Page 65 of The Beast's Broken Angel
I moaned, hips twitching, but couldn’t move much. With my hands pinned beneath me, I was completely at his mercy.
“You taste like you were made for me,” he said between licks. “And I’m going to make sure you remember that.”
He didn’t let up until I was writhing, leaking again, body overstimulated but desperate for more. Then he pulled back, wiped his mouth, and reached for the nightstand.
He pulled out a small bottle of lube, another pair of cuffs—these for ankles—and something longer, black leather with silver studs.
“Adrian…” I breathed, watching him as he looped the cuffs around my ankles and fastened them to the corners of the bed. My legs were spread wide now, totally exposed, and my chest rose and fell in shallow pants.
He ran a finger down my stomach.
“You’re shaking,” he said, not unkindly.
“You’re intense.”
He smirked, clearly pleased. “Good.”
The whip wasn’t for striking, not this time. He used the flat side to tease me—dragging it over my thighs, between my legs, up the curve of my hole and back again. He pressed the handle against my entrance, just enough to feel the pressure, and I gasped.
“You’re so fucking responsive,” he murmured. “Every sound you make goes straight to my cock.”
He slicked his fingers again with lube and slid two inside, stretching me fast this time. My back arched. I was already loose from before, but the sudden pressure still made me gasp.
He reached for the lube again, slicking himself thoroughly before lining up against my entrance. Didn't ask. Didn't warn.
He pushed in with one smooth, brutal stroke, burying himself to the hilt.
My head tipped back against the pillows. I couldn’t even form words.
He fucked me harder this time. Rough. Relentless. One hand braced beside my head, the other gripping my thigh despite the ankle restraints keeping me spread wide. The limited movement only intensified every sensation.
Every thrust knocked a sound out of me, and I didn’t care how wrecked I sounded. I wanted to be wrecked. By him.
“Look at me,” he said, voice low and dark.
I forced my eyes open. Met his gaze.
He kissed me fiercely, fucking me deeper as I moaned into his mouth. I felt him everywhere. In my throat, in my chest, inthe way my hole stretched around him and refused to let him go.
“You’re gonna come for me again,” he said. “Right on my cock. No hands. Just from me.”
He angled his hips, found that spot inside me, and hit it over and over. My toes curled. My hands clenched in the cuffs behind me. I was gone, undone, nothing but sensation.
Then I was coming again, hard and sudden, spilling across my stomach with a cry that bordered on a sob. Adrian fucked me through it, never slowing, driving into me like he wanted to brand himself into my skin.
Adrian filled me, it was with a low, broken groan, hands fisting in the sheets beside my head. He stayed buried deep, hips jerking with aftershocks, and collapsed on top of me with a heavy exhale.
We lay there like that, breathing each other in, sweat cooling between our bodies. He finally reached behind me and undid the wrist cuffs, rubbing the marks gently with his thumbs before moving to release my ankles. The freedom felt strange after being so thoroughly restrained.
I couldn’t speak yet. Could barely move.
He kissed my forehead, then each wrist. “You okay?”
I nodded, eyes fluttering shut. “More than okay.”
Adrian pulled the blanket over us and curled around my side, one arm draped over my waist like a promise.
“We’re just getting started,” he whispered.
