Page 82 of Innocent Intentions

“This is for me, not you.” He goes back to his assault, and I see his hand jerkily stroking his cock.

Realization slams into me.

This is my punishment.

He made me beg to have me concede. To break down my ego. To prove me wrong.

And it turned him on.

My begging, my surrender, my obedience turned him on.

Fuck him.

I’m going to come anyways. He can’t control my orgasms for a month.

But I’m wrong.

Matty brings me to the edge over and over and over, until my body is wrecked with unsatisfied pleasure. Until I hate how badly I need him.

By the time he finally stops, I don’t know if I’m relieved or devastated.

Matty rises to his full height, his body towering over mine. His face glistens with my arousal.

He looks sinful.

I barely register the feel of his cock brushing against my belly until I glance down and see him stroking himself furiously.

I reach out, my fingers brushing his length.

He hisses.

Encouraged, I reach lower, tentatively cup his balls.

His head falls back instantly, his mouth parting in a silent curse.

“Fuck, Margot,” he rasps, his voice desperate. “Grip them tighter.”

I obey, tightening my hold. My thumb rolls over them, testing.

The noise he makes is animalistic, so raw it sends a shockwave down my spine.

I react instinctively. My fingers clenching tighter.

That completely undoes him.

His entire body shudders as he comes apart.

Thick ropes of his release coat my stomach, my chest, my breasts. Marking me, claiming me. His cock twitches in my hand before he releases himself from my grasp, stroking the last of his release onto my mound.

There’s so much of him. My formerly clean body is now covered in him.

But I don’t move. I don’t wipe it away.

Because he’s staring at me like I’m a masterpiece.

He’s the artist.

And I’m his canvas.

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