Page 63 of The Beast's Broken Angel
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a pair of leather cuffs. I blinked. I hadn’t even noticed him carrying them. They weren’t the novelty kind either. Heavy. Black. Real.
“Hands behind your back,” he said.
I obeyed without thinking, the tone of his voice leaving no room for anything else. He cuffed my wrists together in a smooth motion, firm but not cruel. The click of the buckle made my heart pound harder.
He brushed his thumb across my lower lip. “Let’s see what that mouth can do.”
I dropped to my knees in front of him. My hands were boundbehind me, so I tilted my head up, brushing my cheek against the bulge in his pants before nuzzling it open with my nose. He hissed as I dragged the zipper down with my teeth. When I finally freed him, his cock was thick and hard, the head already wet.
“Go on,” he said. “Make it good.”
I opened my mouth and took him in slowly, sucking him down as far as I could. He groaned low and deep, hand curling in my hair, guiding me into a rhythm that matched the roll of his hips. I hollowed my cheeks, letting him fuck my mouth at his pace.
“Just like that,” he muttered. “God, you look good with your lips around my cock.”
I moaned around him, the vibration making his grip tighten. He fucked into my mouth, slow and controlled, eyes burning into mine. I let spit drip down my chin, let myself be used like he needed to see it. He pulled out with a wet pop, panting.
He tossed off his shirt and he moved to a bag I hadn't noticed by the nightstand and pulled out a leather crop. A leather crop. Black handle. Thin, flexible tip. He dragged it down my spine, not striking, just letting me feel it.
“You want this?” he asked.
“Yes,” I whispered, breath catching.
He tested it on my ass first. A light flick, enough to sting, not enough to hurt. Then another. Harder. The sound was sharp and clean. My cock throbbed against the sheets and I moaned again.
“You're already so responsive,” he said, sliding slick fingers between my cheeks. “So ready for me.”
I nodded, helpless. Needy. Lost in it.
He tossed the crop aside and slicked his fingers with lube. Slid two inside me with no hesitation. Scissoredthem wide. Three. I cried out, hole clenching, cock twitching untouched beneath me.
“Stay open for me,” he growled.
He positioned me on my knees, wrists still bound behind my back. I heard the snap of a lube cap, felt the cool liquid against my entrance as he prepared himself.
When he finally pushed inside, it was with one brutal, perfect thrust. I shouted, back arching as he buried himself deep. He didn’t stop. He fucked into me like it was owed, like my body was his to take apart and put back together.
“Mine,” he said against my neck. “Say it.”
“I’m yours,” I gasped. “Fuck, Adrian, I’m yours.”
He reached around and stroked my cock in time with his thrusts, rough and unrelenting. The cuffs made it impossible to grab anything. I just had to take it. Had to feel everything he gave me.
He didn’t stop.
His hand moved in tandem with the relentless rhythm of his hips, stroking me with a brutal kind of tenderness that made my thighs shake. The friction—his cock driving deep, his palm slick around mine—was too much and not enough all at once. My mouth hung open, breath caught somewhere between a sob and a moan.
I could hear everything. The wet slap of skin against skin. The choked curses falling from his mouth. The creak of the mattress under us. It was raw, visceral, all-consuming.
“Fucking perfect,” Adrian rasped, his voice fraying at the edges. “The way you take me—like you were made for this.”
Every filthy word sank beneath my skin, made my hole clench tighter around him, made my cock jerk helplessly in his grip. I couldn’t speak, not yet. All I could do was feel—each thrust stealing air from my lungs, each stroke of his hand pushing me closer to the edge.
But then… he slowed.
His hand stilled. His hips rolled instead of slammed, grinding in deeper, like he needed to feel every inch of where we connected. He leaned over me, weight pressing me into the sheets, and dragged his mouth along the back of my neck.
“You want to come, don’t you?” he whispered, voice like silk over broken glass. “You’re right there.”
