Page 113 of Mate of a Monster

“I’m going to touch you exactly how I know you like it.” His thumb brushes higher, not quite where I need it. “Build you up until you’re shaking. Until you’re so wet I can hear it.”

Another brush, closer this time. “And right when you’re about to come—”

His fingers slide through me, finding me already slick, and I make a sound behind the gag that would be embarrassing if I had any dignity left.

I don’t.

“I’m going to stop.”

He works me the way only someone who is your mate does, every stroke designed to build, never satisfy. Circling my clit without direct contact, his finger slips through wetness that’s getting worse with every pass. Heat pools low and liquid between my thighs, an ache that spreads outward until my whole body feels like one exposed nerve.

The Nightkin purrs in my chest.

Let him play his games, Hellpet. We both know how this ends.

Legend’s fingers finally—finally—land where I need them, and my hips jerk forward involuntarily. The shackles hold me in place, metal cutting into my wrists, but I don’t care. He circles my clit with exactly the right pressure, the right speed, reading every signal my body gives him and using it against me.

I’m climbing fast, too fast, my breathing cracking apart into something desperate. My thighs tremble, clenching around nothing. I can feel how wet I am, can feel it on my inner thighs. My whole body tightens like a wire being wound past its limit.

Right there. Right fucking there—

He stops.

Steps back.

I strain against the shackles hard enough that the metal bites deep, a frustrated sound tearing from my throat that the gag turns into something pathetic. He watches me with an expression that gives me absolutely nothing, but I can see the cracks if I look. Shirtless, with his jeans unbuttoned and hanging off his waist, his breathing shifts, desperate.

“That’s one.”

He drops to his knees in front of me and spreads me wider with his hands, holding my thighs open while his tongue finds my clit. The first contact makes me sob behind the gag. He works me with unhurried focus, like he’s got nowhere else to be, like taking me apart with his mouth is the only thing that matters.

The wet sounds of it fill the chamber. His tongue circles and flicks and sucks, and I’m writhing against the restraints, trying to get closer and more. If not for the shackles, I’d have collapsed already. The pressure builds faster this time because my body remembers what he denied, stacking sensation on top of frustrated need until I’m vibrating against the metal.

I’m making sounds I can’t control—whimpering that climbs in pitch with every stroke of his tongue, muffled pleading that he has to understand even through the gag. My whole body pulls tight, that familiar coil of heat that means I’m about to—

He pulls away.

“Two.”

I want to kill him. Want to tear these shackles off and show him exactly what kind of monster he’s playing with.

The Nightkin laughs dark in my chest. Patience. Our turn comes soon.

Legend reaches up and removes the gag, pulling the leather from between my teeth. My jaw aches. The first thing that comes out of my dry mouth is, “Fuck you.”

“Tell me what you need.”

“I need you to finish what you started, you sadistic—”

His fingers slide through me again, barely a touch, just enough to make me gasp. “Be specific.”

The words burn coming out, but my body screams louder than my pride. “I need to come. I need you to make me come.”

He tilts his head, considering. His fingers ghost over my clit, the barest pressure. “No.”

The denial hits like cold water, except I’m still burning, still aching, still so close I could scream. His fingers return, landing right where it wrecks me most. Two fingers slide inside me while his thumb works my clit. I’m already wound so tight that it takes seconds before I’m sobbing, tears streaking down my face.

“Please—Legend, please—”