks, but I don’t move to free it. Not yet.

“You’re quiet,” I murmur, my hand trailing up her thigh, my fingers ghosting the edge of her tiny shorts. “Does that mean you’ve finally learned how to behave?”

She swallows hard. “You haven’t told me what you want yet.”

That makes me smile. Sharp, slow, dangerous. “I want you desperate.” I lean in, my lips brushing her ear, my voice just for her. “I want you aching for me with your hands tied and your legs spread and nothing to do but feel everything I give you. Understand?”

She nods. Breathless. Wide-eyed. And still somehow defiant with the kind of boldness I crave more than I should.

I lower my hand, pressing two fingers against her pussy and dragging them along her skin. Her hips jerk. Her breath shudders. “Soaked already,” I murmur. “For me?”

She nods again. I press harder, a slow, rhythmic grind that makes her legs shake.

“You’re going to sit right here,” I tell her, dragging my mouth along her jaw, “and you’re going to stay perfectly still while I decide just how ruined you get to be.”

And when I finally kiss her, it’s not soft. It’s not sweet.

It’s a promise.

---