"Take it. You were made for this. You were made for me."
The praise is a different kind of drug, sinking deeper than the sedative ever could. It’s sickening how much my body responds to the approval of the man who ruined me.
Every time he flickers his tongue against that sensitive peak, a white-hot spark shoots through my nerves, making my toes curl and my fingers claw uselessly at the headboard.
"Such a good girl," he rasps, the words thick with a dark, heavy satisfaction.
"Look how you’re shaking. Look how much you want the very thing you said you hated. Tell me, Madeline... does the 'good doctor' feel this? Or is she finally dead?"
I try to shake my head, another sob breaking in my throat, but he doesn't stop. He doubles down, his movements becoming faster, more demanding.
The dirty talk is a physical weight, stripping away the last of my dignity until there is nothing left but the raw, pulsing need he’s cultivated.
"You’re dripping for me," he hizzes, his breath hot against my inner thigh.
"You’re screaming for the man who took everything from you. Own it. Admit that this, this wreckage, is exactly where you want to be."
I can’t breathe. The tension is a wire pulled so tight it’s screaming. I’m hovering on an edge, the blindfold damp with my tears. The pleasure is too much, a tidal wave that’s about to break over me and pull me under for good.
"Praise me, Madeline," he commands, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper.
"Show me how much you belong to me."
Every flick of his tongue is a lightning strike. Just as the tension pulls so tight it feels like my heart might stop, a shattering wave of release crashes over me.
I cry out, a raw, broken sound that echoes off the sterile walls, my body convulsing against the restraints until I’m limp, gasping, and utterly spent.
But he doesn’t let me sink into the afterglow.
The silk bindings being undone is the only warning I get. Before the blood can even rush back into my numbed wrists, his hands are on me. Strong, calloused, and unyielding.
With one powerful, fluid motion, he flips me over.
I let out a muffled gasp as my knees hit the mattress and my chest is pressed down against the cool sheets. I’m blind, disoriented, and shoved into a submissive, arched position. My hips are high, exposed to the cold air of the room, while my face is buried in the pillows.
I hear him shift behind me, the rustle of his clothes a terrifyingly intimate sound in the silence. Then, I feel his lips.
He starts at the very top of my neck, right at the base of my skull. It’s not a kiss; it’s a claim. He moves downward, his mouth traveling the long, curved line of my spine with agonizing slowness.
He knows exactly what he’s doing, he knows the biology of my body better than I do. Every time his lips or the tip of his tongue brushes against a nerve ending along my vertebrae, a fresh shiver of electricity shoots through me, making my muscles twitch involuntarily.
"You’re so responsive, Madeline," he murmurs, his breath hot against the small of my back.
"Every nerve, every vertebra... they all answer to me."
He continues the descent, his hands gripping my hips to hold me steady as he kisses the path down to the base of my spine. The friction of his stubble against my skin and the deliberate, rhythmic pace of his mouth are pushing me back into that feverish haze I thought I’d escaped.
I am a wreck of a woman, trembling on all fours in the dark, while he worships and desecrates me all at once.
"Do you feel that?"
He almost growls near my neck.
"The way your body recognizes its owner? There’s no more room for doubt now. There’s only this."
The velvet darkness of the blindfold is gone in a sudden, violent yank, and I’m thrust into a harsh, jarring light. My eyesare burning, blurring from the immediate shock, and my face is pressed down against the cold pillows. I can’t move; his weight is a heavy, immovable mountain holding my hips in place.
"Look at yourself, Madeline," he commands, his voice dropping to a low, lethal resonance near my ear as he grips my hair, forcing my head up.
