Page 52 of Surrender to Me
He stops abruptly, his palm soothing the heated skin, fingers dipping lower to tease the wetness between my legs. I arch into his touch, desperate, but he pulls back just as the pressure builds, leaving me gasping.
“Not yet.” His voice is firm yet gentle as he flips me onto my back with that controlled strength that makes my stomach turn a somersault. His eyes rake over me, dark and hungry, as he settles between my thighs. “We’re building trust here, Allie. You give me control, and I give you what you need.”
His fingers trace my folds, light at first, circling my clit with maddening precision. Pleasure coils tight, my hips bucking as he slides two fingers inside me, curling them just right. I’m climbing, so close, the edge rushing up?—
And he stops. Withdraws completely.
I whimper, frustration twisting with need. “Stryker?—”
“Have you ever been edged?”
I scowl at him. “Edged?”
“Taken to the brink of orgasm.”
Like he had earlier?
“And then been forbidden the orgasm? Again and again.”
My mouth opens and closes slowly.
“You’re about to find out how much you can really endure. Sweetheart.”
It sounds… I don’t know. Frustrating. Annoying. After all, I like to get off and then get out of a man’s bed and slip out under the cover of night.
But there’s a dark note of challenge in his voice that made me want to rise to the occasion. “Do your worst.”
He chuckles. “Oh, sweet, sweet Allie. You have no idea.”
He leans down, his breath hot against my skin as he kisses my inner thigh, then higher, his tongue flicking out to taste me.
The sensation is electric, building me up again, faster this time. His mouth closes over my clit, sucking gently while his fingers return, pumping in a rhythm that has the world spinning off its axis.
“Please.” I’m back to begging, and until him, I’ve never done that before.
“Patience.”
Desperately I fist my hands into the sheets. Trust. That’s what this is—him pushing me to the brink, making me rely on him to catch me. Trust is a thief’s worst enemy, and yet here I am, surrendering inch by inch. “I want?—”
“We’re doing this at my pace. I’ll decide when you can come. If you can come.”
Twice more, he brings me to the brink, and each time he pulls back at the last second, allowing his free hand to roam my curves, soothing, teasing.
His fingers move to my locket. Without a word, he traces its teardrop shape, his touch sending a jolt through me that’s more than physical. It’s intimate, like he’s searching out my secrets but without demanding to know them—yet.
By the fourth denial, I’m trembling, tears pricking my eyes, every nerve alive and screaming for release. “I can’t?—”
“You can.”
I hold onto his voice as he continues the overwhelming sensual assault.
I’m lost, no longer knowing where I end and he begins. I’m surrendering in a way I never have before.
And I’m totally, completely unravelling. I’m dying to come. And I honestly don’t know how much more I can take.
Yet he’s relentless. Terrible. Perfectly demanding.
My body shakes, and I’m drenched in sweat. His denials have turned into physical pain, and I wrench myself away from him. “Yellow?—”
