Page 65 of Conquer
“You will never leave me.”
Never,a part of me whispers as he thrusts that invading digit, making my eyes roll back into my head. It’s like he’s drugging me with every deliberate motion, making me susceptible to any command he dishes out.
“And you will finally tell me what you’ve danced around confessing all this time, won’t you?”
Tell? Then it clicks. My eyelids flutter against the fabric of his makeshift blindfold. “Let me see you,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. “Please. I need to see you.”
I sense him hesitate, presumably unsure of my motives—always battling that closed-off, paranoid part of himself. Finally…
His fingers brush the planes of my cheeks before the blindfold is lifted away, and I can take in his face. Those beautiful dark eyes watch me warily, still too proud to beg. So he demands instead, stroking me from the inside out, wringing a strangled gasp from me in lieu of words.
He wanted me to feel what he does? I show him, arching shamelessly into his touch, forcing my body to sway, at the mercy of his contraption. I let his fingers work their magic, turning my insides to putty, my brain to mush. I allow any lingering doubts to drain away, my blood drugged on lust as our gazes meet.
“I love you,” I tell him, meaning every word. The conviction in my own voice terrifies me, but I can’t deny it any longer.
And this is true surrender.
And corruption.
“I love you—”
Growling, he steps into me, at the same time reaching up to snatch one of the strips holding my wrists aloft. The sharp shift in angle draws me against him, and his free hand grips my hip, snatching me the rest of the way. His lips pry mine apart, his tongue plunging in between as his finger strokes a brutal friction that makes me moan openly, senseless.
He’s still fully dressed, I realize somewhere at the back of my mind. A fact he quickly rectifies, snatching open his slacks with a sharp tug of his free hand while his opposite fingers withdraw from me.
Bucking his hips, he enters me hard, lowering his mouth to my throat, his teeth catching the tender flesh there. “Again,” he rasps in between harsh thrusts that leave me reeling. “Again—”
“I love you.” I marvel at how easily the words come now. No hesitation. No shame. I’m as locked into the confession as I am to the apparatus he’s created for me, surrendering of my own free will.
