Page 12 of Eden's Deliverance

The man flicks his wrists outward and rolls them from my grasp, only to thread his fingers through mine as he drags them to my hips. Leaning down, he whispers in my ear, “Trust me, I don’t need one. Do your worst.”

Fuck.

“Keep It Down” by Migrant Motel starts playing through the speakers. As I listen to the lyrics, I can’t help but think it’s suggestive of what’s about to go down here. I’m drowning in the music and his touch, so I close my eyes and lean my head back to enjoy the attention.

The hands on my breasts are nothing like the amateur ones I’m used to; that’s made clear in the way he methodically massages my nipples between his fingertips, making me writhe in pleasure. It feels so fucking good, and I’m not prepared for it to stop. But when he orders me to lay down on the bed, I obey.

I’ll do whatever he says, as long as he keeps touching me like that.

As long as he doesn’t stop.

Another sly smirk creeps across his face with the realization he’s turning me into a puddle for him to play in. He follows me onto the bed and positions himself near my feet, wrenching my pants off my hips and all the way down to my ankles before removing them completely.

When they’re gone, he flashes me a wicked glance.

Oops, no panties.

He's still fully clothed, and the vulnerability of my own bare body being on display makes me feel like nothing more than exposed muscle and bone.

To even the playing field, I sit up and grab at the hem of his shirt in an attempt to lift it over his head, but he stops me. In an instant, both my wrists are trapped in his firm grip.

“No touching,” he says, squeezing tightly enough for me to wince at the force of it. I nod in response, but that’s not enough for him.

In a tormentingly unhurried movement, he pushes forward until I’m lying on my back again with my arms extended above my head.

I can’t see anything but the fabric of his shirt brushing against my nose, but I feel the cold bite of metal encircling one of my wrists. Theclickthat ensues is unmistakable—he’s handcuffing me to the bed.

Holy shit.

Can I handle this? I wasn’t expecting things to go this far, this soon.

As if reading my mind, he checks to make sure that I’m alright and gives me the chance to use my safe word, if I want to.

Fuck no, I don’t. Give it to me.

My second wrist joins the first, and now I’m lying here in all my glory, splayed out for him to do whatever he wants to me. If his resistance to my touch wasn’t enough of an indicator, the look in his dark eyes is all I need to tell me how much he likes being in control.

In a swift motion, he removes his shirt to reveal an abdomen so solid you could sharpen a knife on it. His hip bones are two giant, neon-flashing signs pointing south—and I’ve always been pretty good at following directions. With bated breath, I watch his hands fiddle with the buttons and zipper of his jeans in a slow, teasing fashion.

He bathes in the light of my curious eyes, tilting his head against his shoulder while he studies me in return. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but a mischievous grin twists across his lips.

Before I know it, he’s leaning down close and wrapping the discarded shirt around my eyes. “No peeking.”

I’m seriously trying my best to keep calm, but my heavy breaths mimic the pace of my rapidly beating heart. All my senses are heightened with the loss of my vision, and I get chills every time his jeans brush against my skin.

He’s everywhere and nowhere, all at once.

There’s a small, tingling sensation—fingertips a hair’s breadth from the surface of my inner thigh—skating towards my bare pussy. Without any warning, I feel a finger or two prodding at the entrance before they’re shoved inside me.

My body reacts wildly, back arching off the bed while I struggle with the restraints. There’s nowhere for me to go.

I’m so focused on thrashing and fighting against the sudden assault, I don’t notice the fingers have been removed until he pushes them into my mouth. “Relax. Just breathe. You’re a good girl, aren’t you?” he coaxes.

I’m hyperventilating against his hand, but he waits for my panic to subside before continuing. When I finally nod, he says, “I know you are. Now be a good little slut and suck my fingers clean.”

They slip past the resistance of my lips and teeth, gliding alongside the top of my tongue. He doesn’t stop when the first knuckle disappears behind my lips, nor the second.

He shoves his fingers further down until I gag, my throat closing around them to protect my airway. “Shh, breathe through your nose and open your throat,” the man instructs. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

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