Page 11 of Bound By His Name
“You’re so fucking incredible, Anya,” his voice wraps around me.
His arm is still pressed against my clit, the muscle flexing with each beat of his heart. I can feel the power in him, the barely leashed control. It excites me beyond measure. "You're truly so goddamn sexy. Do you have any idea what you do to me?" I moan, riding his arm faster, chasing my release.
"You're gonna cum for me, aren't you?" his tone is almost a command. I nod frantically, unable to form words as my body tenses. "Cum for me, Anya. Cum all over my arm."
My orgasm hits me hard, my back arching off the bed as I scream his name. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me, leaving me boneless and spent. It isn’t quiet. It isn’t clean. It’s messy and wild and louder than I’ve ever been.
He eases his arm out from beneath me, bringing his hand to his mouth. This time, he sucks my fingers clean, moaning softly as he tastes my sweet nectar.
When I finally reopen my eyes, he’s still right there—sitting back on his heels now, hand on my knee.
He lifts his hand to my face, tucks my hair behind my ear, then kisses my forehead.
“I’ll leave you to sleep.” He stands with a smile.
My chest tightens. I don’t speak, I can’t. I reach out and touch his wrist.
That’s all it takes.
He doesn’t walk out. He sits back down beside me, close but not touching, and stays there until my breathing slows and my body stops shaking.
I drift off.
Chapter 5
Anya
The note sits on the tray beside my untouched breakfast. The handwriting is precise and recognizable.
East wing by midnight. Wear a white slip.
There is no signature. There doesn’t need to be.
I stare at it longer than I should with my fingers resting on the edge of the porcelain plate, my tea long since gone cold. I don’t need to guess what the note means. I already know.
And I want this.
The white slip is thinner than I remember. I hold it up to the firelight and see straight through it. My nipples harden at the thought of him seeing them, though I know—after last time—he won’t even reach for them.
That’s what makes it worse, or perhaps it’s better, I can no longer tell.
I wear it anyway, with nothing underneath.
By the time I reach the corridor leading to the east wing, the rest of the house is still. My footsteps feel too loud on the stone floor, even though I’m barefoot.
I pause outside the door. There are no guards or any noise. Taking a deep breath, I push the door open and step inside.
The room is huge, draped in velvet and flooded with firelight. Candles flicker across every surface with mirrored walls capturing the glow and multiplying it. It’s warm in here, almost too warm. My skin prickles immediately.
In the center, an armchair faces the largest mirror. Lev sits in it, legs crossed, hands folded loosely on his lap. He doesn’t stand when I enter, he barely even flinches.
His eyes move over me once.
“You wore it,” he says.
“You told me to.”
He gestures to the second chair, placed to the side and a few feet from the mirror. I don’t sit as my body is too jittery.
