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I don’t fuck anyone who doesn’t belong to me.But why not? How could he not see the truth? She belonged there with him.
Perhaps because he didn’t want her in that way. He said he liked giving orders—and she took them. Maybe that was all he needed.
But then his fingers were inside her, and she was riding a release that made her yank on her bindings so hard that the skin touching them had to be raw.
Griffin yanked on the silk cords constraining her legs. She didn’t move to get up—not until he told her to.
He freed her arms with equal speed.
He eased her up slowly, letting the blood rush through her limbs and resettle. She grew dizzy, so dizzy she couldn’t sense what was up and down. The cold mirror touched her back, which helped raise her awareness.
His dark eyes glittered like obsidian, and his hair cast a purplish hue in the red light. He was so beautiful.
He cupped her cheek and gazed deeply into her eyes. He then gave her a bruising kiss.
His tongue explored every part of her mouth as he held her jaw firmly with both hands. Her hips instinctively reached for him, searching out other parts of his body.
He broke his kiss and stared down at her. “You have a hungry mouth,” he rasped.
She nodded. Cold air, nerves dancing underneath her skin, her pussy feeling so empty. But most of all, after his tongue had worked her over so thoroughly, she wanted to fall to her knees and have her mouth filled with his cock.
She glanced down at that bulge, and her fingers reached out.
He grasped her wrist. “Did I say you could do that?”
She gave a tight shake of her head, which cleared the rest of her vision.
His hand fisted her hair, and he pushed her hard to her knees. One of her heels slipped off. Her hands reached out to grasp his thighs to steady herself.
“Since you’re so eager …” His voice was rough, hard.
A small, rough carpet was at his feet. It burned the skin of her kneecaps as she shifted.
“Hands behind your back. Box them.”
She did what he asked, and the clank of his belt buckle was quickly followed by the lowering of his zipper.
He drew himself out and showed himself to her—hard, thick, all smooth, red skin, and a wide, flared tip. A vein throbbed along the side. It was hard and so much thicker than she’d believed. The deep crimson looked painful, and she wanted to ease it.
“Only your mouth.” He wound her hair tighter in his fist.
She had so little practice at taking a man this way—her other attempts clumsy under sheets in the dark. But she wanted to try with him, be good for him.
She leaned forward and ran her tongue around the tip, tasting him.
A long breath left his body, urging her. That was all she needed to hear. Her body went full five-alarm fire, all molten heat threatening to burn away any sliver of fear. She could handle it. She would, for him.
She repeated the action and then needed more. She let the ridges and swells ride over the flat of her tongue.
She did it again and again, each time wetting him further.
His breath above her grew ragged. She ran the tip of her tongue around his tip and then stabbed the little hole. Both of his hands threaded through her hair.
She took more of him; her lips stretched wide as he filled her. She pulled out and then drew him in yet another millimeter. The next time she pulled out, he sucked in a long breath.
His hips pitched forward, holding her head in place as he forced himself deep.
It took every ounce of control to keep her arms boxed behind her as she choked. Just when little black spots formed in her eyes, he yanked her head up, and she gasped. She took in big lungfuls of air, her eyes blinking with sticky tears. Her mascara had to be running down her cheeks.
