Page 151 of Fractured Devotion
I stand, watching him watch me. “Do you trust me?”
His mouth curves, not quite a smile. “No.”
“Good.”
I take two steps forward. He doesn’t flinch. I reach up and press my hand to his chest, not gently. My nails skim the buttons of his shirt.
“Do you want me?” I ask.
His breath catches. “You know I do.”
“Then follow me.”
I walk past him, deliberately brushing against his side. The tension between us spikes like a live wire under the skin. I don’t look back. I don’t have to. I can hear his steps as he follows.
I lead him to the small diagnostics suite I’ve long since repurposed for privacy. The walls are thick, the locks are manual, and the room is dim.
I stop at the edge of the bed and turn.
“Strip.”
He watches me for half a beat, then obeys. Jacket first. Then his shirt. Each movement is precise and mechanical. As if he’s surrendering layers of defense, one by one.
I circle him. “You like control,” I say.
His jaw tightens. “Yes.”
I trail my nails down his spine. “You like masks. And pain. And fear.”
His breath shallows. “Yes.”
I press my lips to the base of his neck, then speak against his skin. “Good. Because tonight, you don’t get to be the one who decides.”
He shudders.
And I begin.
I take my time. Every touch is deliberate, every shift in pressure calculated to undo him. I reach up and blindfold him with the black silk I’ve kept tucked away. The moment it slides over his eyes, he stills.
“I want you to feel everything,” I murmur. “Without the safety of seeing it coming. No warning. No defense.”
He doesn’t respond with words. Just a sharp intake of air, a heavy inhale.
My hands glide down his chest, my fingernails dragging enough to leave faint pink trails. He twitches under my touch, but doesn’t flinch.
I tug his belt loose and slide it free with a taunting flourish. I undo his pants and pull them down just far enough to bare him. He’s hard and throbbing already. I press a palm over his cock firmly.
His hips jerk slightly when I grip him.
He raises his hand, instinct tugging him toward my face, maybe to touch, maybe to pull me in.
“Keep your hands at your sides,” I whisper.
He obeys, his fingers curled into tight fists.
I kneel and take him into my mouth, slow and punishing. I tease him with the flat of my tongue, then swallow him whole, holding him there until he gasps.
“Fuck… Celeste,” he rasps.
