Page 100 of Theirs to Possess: The Marriage Claim
When Dorian first mentioned BDSM, I’d been appalled. But the more I experience, the more I want.
Brennan’s lips graze the sensitive skin just above my swollen clit, a deliberate tease that pulls a whimper from my throat. He doesn’t dive in, doesn’t give me what I crave. Instead, he trails soft kisses along my folds, slow and torturous, savoring every shudder I can’t suppress. My hips twitch, seeking more, but his hands clamp down, holding me still.
“Fuck his face, little one.” The dark purr in Dorian’s tone sends a jolt straight to my core. “Show him how much you want an orgasm.”
How can I?
How can I not?
My cheeks burn, but his rough command has unlocked something wild in me. I think of Vieille Rivière, the toplessdancer swaying with untamed grace, her body free in a way I’ve never dared to be. Could I let go like that? Just surrender to this, to them?
Dorian’s right—I’ve been fighting my own desires, clinging to inhibitions that only make this more difficult. Maybe if I stop resisting, I’ll find something…more.
“Isla…” My name is a growled warning.
I roll my hips, tentatively at first, pressing myself against Brennan’s mouth. He groans, and the vibration shoots through me. Brennan rewards me with a long, slow lick that skirts my clit without touching it.
My head falls back, a moan slipping free despite the driver, despite everything. Brennan’s tongue is relentless, lapping at my folds, sucking gently, exploring every inch except where I need him most. It’s exquisite torture, and I’m drowning in it.
“Harder,” Dorian snaps, his hand landing on my thigh, fingers digging in. “Ride his face like you mean it.”
His words are a lash, spurring me on. I grip the seat, my nails biting into the leather as I grind against Brennan’s mouth, chasing the pressure I’ve been denied all night.
He matches my rhythm, his lips and tongue working me with devastating precision, still avoiding penetration. It’s maddening—his refusal to fill me, to give me that final push—but it only sharpens the edge of my need.
I steal another glance at Dorian. His jaw is tight, and his gaze is locked on the place where Brennan’s mouth meets my skin.
The thought of him watching, directing, wanting, sends a fresh wave of heat through me. “Please.” I gasp, not sure who I’m begging—Brennan to finish me or Dorian to let me fall apart.
“Let go, little one.” Dorian is softer now, almost coaxing. “You’ll enjoy life more when you stop fighting me. When you stop fighting what you crave.”
His words hit deep, cracking something open inside me. I’m tired of holding back.“Yes.”
“Yes, Sir,” he corrects.
Dutifully I repeat him. “Yes, Sir.” It’s as if the words set me free.
My movements are desperate as I boldly arch into Brennan’s mouth.
He finally closes his lips around my clit, sucking hard, and my world explodes. My orgasm crashes through me, a white-hot wave that leaves me shaking, gasping, my legs clamping around Brennan’s head as he drinks me through every pulse.
It’s earth-shaking, perfect, but as the aftershocks fade, I’m still hungry.
My traitorous body aches for more—to have them inside me, filling the emptiness Brennan’s tongue couldn’t touch. I slump against the seat, panting, my skin flushed and damp.
Brennan pulls back, his lips glistening, a satisfied smile curling his mouth. He wipes his chin with the back of his hand, eyes never leaving mine.
“Such a good girl.” Dorian’s voice is a low rumble that makes my insides clench again. He doesn’t touch me, doesn’t offer comfort, just watches with his unyielding intensity.
Brennan resumes his seat, still focused on me.
Shaking from the aftermath, I reach for my crumpled dress, but Dorian shakes his head sharply.
“Remain as you are.”
What?
Then I realize he means that he doesn’t want me to get dressed.
