I don’t answer, because I can’t find words and he doesn’t need them.
He tears the lace aside with a single, practiced tug and groans when he finds how ready I am for him.
“Oh, baby. You’re dripping.”
I gasp as he strokes through me, slow and possessive. He doesn’t push in yet. He just holds me there, panting, helpless, completely tied up and vibrating with tension.
And then?—
He slides the head of his cock right between my folds. Just a tease. Just enough.
I cry out.
He stills immediately. “Too much?”
“No—god—please.”
He chuckles, dark and low, and reaches up to tug gently on the nipple clamps, making me twitch.
“Say thank you.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
He pushes in. Just the tip. My body seizes around him like I’ve been waiting for this all my life.
I hear his breath hitch. His control breaks for just a second, and he sinks in another inch.
That’s where we stay. On the edge. Me tied, trembling, taken. Him half-sheathed, growling into my skin.
“You’re going to come so hard for me,” he says. “But not yet.”
And I believe him.
The first thrust steals every breath I had, tears the sound from my throat, and locks it inside a body that suddenly doesn’t know how to move. I lurch forward into the restraints, chest heaving, every nerve lit with something sharp and undeniable. It’s the shock of being filled, fully, hard and deep, the kind of pressure that turns the world into a single, blinding point of focus.
“Fuck,” I gasp, but it comes out broken, just air and need.
Behind me, he doesn’t move. He stays buried, letting the weight of it settle into place, letting my body feel every inch of the reality he’s just forced inside me. Leather bites into my wrists. Steel kisses my skin. My thighs shake. My mouth stays open, catching nothing.
“You feel that?” he asks, voice low, close, patient.
I try to nod, but my head barely moves.
“That’s all me,” he murmurs. “And you’re still holding on.”
He pulls back with agonizing slowness, dragging out of me until I feel the emptiness claw at my insides, then pushes back in with smooth, punishing control. The stretch burns again, but it’s cleaner this time. My body knows him now. Recognizes the shape, the pressure, the way he fills me like he belongs there.
“God—” I choke.
“No,” he says, leaning in until his chest brushes my back, his breath warm against the shell of my ear. “Not yet.”
Another thrust, harder. Another push into that place I can’t name, the one that makes my stomach tighten and my toes dig into the soles of my heels.
“You don’t run from this,” he says, voice steady, like a promise. “You take it. You were made to take it.”
“Please,” I whisper, and I don’t even know what I’m asking for. Release? More? Less?
He laughs quietly, cruel and fond all at once.
