Page 112 of Thor

“Yes, Sir.”

Something shifted in his expression—a primal hunger barely leashed. He moved suddenly, capturing both my wrists in one large hand and pinning them above my head. The position arched my back, offering my breasts to him. His other hand slid down my body, between my thighs, finding me already wet and ready.

"My good girl," he praised, circling my most sensitive spot with maddening precision.

The dual sensation of restraint and pleasure made me gasp. My hips bucked involuntarily, trying to increase the pressure of his touch. Thor's grip on my wrists tightened in warning.

"Patience, princess," he growled, his fingers slowing to a torturous pace. "Daddy decides when you get what you need."

The words sent liquid heat pooling between my thighs. I moaned, straining against his hold without really wanting to break free. There was safety in this surrender, freedom in giving up control to the one person I trusted completely.

Thor watched my face as he touched me, reading my reactions, learning what made me gasp and what made me whimper. His fingers were deft, finding rhythms and pressure points that had me trembling beneath him in minutes. Each time I approached the edge, he would slow or change tactics, keeping me suspended in exquisite frustration.

"Please," I begged, writhing beneath him. "Thor, please."

He bent to take my nipple in his mouth, teeth grazing the sensitive peak before soothing it with his tongue. The sensation, combined with his fingers between my thighs, wrenched a cry from my throat.

"That's it," he murmured against my breast. "Let me hear you, princess. No holding back. Not here. Not with me."

The permission to be vocal freed something inside me. My next moan was louder, more abandoned. Thor rewarded me by increasing the pressure of his touch, drawing tight circles that had me arching off the blankets.

"That's my girl," he praised, his voice rough with his own need. "So fucking beautiful like this."

I pulled against his grip on my wrists, not to free myself but to feel the restraint. Thor understood immediately, tightening his hold to the point of delicious pressure—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind me who was in control.

The pendant of my collar tapped against my throat with each panting breath, a rhythmic reminder of belonging. I was his to pleasure, his to protect, his to push to the very edge of what I could take. And he was mine —his strength for my use, his control for my surrender.

Thor shifted his weight, his broad chest pressing me deeper into the blankets as he captured my mouth in another searing kiss. His tongue mimicked the rhythm of his fingers, claiming me from both ends. I was drowning in sensation, overwhelmed and desperate for more.

"Thor," I gasped when he released my mouth. "I need—"

"I know exactly what you need," he interrupted, voice commanding. "And I'll give it to you. But not yet."

His fingers withdrew, leaving me empty and aching. Before I could protest, he was moving down my body, trailing open-mouthed kisses across my stomach, over my hipbones. He released my wrists, using both hands to spread my thighs wider.

"Hold onto the pillow," he ordered, looking up at me from between my legs. "Don't move your hands until I say."

I clutched the pillow behind my head, my knuckles white with the effort of obeying as Thor lowered his mouth to my center. The first touch of his tongue nearly undid me. My hips bucked involuntarily, but Thor's strong hands held me in place, forcing me to take the pleasure exactly as he offered it.

The contrast was exhilarating – the soft sanctuary room with its fairy lights and stuffed animal witnesses, and this primal, raw pleasure. I was caught between worlds again, but this time not torn apart by them. The emerald ribbon around my throat united them, giving me permission to be everything at once – professional and Little, strong and vulnerable, commanding and submissive.

Thor worked me with devastating skill, reading my body's responses to bring me repeatedly to the edge without letting me fall. Each time I approached climax, he would slow or pull away, leaving me trembling and pleading. The control he demonstrated was absolute – over himself, over my pleasure, over the pace of our encounter.

"Please," I begged, beyond pride or restraint now. "Please, Daddy. I need to come."

He looked up at me, his beard glistening, eyes dark with hunger. "Not yet, princess. Not until you're desperate for it."

"I am desperate," I gasped, my voice breaking. "Thor, please. I can't take anymore."

He crawled back up my body, his boxers somehow gone, his hardness pressing against my thigh. I hadn't even noticed him removing them – so focused was I on the pleasure he was giving me. He captured my face between his hands, forcing me to meet his gaze.

"You can take exactly what I give you," he said, his voice firm but loving. "Because you're stronger than you know. Because you trust me to push you just far enough."

The words penetrated the fog of desire, touching something deeper. He was right. I did trust him—with my body, with my pleasure, with the different sides of myself I'd kept compartmentalized for so long. The collar around my throat wasn't a symbol of limitation but of that trust, that freedom.

Thor's hand slid between us again, fingers finding my most sensitive spot. "Tell me who you belong to," he demanded, circling with precise pressure that had me arching beneath him.

"You," I gasped. "I belong to you, Thor."

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