The pressure builds higher, tighter, until suddenly it snaps. A gush of pleasure crashes over me in waves. Involuntarily, I cry out.
Shane covers my mouth with his hand. “Shhhh. I’d love to hear you scream for me, but only when we’re alone. Can’t let no one hear ya, baby, or we’re in trouble.”
My screams catch in my throat. I cling to him as the world falls apart around me. When it’s over, I collapse back against the pillows, trembling and dazed.
Shane pulls his hand away slowly and licks his fingers with a moan. “Your pussy tastes so fucking good, baby.”
My eyes widen as I suppress another gasp.
Chuckling, he presses a kiss to my forehead. “You’re such a good girl, Reagan. So innocent. So sweet.”
“Shane, what just happened?”
He inhales the fingers that have been inside me, and his eyes roll back. “I gave you your first orgasm, baby girl. Feel better?”
I don’t know how I feel. My body hums with aftershocks. I’m only certain of one thing: life as I know it has changed forever, and there’s no turning back.
CHAPTER 18
Birdie
The rose returns to my clit with a vendetta.
I arch against the restraints, and the pins scream in my flesh. Pain and pleasure tangle into something I can’t name, something that makes me hate myself almost as much as I hate him.
“Answer me, Reagan.” His voice filters through the mask. “Who gave you your first orgasm?”
I look up at the mirror, see myself immobile and spread open. The woman staring back at me is a stranger—flushed and helpless and completely undone.
I hate that she’s soaking wet. I hate that her hips are chasing the vibration even as her mind wails, “Stop.” I hate that some twisted part of her wants to tell him the unbearable truth just to make this feeling last.
“Shane,” I gasp out. “Shane gave me my first orgasm.” It’s the truth, but how would he validate it? It was our little secret that no one knew about, not even after Shane and I were together in the open.
The toy pulses harder, frying my clit, but I’m so close, too close to protest. I want my reward for my truth. Perhaps I am, like my mother used to call me, a whore.
“Look at yourself,” he commands. “Watch yourself come for me.”
My eyes lock on the mirror. On the depraved image of my body strapped and spread, his hand between my legs, the toyworking me into a frenzy I can’t control. The orgasm crashes like an unstoppable wave.
“That’s it, my little butterfly. Come for me. Show me how beautiful honesty looks on you.”
The release tears through me so hard I scream. My back arches. The pins shift, and the pain only amplifies the pleasure until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. I watch myself in the mirror—watch my face contort, my body convulse, my mouth open in a crescendo of moans.
“Beautiful. Absolutely fucking beautiful.” He doesn’t let up. He keeps the rose pressed against my clit, wringing every last tremor from my body until I’m sobbing with the intensity of it. “What about Mason Bloom?”
“He was…” The words catch in my throat. The vibration increases, and I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but chase the stinging pressure about to rupture inside me again. “He was a neighbor.”
“Just a neighbor?”
“And Shane’s friend…ooooh…a biker like him.” Another truth. A half-truth. It still counts. He never said it had to be whole.
The other half, though, he can find out on his own, if he digs deep enough, if he hasn’t already. He knows the name. Who the fuck told him about Mason? How much did they say? How much do you know, Butterfly Man?
Reading the faceless mask is futile, and the second orgasm threatening to overtake me isn’t helping. He turns off the rose and stares at me. My heart skips a beat. The answer I need will come in a few breaths. If he lets me finish, then he doesn’t know much. He’s fishing for information. If he takes away that toy, I’m fucked. Literally.
His hidden gaze sweeps over me. I’m shaking, and a chuckle seeps out of him. Then his grip squeezes my throat, and he presses the rose back on.
The vibrations assault me, but his choking me beckons my tortured climax.
