Page 50 of Tuned To Break
“Someone could come back,” I whisper, breathless.
His hand slides to the back of my neck, gripping lightly. “They won’t. And even if they did… I’d still want you bent over this bench, moaning my name like a filthy little secret.”
His words make me whimper. My head spins.
Jake lifts me easily, setting me on the edge of the workbench like I weigh nothing, his broad hands gripping my thighs.
“You’ve got no idea how hard it’s been watching you walk around like you don’t know exactly what you do to me.” His mouth trails down my neck, sucking just below my ear until I gasp. “You in that fucking skirt. Those bossy looks you throw around. Fuck, Stella.”
He drops to his knees, tugging my skirt up inch by inch like he’s unwrapping a fucking gift. “Tell me you want this.”
“I want this. I want you.”
He growls low in his throat and yanks my panties down, trailing his fingers through the slick mess he finds there. “Goddamn. So fucking wet already.” He smirks up at me, eyes dark with hunger. “You’ve been aching for it too, haven’t you? Pretending to focus while you were dripping for me?”
I nod, too far gone for words, and he stands again, pressing his chest to mine, hand sliding around the front of my throat. His palm fits perfectly there, his thumb resting in the hollow just beneath my jaw.
The noose tattoo stares back at me like a warning—or a promise.
“You remember what this means, yeah?” he whispers, tightening his grip slightly, just enough to make my knees tremble. “This hand’s not just for choking. It’s for claiming.”
I whimper, my thighs pressing together.
Jake spins me and pushes me forward, my palms bracing against the cool metal of the bench. He leans in close, breath hot against my ear. “You gonna let me fuck the professionalism out of you, darl?”
“Yes,” I gasp, voice wrecked.
“Then stay right there. Be good for me.”
I feel him behind me, his hands sliding up my sides, dragging my shirt up and over my head. I’m bare from the waist down, panties pooled around one ankle, and I’ve never felt more exposed or alive.
One hand stays on my hip while the other returns to my throat—my necklace, my leash, my anchor. His noose ink presses against my skin like it’s branding me from the inside out.
“You know what I’ve been imagining?” he says, voice rough. “Your cunt stretched around my cock. That tight little hole choking me while I hold your throat and make you come so hard you can’t think straight.”
He presses the thick length of his cock between my arse cheeks, still clothed but so obviously hard it makes me whine.
“Can’t fuck you yet. Not properly.” He grinds against me—slow, maddening. “But I can make you come. Over and over. Until you’re begging me to fill you.”
“Jake—”
“Shh. Stay still.”
His hand slides between my thighs again, and when his fingers stroke over my clit, I jolt—already hypersensitive. The contrast of a cool bench, warm skin, his dirty mouth in my ear—it’s too much.
“You gonna come for me right here?” he breathes, sliding two fingers into me like they belong there. “Soaking the workbench like the filthy little boss you are?”
“Please,” I whisper, shameless.
His hand tightens around my throat, and I moan at the pressure—the perfect balance of control and safety.
“That’s it. Let me have it. Let go. Come on my fucking fingers like the good girl you are.”
The orgasm rips through me, my body jerking against the bench as I clamp around his fingers, cries muffled by his shoulder as he holds me firm and safe and his.
He strokes me through it, not letting up until I’m shaking, gasping, barely able to stand.
“Jesus,” I pant.
