Page 86 of Somno Slave

“Please what?” He thrusts forward through my lips, and my mouth falls open instinctively. The pleasure slams into me.

I can’t stop the way my legs shake. He tortures my bundle of nerves so sweetly.

“I need to—” I stop myself before I can go too far. My eyes slam shut. I try to block it out. Stop him. Stop the rising pleasure. But I can’t. It creeps higher and higher, and I can’t stop fucking shaking for him.

“Beg for your orgasm.” He demands.

My lips stay tightly shut.

His hands snake around my body, fingers locking around my nipples. I scream. It hurts so fucking bad; it tortures me so devastatingly. I buck against him, thighs squeezing shut desperately to keep the friction hard. But no matter how much I move, how desperate I am, I can’t seem to tip myself over the edge.

He chuckles and the noise goes straight through me.

“Oh, sweet, Doctor,” he taunts. “I could keep you like this all night, sweetheart. On edge. Desperate, but never giving you the release I know you fucking need.”

“Please,” the word is so small, so weak, and yet it already feels like I’ve let myself down.

“Beg for it.”

He twists my nipples and the pleasure blisters out violently. I can’t hold off any longer.

“Okay! Okay!” I cry out, “Please let me cum!”

“Good girl.” He praises, and the sound is my unravelling. I explode hard. My orgasm sweeps me through violently, the waves of pleasure smashing into me repeatedly. My toes curl. Head smacks the pillow. I feel him fuck me between my folds.

He roars, his thrusts become faster, angrier, and I feel the heat suddenly splash between my lips. Hot, spurts of semen assault me, and my pleasure only intensifies.

I scream.

No sound comes out.

My body shakes. I can’t stop it. I can’t control myself. I’m wild, crying as the ecstasy undoes me. God, I can’t come down for what feels like hours.

The spell breaks when he flips me over again like I’m nothing more than something for him to move and play with. Oxygen floods my lungs. The fog clears.

I reach for the duvet, but my body doesn’t follow.

There’s a delay at first, like the signal hasn’t travelled properly. Then nothing at all. My arms stay where they are, heavy, unresponsive.

A tear slips free before I realise I’m crying. It tracks slowly down the side of my face, warm against my skin, a small, helpless thing I can’t stop.

His thumb catches it before it reaches my ear.

“You did very well, Doctor.” His voice settles over me, soft in a way that doesn’t match anything else about him. It’s deceptively sweet. “I’m proud of you.”

The words really shouldn’t do something to me. I really shouldn’t melt into his praise, have the longing for more. But something in me reacts anyway, something instinctive and quiet that leans toward it before I can pull it back. My chest tightens, not just with fear now, but something else tangled underneath it. Want. The awful, creeping pull of it.

I hate it.

I don’t stop it.

“If you want more,” he murmurs, “turn the sound off tomorrow.”

The meaning doesn’t land straight away.

“What?”

His gaze drags over me one last time, slow and deliberate, like he’s committing something to memory. A faint smile touches his mouth.