The Architect (Nashville Neighborhood 3)

“Yes,” I cried.

I blurted it again as the man slipped his fingers back inside me. The hot ache in my nipples flooded across my skin and seeped in, making my muscles liquify and my bones melt.

“Look at me,” he demanded.

For a moment, I wasn’t sure how the man meant. There was only one of them, after all. But I blinked through the fog of everything and refocused on the screen. His hand jerked up and down in rapid strokes, and while his eyes were lidded with pleasure, the rest of him was filled with authority.

“It sounds like you’re close and need the clamp again.”

The lie came from me in a rush. “No. I’m not close.”

His smile was knowing. “I think you are.”

There was a flash of silver in his fingertips, and while the word no was a loud, angry chant in my head, the word stop was nowhere to be found.

“You made it once before,” he said, “you can do it again.”

“No,” I whispered, but it was too late. The intense pinch was back, swelling until it blocked out everything else. All the blood had run out of my arms and they’d gone to sleep, but it was ignored. The pull of the magnets no longer bothered me either. Because the clamp on my clit enveloped my body like a vice, squeezing until I thought I might die.

In this agony, I began to dislike the man. It was cruel how he stroked himself like he was taunting me.

Look how much pleasure your suffering gives me.

I hated him as his tongue whipped at me. He fucked me with his mouth and his fingers as the clamp bit at me with teeth of fire. He gave contented sighs of satisfaction like he was feeding off my pain. He threw his forearm over my stomach so his free hand could spread my pussy wider to his brutal tongue.

Only . . .

The pressure of the clamp began to ease.

“Yes,” he encouraged. “That’s a good girl. You can come even when it hurts, can’t you?”

The men had twisted into one, but as the pain in my clit started to subside, they separated. Clay was onscreen and far away. He wasn’t able to see how the clamp was being removed because E’s head blocked his view.

The gradual release of the clamp’s grip meant it didn’t hurt nearly as badly as coming off in an instant, and when he finished, E tightened his fist around it, then focused on his task.

My head swam with thoughts. Did Clay know what he’d done? E had been told he could use his own judgement, but this felt . . . like a secret. I didn’t feel guilty about that either. Clay kept nearly everything about E a secret from me. Wasn’t it fair I kept one from him?

My chest heaved as I gasped for air. The tip of E’s tongue seemed to know exactly where and how I wanted it, and his fingers slid in and out of me with the same precision. Fuck, I was going to come, and as my orgasm closed in, I worried the force of it might make me scream.

But instead, I was utterly silent as ecstasy burst inside and channeled out through my limbs. It was strange and wonderful to come like this while I was unable to move. It made the sensations linger, prolonging my enjoyment. Was this how it’d been for the girl trapped in latex under Mistress Theia’s dominance?

“Are you coming?” Clay asked.

“Yes,” I gasped.

He gave a choked-off sound of pleasure, and seconds later he joined me. His fist slowed, focusing only on his sensitive tip, while he erupted and cum dribbled down over his clenched fingers.

E’s mouth had ceased, but his fingers were still lodged inside me. Could he feel the rhythmic pulses of my internal muscles squeezing more pleasure from him? He studied me like he wanted to know everything about me, and—God—could I relate.

I was still cooling down when he withdrew, stood, and set about removing the magnets. I could tell he was trying to do them slowly, but it wasn’t as controlled as the clamp, and I sucked in air through my teeth.

Once everything had been put back into the black velvet bag and pocketed, E unclipped one of my wrists and gently guided it down. There was tension in my neck and back, and my arms were still asleep, so I was grateful for his carefulness. I’d expected him to undo the cuff, but he clipped it to a ring beneath the seat, and then repeated the process with my other hand.

I shot Clay a look, wordlessly asking him to explain.

He still had his dick in his hand, unbothered by the mess. “You were so amazing. Now I show you how much I appreciate you.”

E marched over to his bag on the workbench and produced a cordless wand vibrator, announcing the scene wasn’t over.