Page 91 of Can You Take It?

He finishes rolling up his sleeves and moves toward me. He bends slightly at the waist, so he’s right in front of me. His hand slides into my hair, fingers threading through the strands before he yanks it back, hard enough that I wince. The pain shoots through me, but it’s quickly drowned out by the heat pooling in my stomach

“The worst,” he enunciates before crashing his lips crash into mine.

His kiss is possessive, demanding, as if he could extract the truth from my very soul. I respond with a hunger that matches his, letting go of the facade of indifference I’ve been clinging to. The taste of him is both a comfort and a torment, a reminder of a connection that refuses to be severed.

He yanks my hair, forcefully dragging me off the chair. The chair crashes to the floor as he drops me onto the table.

Instinctively, my legs wrap around his waist. He releases my hair, replacing it with a possessive grip on my neck. The pressure builds, and I gasp for air between these desperate kisses.

My cuffed hands are a hindrance, but Richard doesn’t seem to care. He tears his lips from mine, leaving a trail of fire on my cheek as he moves down.

“I'm still mad at you,” I manage to gasp between shallow breaths.

“I can feel your anger…” His large hand slides down, grasping one of my cuffed wrists. He drags it slowly down his body, untilmy fingers brush against the hard length of his cock through his jeans. “Right here.”

The cuffs may chafe, but the intensity of his touch makes it hard to care about anything else.

“Tell me you want this.”

All I can manage is a nod, but Richard is not satisfied with it, he increases the hold on my throat, conveniently cutting off my air supply.

“Yes,” I squeak out.

His hold eases a bit, and he yanks down my shorts, tearing through my panties. He strokes my pussy lips, and I moan, the sound escaping me like a soft confession.

His fingers now tease my entrance, forming circular patterns by using my own wetness. He’s not touching my clit or focusing on the more sensitive spots, but the anticipation is electrifying.

My cheeks flush with shame, and I press my head back, biting my lips together.

“You want more?” he whispers.

“What do you think?”

He chuckles, and it’s infuriatingly sexy.

“Say it.”

His fingers keep doing their dirty work. “Fuck, Richard,” I mutter. “Give me more.”

“That’s it,” he taunts gently. “Close your eyes. Concentrate on what you feel.”

My cuffed arms are unceremoniously removed from between us. Richard lifts them up, pushing me until I’m sprawled on the table, with my hands and head now dangling over the edge. My legs release their grip on his waist as he towers over me. He lifts me, positioning me more securely on the table. With a swift motion, my top is pulled over, leaving my tits exposed.

His fingers skim down the length of my arm, tracing a line that’s deceptively gentle, pausing just below my elbow. Hepresses there, the subtle pressure sending a shiver down my spine that I can’t suppress. I bite back a whimper, but he catches it.

“Pain and pleasure, they run so close together here…” he murmurs. “There’s a reason certain spots hurt more than others. I could make this pain feel like paradise or make you remember it every time you breathe.” His tone is pure menace, a threat wrapped in velvet, making me shiver as his thumb digs a little deeper into the spot. I can’t see him, can’t read the intent in his eyes, but right now, it’s like I don’t even need to. My body is reacting to every touch, every shift in his tone, every hint of pleasure he dangles in front of me.

The pain hits sharp, pulling a shriek from my throat and my body jerks. Instinct has my wrists stretching and I feel the metal dig in deep, breaking skin as blood starts to trickle down my hands. The burn is dizzying, and my cry echoes in the room. But he doesn’t give me a second to process it.

His mouth dips lower and his lips brush against my stomach in a ghost of a kiss that’s too soft, too delicate for the way he’s got me tied down. His fingers glide up to the cuts on my wrists, trailing until they dip into the fresh blood seeping from where the metal bit into my skin. He smears the red stain across his fingers, almost like he’s savoring the sight of it before bringing them close to my lips.

“You’ll break yourself to pieces before I even get started.” My mouth parts, welcoming him in. I close my lips around his fingers, tasting the metallic tang of my own blood as I suck on them.

His satisfaction is evident as little beads of fear begin to prickle on my skin. His hand drifts lower, grazing my ribs before coming to rest just beneath my breasts, and my heart hammers.

“State your name,” he demands.

“You know my name.”

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