At the same time, a furious buzzing fills the room. I only have a moment to be confused and then my nipple is trapped between his finger and thumb. No. Not his thumb. Something harder. Something colder. It’s a vibrator, and it jolts pure pleasure from my tit to my brain to my heavy, aching clit.
I come.
Faster and harder and more furious than ever before, my body submits to an orgasm before I even know what’s happening. Spiraling tight, I pulse around the wooden handle inside me. My nipple throbs, pinned, trapped, as waves of pure sensation arch my throat.
A century later, I’m finally able to breathe. I can open my eyes. I realize the back of my head is resting against Wolf’s chest. I find his gaze in the mirror, see how he’s watching me like I’m a buffet dinner spread for his private pleasure.
One ball of the whip’s handle has slipped free.
I don’t know how that happened. I didn’t feel it go. But I’m so wet, and my orgasm was so strong… I thought I held it tight. I thought I was perfect. But he won this round.
Moving closer, he presses his cheek against mine. “That’s one,” he says, very controlling, very precise.
I murmur, “You feckin’ love to count, don’t you?”
He huffs as his arm folds around my waist.
This time, his touch is gentle. The vibrator is cupped in the palm of his hand, and he barely touches me with the tips of two fingers. He frames my clit in a tender V, taking care not to crush my swollen flesh against the cat’s handle.
The sensation is amazing. It slips me into a warm bath. It floats me under a starlit sky. It spreads me out, smoothing me, pooling me.
This time, coming feels like diving into melted chocolate. I sink into waves of pleasure, rolling in them like I’m burrowing under a duvet on the coldest winter night. Pulses rise from deep within my core, slow and steady, filling my belly, overflowing into my lungs.
“That’s two,” Wolf whispers.
I have to look. I have to know. The whip has slipped another notch. It’s heavier than ever between my thighs. So much more dangerous.
Wolf eases his arm from around my waist, and if he notices the shiver that convulses my spine, he doesn’t give a sign. He must have turned off the vibrator, because the only sound in the dungeon now is our heavy breathing. He strokes my reddened thighs, the toy still in his hand. His touch is solid, firm. The vibrator has matched the heat of his palm, or the heat of my clit, or of my poor, tortured nipple.
I whine because I want more. I whine because he’s done this to me, brought me to this. I whine because he’s turned me into an animal who’s forgotten her words, a creature who only deals in pure sensation.
“Careful what you ask for, girl,” he says.
His hand moves faster than I can follow in the mirror. Shifting his weight behind me, he tugs at the bunched cloth of my dress. That’s my only warning of what he means to do. The vibrator storms to life between my legs, jammed up hard against the tight rosebud of my arse.
It’s too big. I’m too tight. There’s nothing to ease the way, to make it slick, to help it slide. I know exactly how much it will hurt—the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life. I’m already opening my mouth to give up, to safeword, to admit the shitehawk’s won.
But Wolf isn’t trying to force the thing inside me. He’s holding it still. He’s finding a million tiny nerve endings and setting every one of them on fire. He’s sending one message surging up to my brain—this is pure bliss—and it’s crashing into another that flashes down my spine—this is filthy, this is foul, this is wrong.
For one moment, I’m stretched between two power lines—perfectly balanced between present and past, longing and revulsion, ecstasy and horror. And then something shifts, something so tiny I can’t name its place inside me, but it settles and I’m certain I’ll come again.
All the muscles in my legs tighten. My mouth stretches into a stiff O. My fingers stretch, like I’m trying to scrape the ceiling.
I’m held there, rigid, cuffed to the cross with Wolf behind me, his cupped vibrator pressed against my arse. Then, one by one, every vertebra in my spine comes unpinned. I collapse inward, downward. I fight my arms, fight my legs, giving in to every instinct of my body to fold tight, to curl into a perfect ball.
The clatter of the cat o’ nine tails hitting the floor sounds like the mansion collapsing overhead.
I scream, a wail without words, shredding my throat like a thing with claws. I twist. I writhe. I plead with Wolf’s shadow in the mirror, “I tried,” I sob. “I meant to hold it. I did my best. I tried… I tried… I tried…”
His fingers are gentle as he works the buckles around my ankles, but I’m shivering uncontrollably, my thighs twitching like they’re strapped to live electrodes. His palms soothe my calves, guiding my feet to the floor.
He takes even more time freeing my wrists. He holds the weight of each arm, lowering it slowly, giving the muscles time to release.
He produces a blanket from somewhere, as dark as the leather furniture, as the sheets on the bed. It’s softer than gauze as he pulls it close around my shoulders, gathering it beneath my chin. Slipping an arm around my waist, he guides me to the sofa.
He sits first, then he pulls me onto his lap. His arms tighten around me until my shivering finally fades away.
Only then does he shift my weight to the next sofa cushion, climbing to his feet. His footsteps are heavy as he crosses back to the cabinet. I can’t imagine what he’s going for. I can’t fathom anything I could handle without screaming my safeword.
