Page 61 of His Twisted Game
“Can’t figure out what’s going on when you’re so turned on,” he murmured. “You want to be used, like a good girl.”
His tongue landed on my clit, warm and enveloping, and I moaned, thrusting my hips toward him. I looked down, his eyes searching me as his tongue and lips manipulated me into submission.
He reached up with one hand under my shirt as he played with my nipples. Then he thrust a thick finger inside of me, massaging my g-spot, making an uncontrollable surge of pleasure wash through me, but no matter how hard I bucked, he wouldn’t give me enough to come. He was teasing me.
I closed my eyes, and he fingered me, his tongue on my clit, the pressure building.
“You’re going to come,” he said, “right here in the restaurant. Because I want you to. Because you want to please me. You can be a good girl for me, can’t you, Fiona?”
My pussy clenched. I wanted to be good. But doing that would be letting go, and I didn’t know if I was capable of that.
The climax built inside of me: “I can’t—”
“But you can,” he growled, “and you will, Fiona. Because your only purpose right now, your sole desire is to please me.” He stood up, shoving another finger inside of me, stretching me to the brim, his palm resting against my clit, his eyes level with mine, “It pleases me to use like this, plaything.”
He fingered me hard, penetrating at an angle, digging into me. His mouth pressed against mine as he growled out his words: “I’ll take what I want from you. Whenever I want. Whatever I want.” He fingered me harder, making me sweat all over, the pleasure surging to my toes. “I don’t care if this destroys your sense of self. You’re mine, Fiona. And if you wanted me to stop, you know exactly what to say.”
Those two words.
Please, Sawyer.
But I couldn’t beg. I refused. Not with him. No matter how much I wanted to. Needed to. But for a second, I knew there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for him, and that scared me. But he kneeled down again, his mouth returning to my clit, his fingers thrusting inside of me, the heat building in waves, making sweat perspire on my brow. I looked down.
Sawyer was on his knees.
In front of me.
Gazing at me.
Pleasingme.
Yet I was the one who was completely owned by him.
And I loved everything about us.
Pleasure twitched me into release, and I cried out, wrapping my calves around the back of his head, digging my fingers into his hair, everything shuddering and breaking inside of me, twisting into knots, and he growled, the vibrations sending me over that edge and I knew I would never be the same.
No matter what happened, whether I lost or won, I would be his.
The last ripples of pleasure subsided, and Sawyer stood, towering over me. He yanked me down to my knees, then ripped open my shirt, the buttons flying as he stared at my breasts. Like he owned me.
And I felt complete. So damn right. I held out my tongue, eager for him, and he fisted his cock, then grabbed my hair, shoving his length down my throat until my eyes watered and I couldn’t breathe.
With one loud groan, he pulled out, feverishly choking his cock until those spasms raked out, come marking me in sticky ropes on my cheek, my chest, my naked breasts. I washis plaything. His good girl.
Because I did want Sawyer. I couldn’t deny that.
He scooped his come from my chest and rubbed it into my skin, his dick growing again as my nipples pebbled under the slick liquid. His palm met my cheeks, sticky with his come. Rubbing it all over me.
“So everyone will know you’re mine,” he said.
A chill ran through me. My mouth gaped as he went to the door, letting the server in.
“Thank you,” he said, gesturing at the mess of plates and spilled food. “We’ll have dessert now.”
Without a word, the servers came in and cleaned, and when they were done, they brought us two slices of chocolate cake. None of them said a word about my ripped shirt, the missing buttons, or the sticky and dried substance on my face. Had he told them what to expect? Did he do this often?
How much power did Sawyer have?
