Page 22 of Taken in the Tree Farm
I'm going to come again. Impossible, but it’s happening. My body is climbing toward another orgasm, more intense than the previous two combined.
"Not yet," he commands, feeling how my inner walls flutter around him. "Hold it."
"I can't—" I'm sobbing now, pleasure too intense, too consuming. "Please, I need to?—"
"Hold. It." He punctuates each word with a hard thrust and a sharp tug on the lights at my throat. The restriction steals my breath for just a moment before he releases, and the pattern continues—thrust, tighten, release. Thrust, tighten, release.
My arms give out. I collapse forward onto my elbows, changing the angle so he's somehow even deeper. The lights at my throat pull taut with the position change, and he uses them like actual reins, controlling my movements, guiding me back against each thrust.
I'm completely at his mercy. Unable to do anything but take what he gives me, feel what he wants me to feel, surrender to sensations that obliterate every thought beyond this moment.
"Now," he growls, fingers pressing hard against my clit while simultaneously tightening the lights at my throat. "Come for me now."
My body obeys instantly. The orgasm detonates through me like a bomb, so intense that my vision explodes into a field of stars. I feel myself clench around his cock in waves, feel the pleasure tear through every nerve ending, feel myself fragment into a thousand pieces.
He fucks me through it, extending the climax until I'm boneless and shaking. The lights restrict my breathing in perfectly timed intervals, making each wave more intense than the last. I'm making sounds I don't recognize—animal noises, desperate and raw.
Only when the final tremor fades does he release the lights completely and focus on his own release. His thrusts turnerratic, chasing his orgasm now, using my body for his pleasure. His fingers dig into my hips, holding me in place as he takes what he needs.
"Mine," he growls, and then he's coming, buried deep inside me, his cock pulsing with each spurt.
The word echoes in my head as we both collapse onto the bed. Mine. Like I belong to him.
And the terrifying part is... I think I do.
I think some part of me has known all along that this is where we'd end up. That the chase was foreplay. That running was just another kind of surrender.
We're both breathing hard, his body draped over my back, his cock still inside me. The lights continue to pulse against my skin, slower now, matching our gradually steadying heartbeats. The fire crackles. Snow falls outside the windows.
And I realize that despite everything—the fear, the confusion, the shame—I've never felt more satisfied in my life.
He pulls out slowly, and I feel his release drip down my thigh. The sensation should be disgusting. Instead, it feels like his marking on me.
His hands are gentle as he helps me roll onto my side, careful of my bound wrists. He removes some of the lights—the ones around my chest, the makeshift reins—but leaves the collar at my throat and the bindings at my wrists.
"We're not done yet," he says softly, brushing hair from my face. "I'm going to let you rest for a few minutes. Then I'm taking you again."
When his hand trails down my body possessively, I feel my body coming back to life for him.
CHAPTER 8
LUKE
She's wrecked.
Beautiful and spent and completely mine.
I watch her catch her breath, chest rising and falling rapidly, skin flushed and glowing with sweat in the firelight. The Christmas lights still wrapped around her pulse with her heartbeat, creating patterns of red and white across her curves. Her bound wrists rest near her head, and her eyes are closed, dark lashes fanned against her cheeks.
She looks like art. Like something I created specifically for this moment.
Which, in a way, I did.
I trace my fingers down her spine, feeling the tremors still running through her body. She's oversensitive, exhausted, pushed well past what she thought her limits were. Exactly where I wanted her.
But now comes the part most people forget. The care. The tenderness that makes the dominance sustainable, that turns a scene into something more.
I lean down and press a kiss to her shoulder blade, soft and almost chaste compared to what we just did.
