Page 110 of The Tower

I gasp, arching into the sensation, the inability to use my hands making me feel both helpless and strangely powerful.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs, his voice soft against my ear.

“Touch me,” I whisper. “Please.”

His fingers skim over my ribs, tantalizing but avoiding where I need them most. “Here?”

“Higher,” I breathe. “Please.”

“So polite,” he murmurs, his fingers sliding up to cup my breast, thumb brushing over the nipple in a touch so light it’s almost painful. “Is that what you want?”

“More,” I manage, my voice breaking on the word. “Harder.”

His thumb and forefinger pinch gently, and I cry out, the sensation shooting straight to my core. “Like that?”

“Yes,” I gasp. “Please, yes.”

His other hand slides down to slip beneath the waistband of my panties. I hold my breath, waiting for the touch I’ve been craving. Desperate for it.

“Tell me,” he says. “Beg for it.”

“Please,” I cry, beyond pride now. Beyond anything but the need burning through me. “Please touch me. I need you. Please, Liam.”

His fingers finally, finally slide lower, finding the slick heat between my thighs. I moan, my hips bucking into his touch, desperate for more.

“So wet,” he murmurs, his voice full of masculine satisfaction. “So ready for me.”

He guides me backward until my legs hit the edge of the bed, then eases me down onto it. The feel of the silk sheets against my bare skin is another sensory shock, the coolness a contrast to the heat building inside me.

I feel him tugging at my panties, pulling them down and off completely, leaving me naked and bound and blindfolded on the bed. The vulnerability should be terrifying, but instead it’s liberating. I trust him. Despite everything, despite how we began, I trust him completely.

The bed dips as he joins me, his hands guiding me to lie back against the pillows. I feel him positioning himself between my thighs, his hands sliding up my legs, gently urging them apart.

“Remember,” he says, his voice rough with desire, “you asked for this. Begged for it.”

“Yes,” I whisper, trembling with anticipation.

His mouth moves up my inner thigh, hot and insistent, then higher still until it finds the center of my need. I cry out at the first touch of his tongue, my back arching off the bed.

With my hands bound and my eyes covered, there’s nothing to do but feel—the slick heat of his tongue as it explores, the firm pressure of his hands holding my hips in place, the exquisite tension building inside me with each deliberate stroke.

Just when I think I can’t bear any more, when I’m teetering on the edge of release, he pulls away. I make a sound of protest that turns into surprise as I feel him shift, the warmth of his body moving up along mine.

“Not yet,” he says, his voice at my ear again. “Not until I say.”

The command sends another rush of heat through me. This is what I begged for. Everything. His possession. His control over my pleasure.

I feel the silk around my wrists loosen as he unties them, but before I can reach for him, he’s guiding my arms above my head, securing them to what must be the headboard.

His weight shifts, and I hear the rustle of fabric, the clink of a belt buckle. He’s undressing, I realize, and the thought of him naked above me, watching me bound and blindfolded, sends another wave of arousal through me.

The bed dips again as he returns, and this time I feel the heat of his skin against mine, the hard planes of his chest, the undeniable evidence of his desire pressing against my thigh.

“Last chance,” he says, his voice strained with the effort of control. “If you want to stop⁠—”

“Don’t you dare,” I interrupt, lifting my hips in silent invitation. “Please, Liam,” I beg. “I need you.”

His groan of surrender is the most satisfying sound I’ve ever heard. In one smooth, hard thrust, he enters me, filling me so hard and so deep that I cry out in response to the sweet pain and brutal pleasure.