Page 66 of Hush Darling
His mouth twitched as he sensed her genuine gratitude. Then he slowly admitted, “It was my pleasure.”
She weakly smiled. Yes, it was. But the relief of being rid of such a barrier was hers.
He gave her a choice, and she chose to surrender.
Power was ceded, and now she must make him her greatest priority, as he commanded. “I’m glad you’re pleased.”
He cocked his head as if trying to decipher any motive behind her words. “You’re as dangerous as a siren, aren’t you?” He caught her by the back of the neck and pulled her into a possessive kiss.
Once more, awakening something inside of her. Should she ever get off this ship, she wasn’t sure she’d ever go back to being the proper, well-mannered, conforming woman she’d been groomed to be.
The longer he kissed her, the more unhinged her desire to have him grew. She clung to his shoulders as he pressed another finger inside of her, stretching her more than before. He countered every ounce of pressure with pacifying pleasure, stroking and kissing her breasts, nibbling her ear, and delicately licking her lips. He used pleasure-pain to build her tolerance for more, and the duality of his touch showed her just how far her body could be pushed.
Sensations built and transcended into an overwhelming unknown as he mastered her like a fine instrument. Soon, she was digging her nails into his flesh and tugging at his clothes, searching for purchase as the mounting pleasure spiked.
“That’s it,” he coaxed, stroking those long fingers deeper. “Take it like a good girl.”
The tension burst inside of her like a collapsing star rushing through the galaxy. Her toes pointed, and her muscles locked as pleasure poured from her, slickening his fingers so he could slide deeper still. She moaned and writhed, but he kept going, hooking his fingers inside of her, probing and rubbing until she lost control of her responses, and he took full command of her body.
“Beautiful.” He kissed her possessively, her thighs wet with her climax, the proof of her arousal covering his skin.
Tears wet her face, but she had no memory of crying. It was too much, too fast to catalog every little sensation and emotion. She lost sight of where she ended and he began. A scary thought that tugged a jagged breath from her lungs and caused her to sob in shame.
His lips dragged over her features with entitled possession. “Hush, darling, Daddy has you now.”
His tongue stole into her mouth, tender and protective, a complete contrast to the rough way he had handled her before. She stared through her damp lashes, wondering how many women actually knew pleasure like this could exist. He spoke of degradation, which might possibly be what this was, but she didn’t feel destroyed. On the contrary, she felt taken apart and set free.
She was never meant to enjoy it, but she had. And while she should be sick with shame, she felt too good to feel anything other than liberated, even as his captive.
“I hate you,” she rasped, unable to hide her internal struggle from him.
He chuckled and kissed her throat. “Does such a lie bring you comfort?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll allow it.”
She relied on such a lie because facing her emotions at the moment was too confusing. She’d barely fought him. And he was right. She wanted to thank him.
“You’re twisted.”
His hand stilled for a split second, then he continued stroking her. “Imagine your gratitude when I fully break you. This is only the beginning, little darling.”
She shivered and closed her eyes, unable to imagine feeling more transformed than she already felt. He’d opened her mind to untold pleasure, and somehow, she was still a virgin.
She’d imagined how it would be and had a thousand different fantasies, but her mind was so limited. She never imagined anything this all-consuming. It was no wonder people found sex addicting. But she hadn’t even had sex yet.
He was right. This was only the beginning.
He slipped out of the bed, and his absence hit like palpable pain. “Where are you going?”
“Rest. I’ll only be a moment.” He moved to the table and took a sip of wine.
She couldn’t rest because she feared if she closed her eyes, she’d wake up, and this would all be a dream. Tracking him like an addict tracks their next fix, she monitored his every step.
He moved with inhuman agility. Every natural gesture was an erotic glimpse into his private world. She liked it when he casually tucked his hair behind his ear or scratched an itch. He was poetry in motion. Incredibly powerful, yet those glimpses of ordinary motions brought him closer to her level and made him relatable. Perhaps even attainable.
It was then she acknowledged that she could see this evolving into something more. He could probably leave the door wide open at this point, and she wouldn’t run.
