Page 66 of Breaking Ophelia
“Suck,” I order.
She shakes her head.
I press the fingers in again, and this time she opens, her tongue swirling around them, her eyes never leaving mine.
“Good girl,” I say again, softer.
I pull my hand free, and just stare.
Only a few minutes until dawn.
Her chest is heaving, nipples raw and peaked, skin flushed.
I let go of her wrists, and she sags, defeated.
But her eyes are still alive.
I grab her chin, make her look at me, “One more for me, baby girl. Just one more.”
I spread her thighs wider, pinning them with my knees, and press my palm to her clit, rubbing hard and fast.
She squirms, then shakes. Her hands go to my arm, nails digging in, but she doesn’t try to stop me.
Her breath goes ragged, her body tightens.
I want her to come again. I want to break her on my hand, right here, right now.
She tries to fight it, but her hips rock into my touch, desperate.
“You want it,” I say, grinning. “You fucking need it.”
She shakes her head, but her body says yes.
I press harder, fingers working her, pushing her to the edge.
She whimpers, tries to stifle the sound.
I lean in, mouth at her ear. “Let go.”
She shudders, a sob ripped from her throat.
And then she breaks.
She comes, hard, thighs clamping around my hand, nails raking my arm. Her head slams back against the tree, eyes squeezed shut.
I work her through it, not letting up until she’s a quivering mess.
When it’s over, she collapses, breath hitching.
I pull my hand away, slick with her and then I kiss her, slow and deep.
This time she doesn’t fight.
I wipe her tears away, gentle.
“You’re mine,” I whisper. “Say it.”
She doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t pull away.
