Page 18 of Taken in the Tree Farm
I tighten again, just for a second, watching her pulse hammer beneath the glowing strands. Then release. Tighten. Release. Finding the rhythm that makes her eyes go hazy and her thighs clench together.
She's not fighting anymore. She's sinking into it, into the sensations, into the trust she doesn't want to give me but can't help offering.
I leave the lights at her throat and move lower, wrapping another strand around her upper thighs. This time I position themspecifically, looping under and around in a pattern that forces her legs apart.
"Wait," she protests weakly as I spread her thighs. "What are?—"
"Shh." I spread her legs wider, bending her knees, opening her completely to my gaze. The lights wrap around her thighs glow red and white, framing her pussy like a present waiting to be unwrapped.
Andfuck, she's beautiful. Wet and pink and swollen, her clit visibly hard, glistening with arousal.
"Look at you," I growl, settling between her spread legs. "So wet for me. So ready."
"I hate you," she says, but we both know that’s simply not true.
"No, you don't." I blow cool air across her overheated flesh, and she cries out. "You hate how much you want this. That's different."
Before she can argue, I lean forward and lick a long, slow stripe up her center.
The sound she makes—high and desperate—goes straight to my cock.
She tastes like heaven. I do it again, slower this time, using the flat of my tongue. Her hips buck against my mouth, seekingmore.
I grab the lights at her throat and give them a gentle tug, tightening just enough to make her gasp. Her hips jerk, and I feel her get wetter against my tongue.
"Stay still," I command against her pussy. "Or I'll stop."
She tries. God, she tries. But when I focus on her clit with the tip of my tongue—circling, flicking, applying pressure exactly where she needs it—she can't help but move. Her whole body trembles, straining against the lights binding her.
I tighten the lights at her throat again, just for a moment, and she freezes. The restriction steals her breath for two seconds, maybe three, before I release the tension.
The moment air rushes back into her lungs, she moans.
The combination is intoxicating—pleasure and control mixed together until she doesn't know which is which. I do it again, sucking her clit into my mouth while simultaneously tightening the lights at her throat. Hold. Release. The rhythm makes her shake, makes her cry out, makes her absolutely drench my face.
"Please," she begs, and I don't think she even knows what she's asking for anymore. "Please, I need?—"
"What do you need?" I ask against her clit, my tongue still working in lazy circles. "Tell me."
"I need to come." The admission costs her. I can hear it in her voice. "Please let me come."
"Not yet." I slide two fingers inside her, feeling how tight she is, how her inner walls clench around the intrusion. "You'll come when I say you can."
I work her slowly after that—tongue on her clit, fingers curling inside her, finding that spot that makes her see stars. The lights pulse around her body with her racing heartbeat, making her look like she's been plugged into an electrical current.
She's close. I can feel it in the way her pussy flutters around my fingers, in the way her breathing goes ragged, in the desperate little sounds falling from her lips.
I tighten the lights at her throat again, holding them firm while I suck hard on her clit.
She screams—or tries to—but the lights restrict the sound, turning it into a choked gasp. I release immediately, and the rush of oxygen combined with the stimulation nearly sends her over the edge.
"Not yet," I warn, pulling back slightly. "Hold it."
"I can't," she sobs, her bound hands pulling uselessly at the restraints. "I can't hold it."
"Yes, you can." I slow my fingers, gentling my tongue, keeping her right on the edge without pushing her over. "Because I told you to."
She makes a sound of pure frustration, her body drawn taut as a bowstring. She's completely lost in it now—no more shame, no more fighting, just pure desperate need.
