Page 121 of The Secrets That Kill

“If you don’t get your mouth on me again, I’ll slam those fucking doors.”

“No more flirting with other women.”

“Do it.” I tangle my fingers in her hair and fist it hard. “Now.”

She gets to work, her mouth pure magic. I fight it, trying with everything in me not to come. But my famed control is unraveling too fast for me to stop it. Goddammit, Ivy knows what to do to me. She’s paid attention and she swallows me deep.

My balls contract, electric shocks shooting down my spine, and I come. I push her head down farther, holding her as my cock jerks in her mouth, in her throat. As her mouth muscles work, Ivy swallows down my cum, those little contractions of her lips squeezing me so hard, I almost black out from the fucking ecstasy.

I can’t move. Her head’s in my lap, her tongue still bathing me, my hand stroking her hair softly.

Slowly I realize we’re not moving. And though I just came like I never have in my life, I’m still half hard, and need stalks my veins.

I pull her up as I tuck myself away, leaning forward to kiss her softly. She shudders and eases back. But I’m not fucking done with her. I bring her in again, so close her breath is warm on my skin. “So, Pollyanna, do you want to walk away from this?”

“Would you let me?”

“What do you think?”

“No,” she whispers. “I don’t want to walk. And I don’t think you’re done with me.”

“Good. Now get inside.”

My head spins, anger bubbling in my veins. I’m still pissed off. Riled up. Turned all the way on.

Inside, I take her to the sofa in the living room because I can’t wait another second to sink deep into that perfect pussy.

“Bend over the sofa. Ass in the air, legs spread for me.”

Ivy sucks in a shaky breath, but Pollyanna drops her gaze and nods. “Yes, Sir.”

Fuck, whenever she does that it makes my cock twitch. I know I just came, but I’m already about to bust through my pants.

The magic—and torture—of fucking Ivy and her pretty cunt.

I open a hidden drawer and pull out some rope. There are silk ties, but I want marks on her. I want her to see them and think of this. Of tonight. All of it. I want her to know the highs and lows of her role, the other side of her pain and humiliation. I want her to remember how she fucking sings for me.

Taking her left wrist, I bind it tight, and tie it to the hook beneath the sofa, near one of the legs. I repeat on the other side. Then I do the same with her ankles.

Moving around her, I test the binds, the constriction, the tightness. Ivy whimpers. It’s a sound of pure need. I stroke my cock over my pants as I continue to circle her and the sofa. I come to stand behind her, studying the sliver of bare, swollen flesh, glistening in the light… pink, gorgeous.

And I know I made a mistake. I should have had her wearing panties so I could drag them to one side and plunge into her.

But that’s for another night.

I flip up the thin green material of her dress. My cock throbs and I can barely hold back the groan that rumbles in my throat.

“Tell me, Pollyanna,” I say, smoothing one finger over a line of bruises. “Do they hurt when you sit?”

“They hurt when I move.”

“Do you like that hurt.”

“No.” There’s a small sob of need that’s going to fuel erotic dreams for years to come. “I love it.”

“We’ll add more when they heal. I’m going to fuck you now. It’s not going to be gentle. It’s going to be rough and brutal and you’re going to feel it everywhere. And you’re going to take it.” I unzip my pants and pull out my cock.

“Bring it on, Master.”

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