Page 45 of The World Undone

When he slid two fingers into me, his breath hot on my neck, I arched off the bed, digging my nails into his back as I chased the orgasm just out of my grasp.

A dark, rough chuckle laced the shell of my ear, sending a flare of tingles all the way down my shoulders. He pulled his hand away, fully fucking aware of what he was doing to me.

I panted, shamelessly trying to grind against him, desperate for more friction, more him.

But he pinned my arms to the bed, one on each side of my head, and stared down at me—his eyes were like fire, wild and dangerous, but I wanted to burn alive in their depths.

He set himself against me, an attempt to unravel me more, but he lost his composure as his dick slid through my wet heat.

I smirked before taking his mouth with my own.

He swallowed a groan and stopped, throbbing against me as I gasped into his mouth.

I wasn’t sure how much more power either of us would have in this game, but I wasn’t going down without a fight.

Gripping his shoulders, hard enough that my fingernails cut crescent moons into his back, I pulled myself up a few inches from the bed, grinding against him from below, and bit his ear lobe.

He collapsed onto his elbows, caging in me closer as he tried like hell to resist the intoxicating need to slip inside of me. It was a game of wills that I wanted him to win as much as lose.

He rolled his hips, pressing the tip of his dick to my entrance, and we both moaned, my body shivering with need as I resisted the urge to end this game.

I changed my mind. Instantly.

Losing would be better, I would happily relinquish my power for one more inch of him. I wanted to pull him inside of me, shatter around him.

His breath hitched and he pulled back, a strained but cocky smirk twisting his lips as he pulled away from me, his hand splayed on my chest to keep me pinned. “Giving up that easily, Bentley?”

Fuck. The hold I had over the bonds and my thoughts had slipped, but I was too far gone to shut down the connection completely.

I squirmed under his gaze as he studied me, his free hand tracing the curves of my body, down my right thigh, then back up the line where my right met my left. His thumb circled around my clit—enough to tease and hint at the pleasure he could bring, but only just a taste.

“A taste,” he said, brow arching as he shoved my knees apart. “I think I will.”

That look was back again, his expression wild and hungry—almost predatory as he crouched between my legs.

Without looking away, his tongue grazed over my core, until I wasn’t sure what had me holding back a scream of pleasure more—that devout, hungry look on his face, or the way his tongue felt against me.

“More,” I rasped, relinquishing control altogether. He’d won. This was a game I’d happily lose again and again, if it meant I got more of this. More of him.

More, more, more.

I rolled my hips, desperate for more friction, then let out a frustrated growl when he pulled his lips away from me, instead of adding more pressure where I wanted it most.

For a long beat that passed like a lifetime, he watched me, waiting for me to go still again as I strained towards him, a needy, pathetic whimper on my lips.

His fingers traced around me, sure to stay exactly half an inch away from every spot I wanted him most—but with the bond open, he knew exactly what he was doing, could feel every flare of pleasure that rolled through me, could control me like a pawn, read me like a book.

“Fuck you,” I muttered, but there was no real power behind the chastise, because he cupped his palm against me, the pressure against my clit sending a searing shock up my spine. “Fuck.”

But when I rolled against his hand, chasing more, he pulled back again, his focus so intense that his stare alone made my pussy clench—empty where I wanted it filled with him.

My skin was on fire, goose flesh pebbling every inch of me, my nipples so hard they could cut diamonds—but I knew he wasn’t immune. I could feel his lust radiate against me, amplifying my own until each second of waiting for release just made me want it more.

Frustrated, I met his arrogant stare and slid my own hand between my legs, soaking my fingers with my own need. It felt good, but it wasn’t what I wanted.

His eyes narrowed, lips curving in an arrogant smirk over me, and I knew that he knew—that an orgasm from my own hand would be a fraction of what he would give me.

Fucking prick.

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