Page 54 of Obey

That fucking ring catches the light, reminding me she’s not mine, and the tightness returns to my chest.

Irrational anger wells up in my body. That’s fucking it. Caging her in with my body, I dot kisses down her spine, slowly dragging my tongue between each vertebrae. When I get to her hands, I kiss every finger. When I get to her promise ring finger, I take the whole thing in my mouth.

She moans. I flick my tongue around the metal band, wiggling it off her finger slowly. When it’s loose, I grip it with my teeth and pull it off completely.

When it’s in my hand, her body softens like tension has left her body. Or maybe I want to see that. Perhaps I want her to feel better now that it’s off.

I don’t ask her how she feels. I simply add it to the chain around my neck, and get back to making my girl writhe on the bed.

The more I rub around her tight hole, the more she’s pleading. Her back arches as much as she can with her hands tied behind it. She’s not holding back, she’s not embarrassed, and she’s not in her head—at least not anywhere near as obviously as she was in the club.

It’s like she’s given herself over to the process. And it makes me oddly proud of her to not only have such an open mind about it all, but also that level of trust in someone when she’s just had her heart broken.

Her pureness, her naivety, her goodness all shine through. And the more of it I see, the more I want to protect it.

And kill her fucking ex.

“Please, Jagger. More. Please?”

Pressing the tip of my index finger against her clenched ass makes her whimper, by the time I’m a knuckle deep, her begging’s more urgent, more demanding.

“Can you take another finger, baby girl?”

“Yes. Please, yes.”

Fuck. I’ve found that more often than not, women who want to try ass play don’t tend to stick with it. They’ve heard about it, or read about it, and once they try it they figure out it’s not their jam. Which is fine. Different strokes for different folks and all that jazz.

I did not expect Talia to enjoy having her ass fingered. Especially since she’s so tiny, and my hands are so big.

Another healthy squirt of lubricant makes her shiver. “I like the cold.”

I stroke her ass cheek, kneading it in my palm. “Such a good girl for telling me what you like.”

Not sure if she knows, but she purrs sometimes when I say things to her. It’s the most beautiful soothing sound I’ve ever heard during a scene. And makes me want to draw that sound out of her every second of every day.

“Second finger. You ready?”

“Yes, sir.” Her enthusiasm makes it so easy to be patient and take my time. The slower we go, the easier it’ll be to watch her every move, every reaction, to see precisely what she likes and doesn’t, and log all her feedback.

When the tip of my middle finger joins my first, she tenses, I move so I’m kneeling perpendicular to her body and can stroke her hair. Leaning down so my lips are almost touching her ears, I reassure her. “You okay, baby girl? You can safeword at any time you know.”

“I know. I’m okay. Just scared it’s going to hurt.”

“That’s reasonable, and expected. You haven’t had anything back here before, right?”

She nods.

“Lots of lube, super slow, and if it hurts or gets uncomfortable I need you to tell me, okay? We’ll take it slow.”

“I trust you.” The firmness in her voice is like an arrow straight to my heart. She has zero reason to trust me. We barely know each other, and she’s giving it to me freely. I refuse to give her reason to take it away.

“And I’m going to take care of you.” I can’t help stroking her hair, her skin, the urge to take care of her, nurture her, consuming my every breath. “You know that, right?”

She nods. “Yes, Daddy.”

I don’t want to disrupt the scene, but that hits me like a kick to the solar plexus. It’s something I don’t want to dig into, not now, maybe never.

I’ve been called Daddy twice in a scene in my entire life, both by strangers at the club, and both were quickly corrected.

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