“Please,” I hear myself saying. My voice is wrecked, barely recognizable. “Please, I’ll tell you anything, just let me come, please—”
“Then tell me,” Suha says. He’s still sitting in that chair, looking completely unbothered. He checks his watch like he’s timing this, like he has all day to sit here and torture me.
The plug is vibrating again, a steady pulse that’s driving me insane. I can feel tears on my cheeks though I don’t remember starting to cry. My whole body is shaking, overstimulated and desperate and so far past the point of breaking that I don’t even care anymore.
“I just wanted to be dominated,” I gasp out. The words tumble out in a rush, desperate and honest. “That’s all. I just wanted someone strong enough to dominate me.”
The vibrations don’t stop but Suha leans forward slightly, his interest caught. “Explain.”
“I’m a dominant alpha,” I say. My voice is shaking, barely coherent. “My pheromones are too strong. Every alpha I try to sleep with just submits, they can’t handle me. But I don’t want to top, I want to be fucked, I want to be dominated and no one can do it.”
“And you thought I could.”
“Yes.” I’m gasping now, the vibrations pushing me toward another impossible edge. “You were perfect. Strong enough, ruthless enough. I saw you in that alley and I knew you could give me what I needed.”
Suha tilts his head, studying me. “So you stalked me. Tracked my rut cycle. Broke into my hotel room.”
“Yes,” I sob out. “Yes, I did all of it. I just wanted to be knotted by someone who could actually dominate me.”
“And the bond?” His voice sharpens. “How did you know I would bond you?”
The question makes me freeze despite the vibrations still buzzing inside me. “I didn’t,” I gasp out. “I didn’t know. It was an accident.”
“An accident.”
“I wasn’t thinking about bonding,” I say desperately. The tears are flowing freely now, my body shaking so hard the chains rattle. “I was just so caught up in finally getting what I wanted. You bit me while you were knotting me and I didn’t even realize until after.”
Suha’s eyes narrow. “You expect me to believe that.”
“It’s the truth,” I choke out. “Alphas don’t usually want to sleep with other alphas. Especially not dominant ones. I picked you because you looked like you could give me the kind of pain I crave, not because I wanted to bond with you. I didn’t even think it was possible.”
He studies me for a long moment. I’m still shaking, still crying, the plug still vibrating relentlessly inside me. My cock throbs against the ring, desperate and denied.
Finally, Suha reaches for the remote.
He turns off the vibrations.
The sudden absence is almost as overwhelming as the stimulation was. I slump against the mattress, gasping for air, my whole body trembling with exhaustion and overstimulation.
Suha stands up from the chair slowly, like he’s got all the time in the world. My heart hammers against my ribs as he approaches the bed. I don’t know what he’s going to do. The scalpel is still sitting on the bedside table, gleaming in the afternoon light. The remote for the plug is in his hand.
Instead of reaching for either of those things, he reaches for the cock ring.
His fingers are cool against my overheated skin as he works the silicone free. The relief is immediate and overwhelming. Blood rushes back to my cock and I gasp at the sensation, somewhere between pleasure and pain. My whole body jerks against the chains, hypersensitive to every touch.
“Stay still,” Suha says quietly.
I try. I really do. But my body won’t listen, still trembling and twitching from being edged for what must have been hours. He ignores my shaking as he reaches between my legs and grabs the base of the plug. The drag as he pulls it out makes me whimper, my hole clenching around it reflexively before it pops free.
The emptiness that follows is almost worse than having it in. I feel hollow, aching, my body confused about whether it wants more or needs a break.
Suha sets both items aside on the bedside table, next to the scalpel. Then he just stands there, looking down at me. Taking in the mess I’ve become. The blood from the shallow cut around my nipple has dried in rusty streaks down my ribs. Sweat has soaked the sheets beneath me. My wrists and ankles are bleeding where the shackles have cut into my skin. I’m covered in my own precum, sticky and cooling on my stomach and thighs.
I must look pathetic. Wrecked. Completely undone.
“If that’s what you want,” he says finally, his voice flat and matter-of-fact, “then that’s what you’re going to get.”
Before I can process what he means, he’s shrugging out of his suit jacket. The movement is smooth. He drapes it over the back of the chair and starts on his shirt buttons. One by one, working from top to bottom, revealing smooth skin and lean muscle underneath.
