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“My sweet, good girl. That mouth on you. You’ve learned everything I ever wanted to teach you.”
She must remember as clearly as I do, the way she lay in this bed without words to describe her own body. She couldn’t say what she wanted. Couldn’t tell me what she needed. But she listened, and she learned, and now she’ll be mine forever.
She’s fighting the leather cuffs, trying to break free. I don’t know if she wants to get her hands on my cock, or if she wants to fuck that hot ready pussy with her own desperate fingers, but it doesn’t matter. She’s not getting away.
“Please,” she whispers. “Please, please, please.”
And because I love her, I bury my face between her thighs. I suck on her clit, as hard as she pulled on her own nipple. I lap at the honey that pools beneath that pearl. I thrust my tongue deep, feeling her melt against my chin, my nose, my entire greedy face.
She’s on the edge. She’s suspended on a wire. A woman who didn’t have her iron will would have fallen by now.
But she’s my princess. She’s my good girl. She holds herself tight and waits for my command.
It’s almost as bad for me as it is for her when I push back from my feast. Worse, maybe, because my cock is made of fucking granite.
“Trap,” she whispers, and I love the sound of my name on her lips. “Say it.”
“Not yet.”
“I’ll do whatever you want.”
“I know.”
“You can fuck me up the ass.”
I freeze.
She doesn’t mean it. That’s her one hard limit. The one thing she’s never allowed.
“Trap?” And now my name is a question. “I mean it. My ass is yours.”
I tried, the first night I had her. The Beast had its claws deep in my brain. It said I couldn’t fuck her if her ass wasn’t plugged.
But Alix, my sweet Alix, broke at the touch of hard, black rubber. She panicked. She shoutedredloud enough to shatter stone.
Now I say, “You don’t have to do that.” The words are as rough as a cat’s tongue.
I never forced her, but Herzog did. All three brothers took her up the ass. They made her take their cocks, and when that didn’t satisfy the sick, twisted perverts, they forced other things up her hole.
“Trap,” she says, and her saying my name pulls me back from my rage. “I know I don’t have to. But I want to. I want that from you.”
I meet her eyes. My hands fall to my sides. I say, “Red means stop.”
“And yellow means slow down,” she says, her voice steady and clear. “And green means go. Please. Go. Green.”
I sink back between her thighs. My lips find her clit for another long kiss. My tongue traces her sweet slit.
And then I slip lower. I find her tight little pucker. I lick it, soft at first, like she’s melting ice cream, and then hard, like she’s a ring of solid sugar.
Her thighs are tight. She isn’t talking now, isn’t moving. She’s in her head, which isn’t where I want her to be.
I reach up and find her clit with my fingers. I tap a rhythm that I match with my tongue—tap and swipe, tap and swipe—steady, even, predictable.
She’s primed. I did that without knowing how we’d play this out. Her clit swells beneath my fingers. Her hips tilt.
“Trap…” she whispers, and this time I answer her.
“Come,” I say, my lips almost touching her perfect rosebud. And as she breaks, I push my tongue into her, breaking past her tightest band, reaching the dark, soft heat beyond.
