Page 133 of The Cost of Blood and Bonds

“Look at you,” he says, ragged and reverent. His fingers return to my clit, circling too fucking slowly. “You’re so desperate, so wet, so ready to do whatever I say.”

I nod. I can’t even argue.

“Fuck, Rye. Stop teasing me. Tell me what I need to do. Just touch me, please⁠—”

The sound he makes is shredded, like my surrender is wrecking him too. “That’s it. That’s better.”

The praise melts through me. One finger barely dips inside me, just enough to make me gasp.

His voice drops to something filthy. “Now beg properly. Tell me how badly you need my fingers buried in this desperate little cunt.”

“I need you.” It comes out splintered. “I need your fingers buried inside me. Need you so bad it hurts. Rye—please—I can’t take it anymore.”

Something in him breaks. I hear it in the groan that escapes him. One finger slides inside me fully, then two, stretching and filling me. I try to stifle the moan that tears out of me, but it still comes out low and obscene.

He starts to move, agonizingly slow. His fingers curling inside me while his thumb finds my clit and resumes his lazy circling. It’s not enough. It’s torture and relief all at once.

“More.” He says it like an order. “Tell me what you’ve been thinking about all those nights alone. What did you imagine me doing to you?”

I’m mindless and broken. “I bury my fingers inside myself pretending they’re yours. I moan your name into my pillow and come so hard imagining it’s you fingering me.”

His fingers thrust faster, and his hips press forward, pinning me harder against the stone. I feel the thick, hard length of him as he grinds against my thigh. The groan that tears from him nearly finishes me. My head falls back because knowing he’s this wrecked, this hard because of my surrender, undoes me almost as much as his hands do.

“More,” he says like my words are destroying him.

“I think about your cock in my mouth,” I say breathless. “How you moaned my name when I took you deep. I get so wet reliving it, I have to slide my fingers inside myself and come imagining you fucking my mouth again.”

“Fuck. That filthy fucking mouth.” His fingers work me harder, and his hand tightens on my wrist like he needs to anchor himself.

“And when you think about me fucking you?” His voice is gutted now. “How do you want it? Tell me exactly how you want me to take you.”

“Pinned down.” My words spill out. “Just like this, with my wrists above my head, trapped, unable to move. Making me take whatever you give me.”

He groans like he’s dying. His fingers thrust even faster. “You want to be pinned down and fucked? Helpless? Completely mine?”

“Yes—” I’m gasping now, building closer and closer to release. “Yes⁠—”

“What else, little fox?” His thumb circles my clit relentlessly. “What other filthy things do you want me to do to you?”

“I want you to bend me over.” The words tumble out wrecked. “I want your palm coming down on my ass. Then for you to fuck me until I can’t think.”

I feel his whole body going rigid.

“You want me to spank you.” It’s not a question. His thumb grinds against my clit. “Want me to make that ass red and stinging before I spread you open and bury myself inside you?”

Want surges through me so hard my knees nearly buckle. I need that. I need him to mark me, claim me, make me his.

“Yes—” I can barely speak. “I need it. Need you⁠—”

A growl rips from his throat and something in him snaps. Then his fingers are gone, and his hands are gripping my hips, spinning me, and pressing me up against the wall with my hands above my head.

His voice is savage. “Keep your hands on the wall. If you move them, I stop. Understood?”

I nod, too lost for words.

“Good girl,” he says like a dark promise.

The praise makes my back arch toward him. My thighs are trembling, and my breath is coming in shallow gasps. I’ll do anything he tells me just to hear him call me that again.