Page 10 of Bound By His Name
My fingers slip beneath the edge of my robe. I’m slick—ready in a way I hadn’t realized until I touched myself. The heat blooming across my thighs has nothing to do with the fire behind me.
It’s him. It’s his voice and his stillness. The way he watches me like this is a confession.
“You’re already wet,” Lev speaks quietly, almost like it surprises him. But I can tell it doesn’t, he knew.
I breathe out and reach for his fingers. He seems surprised but obliges. His fingers wrap around mine, pressing them against my heat.
I gasp at the contact, my body jerking at the sudden intimacy. He makes a low noise in his throat, urging me on silently.
Together, we push two of my fingers inside me. I moan, my back arching as I experience the sensation of being filled. He adds another finger, stretching me wider. I whimper, my walls clenching around our combined digits.
I begin to move my fingers in and out, fucking myself slowly as he watches intently. His breath is hot on my cheek, his lips brushing against my ear.
"That's it," he rasps. "Finger yourself for me, Anya." I pick up the pace, sliding my fingers deeper inside with each thrust. The heel of my hand grinds against my clit, sending sparks ofpleasure coursing through my veins. Lev groans and I gasp as I feel the hardness of his cock pulsing against my thigh.
His free hand slides up, over my ribs, beneath the robe, finding the curve of my waist. His thumb presses gently into the dip just above my hipbone, steady, anchoring. It’s not even sexual. It’s possession with restraint.
I move my fingers in slow circles, too aware of how he watches my face in the firelight.
I keep going despite tension in my thighs. My head tips back against the edge of the chair and the muscles in my stomach flutter.
He leans closer, speaking near my ear, his breath hitting the shell of it, not quite touching.
“I’m not going to fuck you tonight,” he murmurs. “You’re not ready. But I want you to remember what it feels like when you break for me.”
I moan—quiet, breathy, and embarrassed by how quickly my body reacts to him.
He doesn’t mock it nor does he move away.
“Do you want more?” he asks.
“Yes.” The word slips out before I can think.
“Say it louder.”
“More.”
He brings his mouth to my neck, close enough that I feel the shape of his words against my skin.
“Keep touching yourself.”
I do.
He speaks while I move—what he wants to do to me, where he’ll taste me when I finally let him, how long he plans to make me beg before he takes anything.
“I could get you off like this every night,” he continues, just behind my ear. “Hands off. Voice only. Would that make you crazy?”
“Yes,” I whisper, thighs already shaking.
“You’d let me ruin your mind like that?”
“Yes.”
My body tightens—hips bucking into my own fingers now. I don’t care how loud I am anymore. My eyes are closed, but I know he’s watching. I want him to. I want him to see what he did to me without even laying a hand on the parts that ache the most.
"Just like that," he urges, his voice low and husky in my ear. "Keep going." I slide my fingers in and out of my pussy, coating them with my wetness.
I'm close, so close.
