Page 152 of Painted Scars
He doesn’t give me time to adjust. Precious seconds where I may run. His hands snare my wrists, binding them deftly with another strip of silky cloth, cool over my skin. There’s no slack, no chance of slipping free, his knots efficient and unbreakable.
I nod, the gag muffling my whimper.
His hands fist my hair, pulling my head back sharp enough to make my eyes water and light me up inside. The fire’s glow licks across his face. His merciless gaze rakes over me, but I catch the flicker of something softer underneath.
“Look at you,” he rasps, his spare hand skimming from my hip, up my waist, and kneading my breasts. “Tied up, gagged, your nipples hard. You’re not scared, you’re fucking soaking wet.”
I squirm and whimper into my gag, aching for him to give me what we both need.
His hand slides from my throat, between my breasts, down my belly, and cups my pussy. “My wet little brat. Teasing me with this ass.”
He leans back to pepper my backside with spanks that leave me burning hotter than ever.
His palm drags from my shoulder to my elbow. “I should make you wait. Make you beg for it.”
I groan through the gag.
He laughs, a low and dangerous sound. “Patience has never been your strong suit, sunshine.”
My bound hands stretch awkwardly, but I don’t fight the delicious burn in my wrists. My skin hums like a live wire. My heart’s a frantic drum, my body liquid heat.
“You trust me with this?” he asks, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper, seeking my consent. “You want your Daddy to take care of you? Own you? Control you?”
My throat tightens. I nod harder than I expect. My heart’s in my mouth. I’m trusting him. Blind, reckless, and complete. I push my hips back into him like a shameless brat.
“That’s you begging, isn’t it, baby?” He bites my shoulder. “You want this. You’re ordering me around with those fucking curvy hips.” He’s giving me one final out.
Hell, no. I’m not using my safe word. I moan my consent.
He yanks my sweatpants and panties down, tracing patterns on my ass. “I’m not going to be gentle this time. This is the full fantasy, rough and messy.”
He leans down to bite me and mark my flesh.
Reverent hands drag from my hips to my throat, applying enough pressure to hold me still but not hurt me. “I’ll never hurt you, baby. I’ll destroy anyone who tries.”
The rasp of his zipper makes my lungs seize in anticipation. He presses his hot head against my throbbing core, and a muffled cry rips from my throat. There’s no easing into me. No, I get a brutal, deep piercing. I fist my hands behind my back and whimper. Every relentless thrust knocks the air from my lungs. Every drag of his cock in my pussy has me arching and gasping around my gag.
“My mouthy little journalist,” he grits out. “So goddamn brave in daylight, reduced to nothing but whimpers for your stalker at night.”
Heat tears through me as my climax soars closer. My body shakes against the sofa, wrists and arms straining with each punishing drive into me. I can’t sass my way out. I can only take.
He leans over me, his chest searing against my back. “You wanted a monster. You got one.”
I choke on a moan and sob, hair plastered to my cheeks with sweat. Pleasure lashes at me. I’m gagged, helpless, completely at his mercy, and I’ve never felt safer.
His hands slide down my body, cruel fingers finding the slick proof of how badly I want this between my legs. I jolt, a whine vibrating against my gag.
“So fucking greedy for me,” he mutters, almost in awe.
His rhythm switches into something rougher, wilder, his control fraying at the edges. Teeth latch onto my neck again. Fingers bruise my hips, and I fucking love their punishing grip. The sofa scrapes with every ragged thrust.
“Mine. You hear me, Kate?” He clasps my chin and tugs my face to his. “Every reckless laugh, every glitter-soaked mess your alien pussy makes.”
I don’t get the chance to splutter-laugh at the joke he made on our second meeting, because his fingers find me again, rubbing unapologetically, and the pressure builds, threatening to tear me apart. My body’s wound up to the breaking point. I try to warn him, try to beg, garbled sounds coming out.
He growls louder into my throat. “Fall apart for me, Glitter Bomb.”
The order crackles inside and detonates. Climax rips through me like an explosion of electricity. Every nerve burns from the heat of it. Pleasure radiates from my core outward.
