Page 40 of Make Me A Sinner
The touch is hypnotic, warming up the place as if there’s a live wire running through his fingers. I need him to do so much more than just keep his hand there. That gets my own hand to move faster, hoping that it’ll coax him into action. But I know better—I have to take mattersinto my own hands, for now.
With tormenting slowness, his hand brushes the valley of my breasts, tracing lazy circles there, only increasing my mind-blurring need for release.
"If only you hadn’t run away...," he trails off, giving me space to reflect on what I've done. Now that I think about it, it was definitely a poor decision. And he sure knows how to reinforce that thought in my mind. "I never would’ve tormented you like this... made you go through all this trouble yourself," he whispers as my fingers keep dancing through my folds, trying to soothe the molten pain that spreads through my body. "It would be so easy to make you come right now," he continues, letting his hands fall back on my lower stomach, but stopping right where the line of my panties used to be. "But you chose the hard way. Didn't you?"
I huff in frustration, drawing my fingers to my entrance and curving them just enough so I could gather some of the slick result of my arousal. I'm one step away from begging him to do something to me—anything to put me out of my misery.
But there's a bitterness in his voice that tells me he won't be satisfied until I pay for my mistakes, and right now, my fingers are racing to settle that debt.
"Was it so awful to be mine?" he asks, his voice charged with a hint of pain, almost hurt. "Didn’t your body tremble with pleasure when I touched you?" He gently leans in, his hand sliding again below my breasts, cupping one from below, but doing nothing more than that. It's like damn torture—half-finished gestures only meant to strip away the last of my sanity. And at this rate, I’m thinking he’ll succeed soon.
My hand picks up speed, and I feel a slight flicker of pleasure sparking, but it's nothing compared to what I know he could do.
"Is it better now? Having to fuck yourself with your fingers instead of my cock to make you come?"
I could slap him for asking the question, but the truth is, it isn't better. My fingers are reaching inside my channel, trying—and failing—to make myself come. The more his hand drifts down my body, the more I realize he’s canceling everything I'm doing.Even his slightest touch feels like heaven compared to just my own fingers, and I know, deep down, my body’s waiting for him to truly begin to vibrate.
I make a last, pathetic attempt to ignore him, closing my eyes and trying to focus only on the rhythm of my fingers. But he’s there, in every one of my dreams, every time I close my eyes. And although I hate to admit it, in every single one of my fantasies.
This isn't going to work—at least not anytime soon, as long as he's here but refuses to do anything else but torture me like it’s his damn calling.
He even seems to have a PhD in torture. "Do you want my help?" he asks, his voice hoarse, and I know there’s a part of him that he can barely keep contained.
And since he's playing a game, I’ll play mine. A moan echoes from my lips. Not quite a yes, but not even close to a no. It's just a broken, hushed sound that makes me less guilty of directly begging for him.
But he takes it anyway, without fighting me this time, no demand to clearly specify my intentions. Because we both know what those intentions are—even if I'm still having trouble admitting it out loud. At least this time I'm admitting it to myself.
A small grin tugs on his lips as he moves between my thighs, spreading them so wide that I feel they're about to snap. I don't even care about that at this point. He can break them as long as he gives me what I need. And for now, that’s an orgasm.
I stop, waiting for him to take over, but he clearly has other plans. "Keep your fingers moving before I change my mind," he warns and I start skimming my clit again, left to torture myself while he watches.
A throaty sound rumbles in his chest as he stares straight at my core, lust flickering in his eyes. Then his fingers slip inside of me with an unhurried pace, like he’s dragging out the moment,just to make me dependent on him. And I'm starting to think, I'm becoming a fucking junkie.
"I see you only know how to behave when I leave you no choice," he snarls, moving faster and faster as my own hand follows the intensity.
I’m almost there. And the apogee of this should be heaven at its peak, but if this is hell—I’m already sold. My breath picks up, spiraling out of control. That's when my moans fill the room, and I notice his own mouth parting in response, like he’s breathlessly waiting for my next sound. It's a confirmation of what he's doing to me, and I’m starting to believe he's enjoying this as much as I do.
Suddenly, he decides to take things to the next level, leaning down between my legs like he’s about to tear me apart. Because that's what he does every time he touches me. He tears me apart, only to rebuild me as his.
The tip of his tongue replaces his fingers, and my nails graze his tongue piercing as he begins to glide inside me. A fog gathers in my mind. I don't even know where I am anymore, pleasure bleeding into reality—maybe even with any morality I might still have.
My own hands stop functioning, rushing to clutch the sheets around me as his lips slowly ascend to claim my sensitive nub. Somehow, he got exactly what he wanted again. And I'm not even sorry. Maybe I'm just sorry I didn't come to terms with it sooner. I'm definitely sorry I ran away. He only makes me more and more convinced of this every day.
Darting out his tongue, he's heading straight to the depths of me. He flicks it like a damn snake, doing something irremediable to my body, something I don't think I’ll ever recover from.
His fingers dig into my thighs as he consumes me, and I'm on the road of no redemption. The problem is I also don't care. My throat vibrates with each hitched breath. I grab a pillow,smothering my face because I can't stand the sound of my own voice, hearing how ragged it is from pleasure. It feels like he's sucking the life out of me through my vagina. And all I want from him is to go on—or maybe stop before I black out. I have no idea. Because it feels like I would somehow die in the process.
The pleasure building inside me feels like the waves predicting a tsunami. I know exactly what he's going to bring upon me. His name seems to be stuck on my lips with every flicker of tongue that tightens my body with an unstoppable force. I’m suddenly hit with the wild intensity of a climax that almost leaves me unconscious. My body’s shivering. My hands are shivering. My damn mind is fucking shivering. And the satisfaction glinting in his eyes gets my damn heart to shiver as well.
I’m his in so many unspoken ways.
I come undone, yet he keeps riding my orgasm, raising it to an impossible intensity, and when his lips latch to suck on my sensitive nub I can't help myself than to yelp. "Oh, God."
"Say God's name again, and I'll bite your clit off!" Set warns in a voice that holds no amusement. This man’s fucked up in the head. That makes his threat feel all the more real.
It shuts me up for a few moments, but whatever’s going on in my body makes the fear dissipate in a flash and gets my mouth open again because. I suspect I’m delirious by now. "Set..." I moan, my body twitching like I'm having damn convulsions. "Set.." At this point, I'm sure my legs are wrapped around his neck. "Set," I all but scream, the world around me blurring into nothing.
I think I might die if he gives me another orgasm like this. But honestly, I don't value my life that much right now. So I give myself over to his mercy—and that damn piercing in his tongue has none. It's only when I think I'm no longer making sense that he stops. At this point, my eyes refuse to stay open. I'm not sure I'm even breathing. I'm just existing.
