Page 87 of The Consequences of Love and Vengeance

I smile on the inside as I pick up my pace, sucking and slurping, not caring that my saliva is running out of my mouth and down Drago’s cock, pooling at his base.

He tenses, and then hot, salty liquid shoots out, coating my mouth. I swallow everything he gives me, wanting every drop of him going down my throat.

Before he finishes, I’m able to click the other end of the cuff around his wrist without him realizing what I’m doing.

There is no way I have time to wrap his necktie around his other wrist, so I forego that part of the plan. I’ll at least be able to make my point—same as he did to me.

When he’s done coming and I’ve cleaned his cum off him, I pull him out of my mouth.

D’s eyes are closed. He’s spent and that pleases my soul greatly. Sitting back on my heels, I watch him. I admire him from above me still coming down from his orgasm.

I watch as his eyes flutter, opening back up to our world. His head rolls forward and with it a satisfied grin.

He tries to lift his arm, the one that is cuffed to his chair. A giggle bubbles from my throat as I see his lazy smile vanish, turning into confusion at first. Then they widen when they land on the restraint, and that’s when everything goes to hell.

“What the—” He yanks on his wrist, pulling like he’s going to be able to free himself. He should know better. “Bri, what the fuck?”

His eyes cut to mine as he continues pulling.

“Payback, baby.”

My celebratory smirk dies when Drago starts bucking in his chair. I quickly jump up from my spot on the floor so that I don’t get kneed or my hand smashed with one of the legs of the chair that’s hopping off the floor.

He’s not just mad or angry, he’s livid; losing his mental control at a rapid pace.

“D,” I call out, stepping farther away from him.

He stands, twisting to face his poor chair and still he yanks.

“Drago, stop,” I order. “I’ll take them off.”

He doesn’t listen; he continues his madness to free himself.

“D,” I try again without any success.

Picking up the chair, he slams it on the ground. I jump, shocked, not expecting this behavior from him.

“Drago,” I say louder.

Holy fucking shit. He’s losing his damn mind and breaking the chair in the process.

I can’t laugh, and I’m not scared in the least because the look on his face is clear as sin. There is terror in his eyes—and I’ve caused it.

The arm of the chair suddenly breaks from where it’s attached to the seat, sending the rest of the chair to the ground. The cuff that was attached to the wood connecting the arm and seat comes right off.

Drago doubles over, his hands coming down to his knees. His entire body is shaking, convulsing uncontrollably. I want to go to him, but I’m having a hard time understanding what just happened. It was fine minutes ago. He was fine until he realized I had handcuffed one of his wrists to his chair.

It was only meant as a joke—a funny “ha ha” kind of joke, just like he did to me not that long ago.

Lifting back up, he yanks his boxers and pants up his legs, adjusting them in place.

“So you can handcuff me, with my cuffs, but I can’t pull the same shit on you? Are you serious right now?”

He just shakes his head side to side, breathing ragged as he buttons his pants.

“Can you please explain what the fuck just happened?”

Bending, I snatch my skirt off the floor and quickly pull it up my legs and then I zip it, securing it to my waist.

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