Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 87848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Armand grips the back of my neck even more firmly. He holds me in place, and he ensures that I do not escape a single one of those teasing droplets. He makes me take it, this pleasure that does not feel like pleasure so much as it does domination and command.
He is showing me that I am his. He is proving that I am sensitive and soft and that something as innocuous as a showerhead can undo me completely if he wants it to.
“Are you close to climax, Beatrix? My sweet little runaway? My rebellious she-wolf? Do you want to orgasm and be relieved?”
His questions come in that elegant tone. He is completely in control, and I am getting increasingly out of control. He brings the showerhead closer, makes the sensation more intense, holds me in place with his hand sliding around my neck to clasp at the front of my throat. There is no escaping this erotic discipline.
“Answer me, little wolf.”
“Yes,” I admit, a flush of hot shame rushing through me as he rotates his wrist, making the water dance between my sensitive legs.
“You will come soon enough,” he says. “But not yet. Not until I am satisfied you understand your place with me, and why doing something so reckless as leaping out of a moving fucking train is the worst idea you ever came up with.”
The water moves, but only because two thick fingers are sliding slowly inside me. He is careful, almost as if he is testing me, not going too deep, and not going too fast. I feel his moon-silver eyes locked on my face, gauging my every reaction.
They slide inside me, slowly going deeper and deeper, my inner walls coating him with my own wet lubrication until the heel of his palm presses just above my clit and he rubs me there, not quite touching, but making the entire region move according to his will.
I am close to coming again, but I can see he won’t let me, not that easily. He’s determined to teach me a lesson in obedience. I’ve never been taught this way before. Maybe it will work this time.
“Tell me how this feels,” he growls against my neck. “Tell me how you feel right now.”
“I don’t know…”
“Yes, you do.”
“I want to come, please,” I whimper.
“Do you feel how much control I have over you? Do you feel how your body quivers when I touch you? How I could make you feel the most incredible pleasure, or the most terrible pain?”
His fingers twist, and his thumb presses against my clit, rubbing me firmly and insistently until I am on the very brink of climax, then pulling it away right before I can reach any kind of satisfaction.
“Fucking, oh, my god, you’re so fucking…” I complain as he denies me what he already told me he was going to deny me.
“You took your wolf form without permission. You jumped out of a train without a thought for what could have happened. You acted as though you only belonged to yourself, but you belong to me now, Beatrix. And you will be careful with yourself because you are mine.”
He emphasizes that point by letting his thumb ghost over my clit for a moment or two before letting go of my neck and using that hand on the showerhead. Fingering me, teasing me, rubbing me, and letting the water run over my clit in between sessions of stimulation until I feel as though my knees are going to give out completely.
He doesn’t let me fall. He leans me back against his body, holds on with arms wrapped around me, and uses his agile fingers to drive me to the brink of not only orgasm, but sanity. My mind is devoid of thought, filled with chemical impulses of arousal and need. I want to come more than I have ever wanted anything in life. I want to come like I want to fucking breathe. There is no part of me that wants anything other than orgasm. I would fucking die if only he would let me come.
I don’t know how he keeps me on the verge like this, how he seems to understand what every jolt of my hips and shudder of my breath means. It is like I am a book he has already read, and he is like a movie I have never seen, larger than life and full of more charisma than I can handle.
I do not know how long he keeps me like that in the shower, holding me in thrall to my own desire, but I know that when he does finally let me come, I do so screaming and begging and writhing on his hand. And I know that afterward, I am absolutely exhausted, from the auction, from the shifting, from the running, and especially from the coming.