Bound By Desire

The ropes bite into my wrists, tight enough to keep me still, loose enough that I can’t pretend I *have* to stay. That’s the worst part—knowing I could ask him to stop. Knowing I won’t. His fingers trace the inside of my thigh, slow and deliberate, stopping just shy of where I’m already aching for him. “You’ve been staring at me for months,” he murmurs, dragging his nails up my hip. “Thought you’d like a chance to look your fill.” My breath hitches as he finally—*finally*—palms me through my panties, the fabric soaked and clinging. He grins when my hips jerk against his hand. “That desperate?” I bite my lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer. “Wrong move.” His grip tightens, fingers slipping beneath the waistband, stroking just once—light, teasing—before pulling away. He laughs when I whine. “Ask nicely.”

His fingers hover just above my damp skin, close enough I can feel the heat of them. My hips buck instinctively, chasing his touch, but he pulls back with a low chuckle. The softest brush of his thumb grazes my clit through the soaked fabric—just a ghost of pressure—and my whole body arches off the bed. "Still not asking?" His voice is rough, amused. He drags the damp lace aside, finally exposing me, but doesn’t touch. Instead, he exhales—slow, warm—right against my aching flesh. The breath alone makes me shudder, my thighs trembling around his shoulders. Then his tongue licks one long, deliberate stripe up my slit. I choke on a gasp. He does it again, slower, savoring, curling the tip just under my clit before retreating. Every nerve is on fire, my skin too tight, my moan desperate. "*Please*," I finally whimper. He hums against me—approval, satisfaction—and then his mouth seals over me, sucking hard enough to make my vision whiten.

The vibration of his groan floods through me as his tongue flicks harder, faster—each stroke precise, relentless. His fingers replace his mouth just long enough to push two inside, crooking them deep, rubbing that spot that makes my back bow off the bed. “Fuck—*fuck*—” My voice cracks as his lips close around my clit again, sucking in time with the thrust of his fingers. The stretch burns sweet, his knuckles grinding against me with every movement. His free hand pins my hip down, holding me still as I writhe. He watches me, dark eyes locked on my face as I come apart—my thighs clenching, my moans ragged. His fingers don’t stop, driving into me even as I tremble through the aftershocks. “Again,” he demands against my thigh, biting the tender skin there. His mouth crashes back onto me before I can protest.

His tongue presses flat and broad against me, lapping up every twitching response my body gives him. The wet heat of his mouth is relentless—sucking, licking, devouring. Every nerve feels raw, oversensitive from the first orgasm, but he doesn’t ease up. His fingers curl ruthlessly inside me, dragging against that spot again and again until my vision blurs. I gasp when his teeth graze my clit—just a hint of pressure—before his lips seal over it, sucking hard enough to make my hips jerk. The pleasure is almost too much, sharp and electric, radiating through my belly, down my thighs. His free hand fists in the sheets beside my hip, anchoring himself as he fucks me with his fingers, knuckles-deep, the stretch an obscene counterpoint to the tight pull of his mouth. Every sound I make is swallowed by the slick slap of skin, the ragged hitch of his breath against me. The tension coils tighter, unbearable, until my body seizes—a second wave crashing over me, wringing a broken cry from my throat. He doesn’t stop until my legs shake too much to hold his weight, his tongue finally slowing to long, indulgent strokes as I come down.

His breath is hot against my inner thigh as he pulls back, dragging his stubble over my slick skin before rising to tower over me. His cock is thick, flushed, already dripping as he leans down to claim my mouth, letting me taste myself on his tongue. One callused hand palms my breast, thumb rolling my nipple to a stiff peak before pinching—just hard enough to make me arch into his touch. The sharp smack lands without warning, his palm cracking against my ass in a stinging burst of heat. I gasp, writhing, but he pins me with his hips, lining himself up. “You take it so fucking good,” he growls against my neck, dragging the head of his cock through my soaked folds before thrusting in with one brutal stroke. The stretch burns, my walls clenching around him instantly as he bottoms out. His hand grips my throat, not tight enough to cut off air, just enough to hold me still as his hips snap forward again, driving deeper. His other hand finds my nipple again, twisting sharply as he fucks into me, each thrust punctuated by the wet slap of skin. Overstimulated, trembling, I can only moan, nails scraping down his back as pleasure crests into something brutal and bright.