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And then his hand went back down and he slapped my pussy once more.
The sudden sting drew a gasp from me, my body bucking beneath his touch. Tristan’s fingers, still slick with my arousal, began to plunge into me, the intrusion taking me by surprise.
“Don’t forget you’re mine,” he warned, pushing deeper with each word he muttered.
The slap had taken my breath away, the sting spreading across my sensitive skin and mixing with the pleasure his other hand was creating. I took a deep breath, meeting his gaze.
“Answer me again,” he insisted, his voice straining with a mixture of tension and desire. “Who do you belong to?”
“You,” I breathed out, a shudder running through me as his eyes turned dark with satisfaction.
“And who will protect you?” he asked, his thumb never ceasing its movement over my clit, driving me to the edge of release.
“You,” I repeated, gasping as another wave of pleasure washed over me. His other hand resumed the stinging slaps on my pussy in rhythmic counterpoint to the circling thumb. The contrast was stark and wild, matching the storm that raged outside our window.
His actions were deliberate and calculated, each movement carefully designed to extract an answer from me.
“No more,” I begged, my voice a weak whisper in the furious storm of our night.
“Wrong,” he said. “I get to decide.”
“Tristan,” I whimpered as his thumb quickened its pace, an impending orgasm building within me. His other hand stilled on my inner thigh, the sting from his slaps echoing a warning that was both thrilling and terrifying.
He leaned close, his breath warm against my ear as he whispered, “You’ll only come when I allow it. Do you understand?” His voice was dark and intense, a stark contrast to the gentle rhythm of his thumb over my clit.
I nodded, unable to form words as pleasure clouded my senses. He chuckled softly, his breath hot against my neck as he moved his hand away from me. The sudden absence of touch only heightened my need for him.
“Tell me who owns you,” he demanded again, his tone rough around the edges. His hand traced a path up my trembling thigh, stopping just short of where I needed him most. “Tell me who owns this pussy.”
“You,” I said.
“Say it all, Adriana,” he commanded, his fingers teasing my dripping folds, not quite granting me the relief I craved. His voice was a low growl, laden with desire and expectation.
“You own me. You own this pussy,” I stammered out, completely at his mercy. The phrase felt foreign and uncomfortable on my tongue, but it was the truth. He owned me in every sense of the word.
“Good,” he rumbled, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. Slowly, he started moving again; his firm hand gently massaging my clit while the other resumed its previous exploration.
“Tell me who takes care of you,” he demanded next as his fingers once again plunged into me.
“Y-you do,” I answered between gasps. His deep blue eyes were fixated on mine, reading my every reaction, absorbing my submission to him.
“That’s right,” he said, his voice nearly drowned out by the thunder. His fingers continued to delve deep inside me, his thumb expertly teasing my clit in a relentless rhythm that had me on the brink. He suddenly pulled his hand away from me. “I’m not going to let you come until you finally understand that.”
His voice was a quiet rumble that echoed the thunder outside, commanding and powerful. Left hanging on the edge of an orgasm, I squirmed beneath his touch. My body yearned for release, but he was right: he was the one who decided when I could come.
“Please,” I begged. “You can’t do this to me.”
He arched an eyebrow, his gaze challenging me even as his fingers stilled. “I can’t?” he asked, a low chuckle escaping his lips. “I think you’ll find I can do whatever I want with you, Adriana.”
“Then please,” I repeated, desperately clinging onto him. Every second of denied release was an exquisite torture that only he could deliver.
“That’s right, love,” he said. “You keep begging. And I’ll see what I can do for you.”
And then he removed his fingers again, leaving me panting for him.
Chapter Twenty-Two: Tristan
Iwatched the storm outside, rain pelting the windows of the stilted house like bullets from a Tommy gun, but inside, Adriana’s heated gasps filled the room, louder than thunder. There was no denying it, not when she writhed beneath me, her body singing a language of desire that only I could understand. She belonged to me, and I wanted her to know it – feel it in her bones.
