My clit swells, throbbing at his words.

I need him to fill me up.

Now. Right now.

I give him a quick nod.

“Good girl.”

He steps back. I keep my gaze on him in the mirror and watch intently as he lifts his shirt off with a quick snap of his wrist. I appreciate the view while I have it, the deep lines between ab muscles, the swell of his biceps, every fiber of muscle that twines across his chest as he unbuttons his pants.

Bran’s body is a symphony when it moves. A dark and dangerous symphony and I want to sink into the music of it.

When his cock is free, he fists it in his hand and gives it several pumps until pre-cum glistens at the tip.

I test the strength of the belt, straining against it, but there’s no give.

I push out my ass, desperate for his attention.

He keeps stroking his cock, watching me struggle, enjoying it even.

Cool air is stealing beneath the hem of my dress, reminding me of the untouched heat and the unspent desire.

I’m going to break soon if he doesn’t do something about it.

He strokes faster, muscles working hard, his breath quickening.

He better not come without me.

Oh god, what if he does?

What if that’s the punishment?

I groan around my panties.

“What’s wrong, little mouse?” he says.

He knows I can’t respond, which makes him grin in the most wicked way.

I grumble again.

“Get over here,” he orders.

I lift myself off the counter and hurry to him.

“Get on your knees.”

I sink in front of him like I’m worshipping at his altar.

He stops pumping at his dick, pulls the fabric from my mouth, and tosses it aside. “Open up.”

I pop my lips open for him, butterflies filling my stomach.

“No,” he says, his eyes brightening. “Stick out your tongue.”

I heave out a needy breath and do as he asks, flattening my tongue for him.

One hand on the back of my head, the other around his cock, he strokes himself again and again, growing harder as I peer up at him, waiting like a good little mouse.