Page 64 of The Beast's Broken Angel
I whimpered, nodding. My wrists strained against the cuffs, desperate for something—his hair, his skin, anything to anchor me.
He pulled out slowly, so fucking slowly, until only the tip remained, then drove back in with a groan that sounded more like a confession. “You don’t get to finish until I say so.”
The control in his tone made my spine arch. But there was something else beneath it now—a tremor, barely noticeable. Like he was holding himself back, like he was afraid that if he really let go, he’d ruin me.
“Adrian,” I breathed, throat raw. “Please.”
He stilled, buried deep inside me, and kissed the nape of my neck. Not rough. Not claiming. Just… soft.
“You don’t get it, do you?” he said, quieter now. “You ask like I wouldn’t already give you anything.”
I twisted slightly to look over my shoulder. His face was close—eyes blown wide, lips parted, flushed like he was barely holding himself together. His hand moved from my cock to my chest, palm flat over my heart.
“This,” he said, voice rough, “isn’t just about fucking. It hasn’t been for a long time.”
I swallowed hard. I should have said something. Should have stopped this before it became more than heat and desperation and dark, twisted need.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I said, “Then show me.”
Something cracked in him. I felt it—felt the way his restraint slipped like a snapped thread. His mouth was on my shoulder, teeth scraping skin, hips moving again with an urgency that bordered on frantic.
He fucked me like he couldn’t stand the space between us. Like he had to burn this into both of us so neither of us could pretend it meant nothing.
My body rocked with every thrust, the air punched from my lungs each time he bottomed out. The cuffs bit into my wrists, grounding me in the ache, the stretch, the helplessness I had chosen.
He groaned and reached beneath me again, this time with more care. His hand wrapped around my cock like he knew exactly how to undo me, each stroke measured, deliberate.
My back arched. My hips trembled.
I was close again. Too close.
But I didn’t want it to end.
Not yet.
Not when it finally felt like we were unraveling together.
“Don’t think we’re done,” he murmured. “I’ve waited too long to have you like this.”
He pulled out slowly, the drag of him enough to make me twitch and gasp. Then he rolled me onto my back with ease, my arms awkward beneath me but held in place by the cuffs. He watched me for a beat, eyes roaming over my body like he wasn’t done devouring.
He wasn’t.
The pressure built impossibly, every nerve ending on fire as Adrian’s rhythm never faltered. He slammed back into me, and I was suddenly on my back, the force sending sparks of pleasure through my entire body. When I finally came, it was with a broken cry, my body convulsing as pleasure tore through me,spilling hot across the sheets beneath us. The intensity left me shaking, gasping for breath.
Adrian leaned down and kissed me—slow this time, almost reverent—but his hands never stopped moving. One slid up my thigh, the other wrapped around the base of my cock, already starting to stir again despite how hard I’d come minutes ago.
“Sensitive?” he asked, smirking.
I nodded, breathless.
“Good.”
He reached for the crop again. I flinched—not from fear, but anticipation. Instead, he traced it along my inner thigh, then tapped the tip lightly just below my navel. Not hard. Just a reminder. He didn’t need pain to dominate. Just pressure. Presence.
Adrian spread my legs wider and bent down, licking a slow stripe from the base of my cock to the head. Then he sucked me into his mouth, deliberately gentle, like he wanted to draw the nerves back to life inch by inch. His mouth was hot and devastating, tongue flicking the tip before he swallowed me down again.
