Page 81 of Yearn
It became trembling heat and blissful weightlessness as if the steam were lifting me right off the tile.
I was floating.
Floating in some filthy heaven where shame dissolved and all I could do was breathe and moan.
“Oh my God. . .” My head lolled back against the tile.
My mouth hung open. “Ohhh.”
The sound that came out of me wasn’t even a moan anymore—it was something broken and grateful, a noise I didn’t know I could make.
God, this was a high.
A fever dream.
My nipples ached.
My thighs shook so hard I thought they’d give out.
The world narrowed to his hands, the hum of the rose, and my body trying to chase a release it couldn’t quite catch.
I reached for him without thinking, fingers fumbling at his soaked belt, trying to free his cock because I needed him, needed skin instead of silicone, needed him to fill me.
But he caught my wrists and pushed them back against the tile.
“No.” A growl low in his throat. “You had your chance last night—”
“Baby, I’m sorry—”
“I know you are. Still, you don’t touch. You don’t take. You float where I keep you until I say.”
The denial hit me harder than the toy itself, and a helpless sound tore out of my throat as the vibration kissed my clit again, just enough to keep me trembling in that bright, dizzy place where I couldn’t tell if I was about to come or cry.
Then, the bastard took it away.
“I feel—” I broke off with a sharp gasp as another tremor crawled up my thighs. “Dominic. . .God, I feel high. Like I’m floating. Why do I feel like this?”
He didn’t even blink. “Because I’m keeping you on the edge. Every time I hold you back, your pelvic floor contracts and traps blood in the erectile tissue of your vagina. Your clitoral bulbs are engorged; the nerve endings in your vestibular region are hyper-sensitized. Dopamine spikes, prolactin dips, oxytocin floods, and your vagus nerve tricks your brain into thinking it’s getting a narcotic.”
I stared at him, blinking steam out of my eyes. “What?”
“You heard me.”
A laugh bubbled out of me, wicked and breathless. “Baby, I have no idea what the hell you just said.”
He wickedly grinned, slow and dark, still holding me at the edge. “All it means, Mommy, is that I’ve hacked your body chemistry. Your pussy’s high, your brain’s high, and I’m the one controlling the dose. Say thank you.”
“T-thank you.” My laugh turned into a moan. “Oh God. . .”
“That’s right.” His grin sharpened. “Science, Mommy. You’re my experiment, and you love it because you’re my filthy whore.”
“I do.”
His words, a deft combination of filthy and scientific, flowed into my ears like he was pouring warm honey into my brain.
“God. . .thank you,” I repeated, and my voice was a whisper, barely discernible over the running water and the hum of the rose.
He rewarded my words with a slow, taunting circle of the rose over my pulsing clit.
