Page 49 of Possessive Ink

“Please, please, please,” I beg, squirming beneath him, unable to keep still, desperately trying to find the angle to reach the release I’m now desperate for.

“Who am I?” he asks again.

“My Sir.”

“Yours.”

“Mine,” I agree, willing to say anything if he’ll only make me come.

“Has anyone fucked you here?” he asks, layering yet another swipe of my arousal over my asshole.

“No,” I groan, unable to help the way I arch into his touch. I’ve never had any interest in experimenting with anything to do with my ass, but honestly, in this moment I’m so desperate, I’m not sure I’d say no to anything he suggested.

“Hmmm,” he hums, breaking the rhythm he’s set to rub tight circles over my hole, the ring of muscle so wet and heated that it easily gives way when he exerts a little pressure against it. “How does that feel?” he questions as he holds the tip of his finger inside of me.

“Odd,” I gasp, trying not to bear down on his finger as my chest heaves and my body vibrates, unable to stay still.

Instead of moving his finger, he dips his face and licks at my clit.

Groaning, I arch my back, and his finger slips deeper as I push myself onto it, my body curving into his touch as I chase my release.

“How about now?” he questions.

“Oh god, Sir,” I whine, tilting my pussy toward him, desperate for his tongue on me. As my pelvis tilts, I sink down even further on his finger, and the pressure of something inside of me there feels oddly nice. He’s not moving. His hand is perfectly still. I’m the one whose body is so desperate for release that I’m willing to push his finger deeper and deeper into my ass if it means I get his tongue on my clit again.

As I move, his tongue scrapes over the very tip of my clit, but it’s not enough. Not nearly enough, so I sink down, pushing his finger all the way inside of me as I lift my core to his mouth. The moment I’m close enough, he gives me what I need. His tongue moves, licking and flicking at my clit until I explode, my body clamping down around his finger as I orgasm.

“There we go. So beautiful, Princess. You’re so fucking beautiful,” he praises, like I’ve done something good and not like I’ve forced his finger into my ass in an effort to get his tongue to lap at my clit.

The panting, wheezing sounds that are coming from my mouth while my chest heaves up and down are not at all sexy, and I wonder if he finds them as unattractive as they sound to me, but if he’s bothered, he doesn’t show it. His finger is still buried deep in my ass, and the sensation is strange, more like a pressure than a pain. It doesn’t feel…good, but it doesn’t feel bad either.

My body flops down to the mattress as the last aftershock of release shudders through me, and I close my eyes, willing my heart to stop racing. But before my trembling nerves can settle, the finger that until now has remained still in my ass starts to move.

With a slow, dragging motion, Atticus withdraws his finger almost all the way out, and a guttural whine slips through my panting breaths. I brace myself for…something to happen when he pulls his finger free, but as my body starts to stretch, he pushes the finger back into me again, slowly filling me until his knuckles are pressed against my ass.

“Oh god,” I whimper.

“Who am I?” he chides.

“Sir. Sir. Oh god, Sir.”

“How does it feel?” he questions, slowly withdrawing until only the tip is still stretching me, then pushing his finger deep inside of me again.

“Strange,” I rasp, the words strangled by the feral noises I can’t seem to stop making.

“What about now?” he questions, as he pushes two thick fingers into my pussy, moving them in synchronization with the finger he’s working in and out of my ass.

“Oh fuck,” I garble, slapping my hand over my mouth to stifle the animalistic moans of pleasure that I can’t stop myself from making.

Instead of speaking, he chuckles, low and rough and perverse. He doesn’t need me to tell him how I feel because the proof of my enjoyment is echoing around the room, the sounds barely muffled by my fingers.

“Let me hear you, Princess. Let me hear how much you like it,” he demands when I bite down on the edge of my knuckle to silence myself.

His fingers start to move fast, pushing in, pulling out, then pushing back in again, hurtling me toward a second orgasm that feels like a tsunami building momentum in my stomach.

The wet, dripping liquid heat between my thighs and the unrepentant moans and whines of pleasure tell him everything I’m not coherent enough to say. But he doesn’t stop to gloat or try to replace his fingers with his dick.

Instead, Atticus locks eyes with me and smirks.