Page 79 of Yearn
He brought his hand up to my breast and then pinched my nipple, making me gasp. “It means you’re built to withstand me. That’s what excites me the most, Mommy.”
I moaned. “Oh.”
He rubbed my nipple. “Your body isn’t fragile. You see stretch marks. I see lightning bolts, proof your body is strong enough to break and still hold my hunger.”
God help me.
I shuddered, my pussy clenching, because he was turning the parts of me I’d hated into something erotic.
For the first time in many years, I felt that I wasn’t broken or ruined.
Maybe I was sexy and dangerous because I could make this gorgeous, muscular man unhinged.
I yearned for him.
I craved more of his touch.
He turned the rose back on and had it on my clit.
“Oh God!”
“So nasty, Mommy.” His voice was raspy, low, and cruel. “Touching yourself in the shower. Moaning while you held that little toy. Acting like a filthy, wet whore.”
“Oh.” Shame and heat collided in my chest.
He moved the rose away from my clit, torturing me by having the vibration tease along my folds. “The only problem is that I’m not sure if you know that you’re onlymyfilthy whore.”
“Oh.”
“Do you know that, Mommy?”
“Yes.”
“Then say it. Tell me, Mommy that you’re my filthy whore.”
“I’m your filthy whore.”
“Good job, Mommy.” He pressed the rose directly to my swollen clit, letting the vibration settle until my thighs quivered, and then the bastard pulled it away just as my hips arched for more.
“Damn it.” I trembled.
He sneered at me. “You’re my goddess. My whore. My Mommy. My fucking everything. Do you understand?”
A shiver tore through me. “We should be talking about this—”
“We’re done talking. That conversation ended when you had me cumming all over your hand last night.” He pressed the toy closer, forcing a sharp moan out of me. “From now on, you’ll cum when I allow it. You’ll beg for me when I make you starve. And when I’m done, when you’re broken and shaking, you’ll still be my filthy sexy whore.”
Why did those words make my clit throb harder?
Filthy whore.
It should have made me flinch. Instead it cracked something open and poured heat straight into my belly. It was the sound of his voice too—dark, low, uncoiled.
It was also the way he said Mommy in the same breath.
Ro’s voice came back, explaining how dirty talk hit the brain like a drug, how the right curse word in the right moment could spike dopamine and scramble shame into arousal.
“Oh, Mommy.” He pinned the toy against my clit with the barest pressure, enough to spark a moan, then lifted it away and watched me whimper. “You’re my filthy, precious whore. And I’ll starve you until you scream for it.”
