Page 92 of Can You Take It?

“That’s not what I asked.” He moves his hand, pressing harder into that tender spot beneath my ribs. It sends a jolt of pain up through me, enough to wrench a strangled sob from my lips. “For the record,” he adds, almost mockingly.

My breath shakes as I fight back, but finally, the words spill out. “Izel… Briallyn… Montclair.”

“Good girl.”

One hand slides up to my throat and wraps around my neck, but he doesn’t squeeze. Instead, his thumb strokes gently, mocking how easily he holds me, how little I can do under him. “Where are you from?”

I bite my lip, my voice barely a whisper. “H-Hollowbrook.”

“Mmm.” His fingers trail down, teasing along my stomach. They dip lower, hesitating just enough to make me squirm, before he thrusts two fingers deep inside me.

He pumps his fingers, dragging moans out of me with every press against sensitive, swollen ridges inside me. His cock presses hard against my thigh, and I grind against him.

“How old are you?” His lips are at my ear as his fingers curl and twist, finding every sensitive spot inside me and working it mercilessly.

“T-Twenty-six,” I manage to gasp, but it’s barely a word. My legs are shaking, spreading further to give him better access as he holds me.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

I manage a mumble, “T-Trespassing,” but I’m not even sure if he heard it—hell, I can barely hear myself over the buzzing in my ears.

Just when I think I’m about to shatter, he presses a spot on my neck, and pain lances through me. I shriek, my body jerking against his hold, instinctively trying to get away from that feeling.

The pain eases as he lets go, his fingers sliding from my neck, and I pant out, “T-trespassing?”

“Are you asking me, or telling me?”

I barely get a chance to respond before his mouth closes over my clit, and all coherent thought goes out the damn window. His tongue circles my clit in slow, wet strokes, each one designed to make me lose every last scrap of control. He lets out a low chuckle that vibrates against me, and the heat of his breath there—rightthere—makes me moan louder than I meant to.

Then, he presses his mouth against me fully, his tongue dipping lower, licking through every slick inch of me. He’s exploring every part of me with the tip of his tongue before sliding it deep inside me.

“God, yes—right there, fuck,” I gasp pulling my hips closer to his mouth, like I can’t stand even an inch of distance between us. His tongue thrusts deeper, twisting, pressing against spots that have me falling apart, my body tightening around him as he drinks in every reaction, every shudder.

My blood feels like it’s rushing faster, coursing hot and fast through my body, making me feel dizzy, lightheaded. It’s like every drop of it is pooling lower, gathering in this unbearable ache that his tongue is somehow both soothing and stoking into something sharper.

As he slides his tongue back up, his teeth suddenly graze over my clit, and my entire body jolts like I’m plugged into some live wire. That little scrape alone pulls me so close to the edge I almost shatter. The ache turns sharp and I’m grinding myself on him, ready to lose it completely—

Then he bites down.

Hard.

A scream tears out of me and it’s nothing like the pleasure I was bracing for. The pain is so fierce it’s blinding, and for amoment I can’t even breathe. I twist under him, trying to pull back, but he’s got me pinned.

“Why… why are you doing this?” I choke out.

He pulls back, the tip of his tongue tracing over where he bit me, like he’s soothing the sting. “You know why,” he murmurs.

“Fuck, you’re... you’re torturing me.”

“Maybe I am,” he says, almost casually. “Or maybe I just want to see what it takes to really break you.”

My breath catches, and the words hit somewhere deep, twisting through all the pleasure, turning it sharp again. “Is that it?” I pant, writhing under his hand. “You want to... to break me?”

“I want you to beg me.” His fingers move, tracing around the tight ring of muscle, a feather-light nudge.

There’s an unspoken demand in his words, something he isn’t saying, but I can feel it as clear as the pressure of his hand on me. He’s done waiting. He’s done chasing. If I want to keep him, if I want him to stay, I’m going to have to let him in, to let him see everything I’ve kept hidden behind layers of lies and deflection.

My chest feels tight, and each breath feels harder to draw in as the battle rages inside me. I can’t lose him. I can’t. But the thought of giving him that part of me, the part I’ve always kept guarded, is like tearing myself open.

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