“Please, please, Fox. Stop,” she gasped out, trying to shut off her brain so she wouldn’t have to feel the way the feather flitted and slid and circled over her painfully erect clit. It didn’t work.
Lust hazed her vision, but she was painfully aware of every touch. Her body danced for him, squirming and rolling as far as the ropes would allow. The feel of the rope keeping her trapped just as he wanted her, biting into her skin as she struggled—the helplessness and desperation as she fought knots that kept getting tighter—the fact that he ignored her pleas for mercy, all of it tapped deeper into her submission and arousal. It grew, altered. She watched his pretty, rapt face, the artistic movement of his hands, felt the firmness of his touch as he held her open for his pleasure.
All of it was like magic. Like a twisted fairy tale where Prince Charming was an evil, sadistic bastard, with a feather instead of a sword.
And he was killing her with pleasure.
The feather swirled as if it had a mind of its own, tormenting her sensitized skin. She hovered so close to orgasm that she could almost taste it, but then he’d slow down or stop, letting her regroup for a moment before starting again. Higher her arousal spiked, but he kept her there, balanced on the very edge, crooning to calm her in the face of his cruelty. She faded into a fog of suffering, aware her body kept trying to reach him, to get closer to the feather. He didn’t allow it.
“Oh god, please!”
“Tell me what you want, little girl.” His voice was low and rumbly, and she madly wondered if the vibrations in the air could make her come.
“I want . . . I want . . .” Fuck. Where was that sentence going? Her thoughts vanished with a flick of his wrist.
“You really want to tell me where you hid the tracking device,” he prompted, “don’t you, Addison?”
A monster orgasm was cresting. Every muscle in her body thrust toward him, trying to get that faint whisper more. The hint of increased pressure that would finally allow her to go over, would give her release—it was right there. So close. So fucking close.
The feather moved away at the last moment and she screamed, fighting the ropes so hard that he held her down. She tried to rub against him, begging with her body and with incoherent grunts. If she could just get him down between her legs she could squirm against him and come. His zipper would hurt like hell and it would be heaven. She needed something, anything. A slap between the legs, a cruel pinch.
She gasped for air, trying to remember how to breathe.
“Shh, baby. Shh. You’re okay.”
No! She was not okay! She shook her head like a madwoman, her hair tangling in her eyes.
“Shh,” he crooned. His voice was soothing, seriously evil, and so damned sexy. “Just answer my little question, Addison, and then I’ll let you come. You want to be a good girl for me, don’t you? I know you do. Your pussy is aching and I can make it all better.”
Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. She was so overwhelmed that everything he said sounded like it came from the other side of a door. So reasonable. She just wanted to give in. Every nerve ending in her clit and ass were screaming at her to answer the stupid question. Nothing was worth this impossible ache. Sweat stung her eyes, and she could feel tendrils of hair sticking to her neck.
He grabbed a new feather from the case.
Oh god, no.
She screamed at him, but the first few words she tried weren’t actual words. Finally she managed to scream, “I h-hate you!”
She did? That was news to her. She’d never wanted to fuck someone she hated, but she wanted Fox to fuck her in every way she’d seen in every porno ever. He only chuckled.
“You’ll hate me more in a minute.” His half-lidded dark eyes were frightening and full of lust.
No, no! Not more. Please . . .
He spread her pussy lips open again, and she sobbed. Everything was too sensitive, like nails on a chalk board. She couldn’t take any more of this. Every bit of her pussy and ass tickled and itched and ached. Even thoug
h he’d barely gone near them, her nipples were distended and painfully erect. Her eyes refused to focus. All of her muscles were tired of the strain, and her legs were starting to shake from exhaustion. How long had he been at this? Hours and hours. Maybe most of her life.
As the feather swept over her again, she sobbed, broken.
“Please, no,” she whimpered. “I can’t. I promise I’ll be good. I’ll do anything you want. You can do anything else to me, just please no more.”
“You’ll tell me?”
When she hesitated, trying to make her mouth move the right way, he attacked her clit again, the edge of the feather running back and forth over every bit of her exposed and painfully sensitive nub. She screamed again, the sound pulled out of her chest, burning its way up her throat to escape her open mouth.
Her hips jerked up off the bed, her impending orgasm twisting every muscle in her body, tightening it until she was sure something would snap like an overtaxed rubber band. So close . . . so fucking close . . .
It stopped. She lay, staring blankly at the ceiling. Shadows of thoughts scuttled around her mind, but pulling them together wasn’t working. The world had gone quiet, except for her thundering heart, and the sound of her and her tormentor’s shaking breaths.