Page 98 of Watch Me Burn
“Yes.” I yank against the zip ties, wrists burning, desperate to touch him even as the restraint sends heat spiraling through me. “So close. Please don’t stop.”
“Look at me.” I force my eyes up to meet his gaze through the wolf mask, the dark eyes behind it burning into mine. “I want to see your face when you come for me.”
“Come inside me.” The plea tears from my throat.
Some distant part of my brain, the part that sounds like Maren, screams, “What the fuck!”
This is reckless. We need protection. I just finished antibiotics, and my body’s still healing. But rationality burned to ash the moment he touched me. I need to feel him come, need him to fill me and mark me and make me his all over again. The Plan B in my cabinet can handle tomorrow’s worries.
His thumb finds my clit, circling, teasing, with the exact pressure to make my vision blur. His eyes never leave my face, and the intensity of that stare drags me closer to the precipice, my skin flushing hot then cold.
“Now. Come for me now, Luna.”
My body doesn’t hesitate. The orgasm rips through me in brutal, violent waves as the scream tears from my chest. He keeps thrusting, prolonging each pulse of pleasure until my muscles turn liquid and my lungs can’t pull in enough air.
He’s still buried deep inside me, hard, and holding himself back from the edge. I squeeze my inner muscles around him, tight and intentional, and the growl that rumbles out of him rattles through my bones.
He pulls out, and his hands are on me, spinning me back onto my stomach like I weigh nothing, slapping my ass again. The table’s surface hits my cheek, cold and unforgiving. His palm plants itself between my shoulder blades, pinning me flat while his other hand grips my hip, angling me how he wants me.
“Again.” He slams back in, the pace turning wild and desperate. “I need to feel you come around me again.”
“I can’t.” The words barely make it out, my voice shaking.
“You can.” His hand leaves my hip and slides underneath, finding my oversensitive clit. “And you will.”
His fingers start circling, each touch almost too much on nerves still firing. His other hand tangles in my hair, fisting the strands and pulling until my head lifts back, stretching my throat taut. Then his grip releases, and his fingers wrap around my throat. Pressure builds against my windpipe, stealing my oxygen bit by bit.
This is what I’ve been starving for. The knife-edge between safety and danger. The act of giving myself, my complete surrender, over to him until there’s nothing left to hold back.
My pulse pounds against his fingertips as the familiar lightheadedness blooms. The oxygen deprivation heightens everything. His cock driving into me, his fingers circling my clit, the weight of his body dominant above mine.
“Remember this?” His breath scorches the side of my neck, and goosebumps erupt down my spine. “Remember how it feels when I control even your breath?”
Words won’t form. My throat works uselessly under his grip. I manage the barest hint of a nod, jerky and desperate, as he pushes me further into that space where pleasure and panic become indistinguishable.
And in this moment, with my oxygen thinning, my body thrumming, and his hand around my throat, I know with absolute certainty that we’ve clawed our way back. This is who we are. This dangerous dance on the edge of too much. This perfect trust that he’ll never hurt me.
Every muscle goes soft beneath him, even as tension coils tighter in my core, building toward another climax. His thrusts lose their rhythm, becoming wildand disjointed. His fingers move faster against my clit. Dark spots start appearing at the corners of my vision, multiplying and spreading. His hand opens, and he releases my throat. Air floods my lungs in a ragged, desperate gasp that sounds like drowning in reverse.
The sudden influx of oxygen, combined with the building pleasure, hurls me over the edge. My body convulses, my muscles seizing and releasing in waves I can’t control. He buries himself to the hilt, the force driving him so deep a sharp ache blooms in my lower abdomen—pain and pleasure twisted together until they’re inseparable. Heat floods my core as he empties himself inside me, and my name tears from his lips in a sound that’s broken and worshipful.
He stays there, suspended above me. His body radiates heat like a furnace, wrapping me in his presence. The moment stretches and holds, both of us dragging in ragged breaths, our hearts pounding out of sync, suspended in the aftermath of what just consumed us.
You’re mine.“ His voice comes out destroyed, the words pressed against my ear. “Your body is mine. Your pleasure is mine. Your very life is mine.”
“Yes.” Tears burn behind my eyes and spill over, tracking hot paths down my cheeks at the fierce possession in his voice. “Yours. All of me. Always.”
“I will never live without you, Luna.”
He straightens, rising to his full height. His fingers release my wrists from the restraints. Circulation slams back into my hands, a thousand tiny needles stabbing through numb flesh. I curl and uncurl my fingers, working feeling back into them, while he slides his hands under my shoulders and helps me roll onto my back.
His grip shifts to my waist, steadying me as I push myself upright. Then his palm lifts to my face, cupping my cheek with a gentleness that stands in stark contrast to what just happened. The tenderness splits me open, and fresh tears well up and spill over.
“Are you alright?” Even through the mask, even with his face hidden, concern bleeds through every word.
“I’m perfect.” I lean into his touch, the warmth of his palm centering me in my body again. My pulse begins to slow. “That was… We’re going to be okay, aren’t we?”
He doesn’t respond right away. His thumb traces the curve of my cheekbone. “Yes. We’re going to be okay.”
