Page 25 of Ava After Midnight

I drag my nails down his stomach, cutting him off.

“That’s my good boy,” I murmur. “Ask me sweetly, and I’ll ruin you properly.”

Only then, I finally give him what he’s been aching for. My hand wraps around him, stroking him through his pants, slow and torturous. His head drops back against the mirror, a wrecked sound slipping free.

He tries to rut into my hand, but I stop him.

“You don’t get to take,” I murmur. “You get what I give you.”

His muscles strain, his body screaming for more. His fingers twitch behind his back, testing his restraints.

I reach for my phone.

Domingo’s eyes flicker open, hazy but sharp beneath the fog. “Ava?—”

“You said I could do anything,” I remind him.

His throat works as he swallows. “I’m yours to use.”

The way it breaks out of him, rough and wrecked, makes want to fuck him right then and there, but first I needed my fun. I hold the camera up, framing him in the screen. His wrists are still bound behind him, his body flushed with heat, completely undone for me.

I hover my thumb over the record button.

“Then let me keep this,” I say softly. “Let me watch you. Let me see how much you want this.”

His muscles tense. His jaw flexes. His entire body is fighting for control, and he’s losing.

“Say no,” I murmur. Daring him.

His breath stutters.

He doesn’t say no.

I hit Record.

The camera captures everything—his wrecked expression, his chest rising and falling too fast, his lips parted on shallow, stuttering breaths. I shift on his lap, pressing against him, watching the way his jaw clenches, the way his throat works.

“You want me?” I tell him, positioning myself over him. “Watch me take it.”

I sink onto him, slow and unrelenting.

His back bows, his throat tips back, his mouth parts in a silent, wrecked sound.

His jaw is tight, his hands useless behind him, his body trembling under mine.

“Look at yourself,” I whisper, moving just enough to drive him insane.

I tilt the phone so he can see exactly what I’m doing to him.

His head lolls to the side—but his eyes stay on the screen.

I ride him, slow at first, watching every flex of his stomach, every twitch of his fingers, every ragged, desperate breath.

I grind down, making it worse, making him shudder.

His lips part, eyes heavy, voice wrecked. “Ava?—”

“Not yet.”

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