Page 41 of Bound

When he interrupted himself again, this time to pull the rod all the way out and cast it aside, she knew not whether to worry or rejoice. Had she inadvertently done something wrong? Moved or cried out against his wishes?

But as the iron clattered to the floor and he ripped at the drawstring on his scrubs, she had her answer—and it was good.

So. Very. Good.

“Goddammit.” Brickham fisted the gleaming, glorious length of his penis. “Fuck it.” He lined it up with her gaping entrance. “Oh, fuck me.”

And then, in one long lunge, impaled himself inside her.

“Ohhh!”

Holding back rain would have been easier than controlling her scream. She just prayed, as a matching torrent welled up from her chest and burst from her eyes, that Brickham was no longer in disciplinary mode.

“Yes,” he snarled, locking his cobalts on her with an array of clear intents. None of them were penalization, but they were also far from praising warmth. He was still her captivating overlord. Her magnificent tyrant. Her roiling, unforgiving beast of lust. “Don’t hide a drop of those tears from me, sweetheart. Not a note of your screams either. I’ll have it all from you, little subbie—the same way I’m taking every inch of this.”

His context needed no explanation, but he gave it anyway. With barely a grunt of strain, the man wrapped his hands around her thighs from the outside in. His grip was massive and strong, taking on most of her weight—as well as full control of how their bodies grinded into each other. Oh yes, including the pressure of his pelvis against a wider swath of her pussy. Oh yes, including the harder drive of his shaft into the darkest reaches of her body. Oh yes, including how the smacks of their flesh hit the tiled walls like the most stunning symphony she had ever heard.

Ohhh…yesss…

Jayd had never congratulated herself more for surrendering to him.

For all of two seconds.

The second he ramped his pace to fuck her like an ax cleaving a log, she had no mind left for the private celebration. For that matter, keeping anything confidential from him. Brickham had declared it so, and she would obey. She was his helpless servant. His eager plaything. And now, his tremoring submissive…so ready to give him her vibrant orgasm.

If only he would take it.

Damn it, damn it, why would he not take it?

The absence of that answer had her crying harder. With every new pound of his cock, every cell of her blood soared with hope, only to be quashed with frustration. Her moans became desperate. Her sex was on fire. Her thighs were clenched, her clit was nearly her enemy.

“Yes, Pixie.”

Finally, finally, his affirmation held what she had waited for. Like a storm on approach to a shore, he growled with confidence…and impaled her without mercy.

“Come on. You’ve got it for me, don’t you?” he grated. “I feel it, sweetheart. I feel it trembling, so deep in this pretty cunt.”

“Yes, Sir.” She was out of breath and full of sensation. So much urgent pressure and hot need. “Oh, yes, Sir!”

“Not your words,” he snarled. “You know what I want more, naughty pixie.” He rolled his hips while his cock was still entrenched inside her. His feral moan joined her strident cry. “Give it to me, Jayd. Give it all to—”

She cut him off with the new pitch of her scream.

With the wild spasms of her sex.

With the orgasm that painted her blood in light and lust and freedom. That rocked her body in violence and splendor. That brought a blissful, biblical dystopia to the reaches of her mind, filling it with explosions as bright as the sun.

By the Creator’s equally blinding balls.

Was she dead? If so, she never wished to be resuscitated.

Unless, perhaps, if it was Brickham who brought the new air. And, like he did right now, the new pain. The sweet agony of her screaming tissues, stretching to take even more of his glorious penis. Still, he grinded deeper into her. Harder…

“Jesus…fuck me raw,” he stammered. “This is so…”

“Brickham,” she panted back but had no idea how. It had to be the Creator’s intervention. Nothing in her mind was making sense otherwise. Nothing in her body was making sense. Every wire was cut. Or reversed. Or pumped with too much current. So much. Too much! But somehow, in some insane way, not enough. “Please,” she begged. “Do not stop. Do…not…”

“Fuck, sweetheart.” His baritone voice blended into her tile-pounding aria. “You’ve got another one, don’t you?”