Page 20 of Taken in the Tree Farm
He strips efficiently—jacket, shirt, pants—revealing a body that makes my breath catch despite my exhaustion. Broad shoulders. Defined chest and abs. Strong thighs. And his dick, thick and hard, straining toward me like it's been waiting for this moment all night.
It has been, hasn't it? This was always the destination. The chase, the capture, the lights—all of it leading to this.
To him inside me.
I can feel myself getting wetter, and now my mouth is watering.
He climbs back onto the bed, settling between my spread thighs. His hands run up my legs, fingers tracing the lights wrapped around my skin. When he reaches the strand looped around my throat, he gives it an experimental tug.
The lights tighten. I gasp, and my hips arch involuntarily toward him.
"There she is," he murmurs, satisfaction rich in his voice. "My good girl, finally giving in."
The praise makes warmth bloom in my chest alongside the heat between my thighs. I shouldn't want his approval or care what he thinks of me. Butfuck, I can’t help but respond to those words like a reward.
But I do.
His hand slides down my body, cupping my pussy possessively. I'm still sensitive from the orgasm, and when his fingers slide through my wetness, I whimper.
"Still so fucking wet," he observes, circling my clit with lazy strokes. "Think you can come again for me, sugarplum?"
"I don't—" My words cut off on a moan as he pushes two fingers inside me. "I don't know."
"Yes, you do." He curls his fingers, finding that spot that makes stars explode behind my eyes. "Your body knows exactly what it can handle. And I know exactly how to make it happen."
There's something in the way he says it. Something too certain, too confident. Like he's not guessing or experimenting—like heknows.
He adds a third finger, stretching me, and the angle is perfect. Not good—perfect. Hitting exactly the right spot with exactly the right pressure. My back arches off the bed, pulling against the restraints at my wrists, and pleasure shoots through me so intense it borders on pain.
"That's the spot, isn't it?" His thumb finds my clit, rubbing in circles that match the rhythm of his fingers inside me. "Right there. That's what makes you lose your mind."
How does he know? How does he know exactly where to touch, exactly how much pressure, exactly what rhythm drives me insane?
Before I can process the thought, he's building me up again. Working my body like he has the instruction manual, like he's studied every response and memorized what makes me tick. His fingers curl and thrust, his thumb circles and presses, and within minutes I'm gasping and writhing beneath him.
"Please," I hear myself beg. "Please, I need?—"
"I know what you need." He tightens the lights at my throat briefly, making me gasp. "And I'll give it to you. But first, you're going to come on my fingers again."
"I can't. I'm too—" Sensitive. Overwhelmed. Still shaking from the last orgasm.
"You can." His free hand slides up my body to cup my breast, thumb brushing over my nipple. "You will. Because I'm telling you to."
The combination of sensations is overwhelming. His fingers inside me, thumb on my clit, hand on my breast, lights pulsingagainst my skin. And that voice—dark and commanding and absolutely certain that I'll obey.
My body responds before my mind can catch up. The pleasure builds faster this time, sharper, like a wave cresting too quickly. I'm going to come again. Can't stop it. Can't?—
He tightens the lights at my throat just as I reach the peak.
The restriction of air, the flood of pleasure, the overwhelming sensation of being controlled—it all crashes together. My orgasm rips through me, and I thrash against the restraints, unable to scream because of the lights, unable to do anything but feel.
He releases the pressure immediately, and air rushes back into my lungs just as the climax peaks. The combination makes everything more intense, more overwhelming, more perfect than anything I've ever experienced.
When I finally come down, I'm crying. Actual tears streaming down my face, my body trembling uncontrollably. It's too much. Everything is too much.
But I don't want it to stop.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, withdrawing his fingers and bringing them to his mouth. He sucks them clean while maintaining eye contact, and the sight makes my spent pussy clench with renewed interest. "You taste like heaven, sugarplum."
