CHAPTER 53
The thought drifts through me like smoke. A warning. A whisper.
I know I should wake up.
But I don’t want to.
Not yet.
Consciousness creeps in slowly, like tide over sand.
At first, only darkness. I blink, but nothing changes. My lashes flutter against fabric. A blindfold.
The blackness is too complete. It feels like I’ve woken inside a void.
I shift—or try to—and feel pressure at my mouth. A strap. A gag.
I breathe through my nose and a muffled moan escapes.
Awareness spreads to my aching wrists—bound, pulled downward.
Not above my head but between my legs.
I’m cuffed to a bar cold and firm. My ankles too, spaced wide enough to keep me open.
I test it—barely moving and meet resistance. I can’t close my legs. Can’t free my hands.
I’m exposed like a perverse offering.
How? How did he do this without waking me?
Was I that exhausted?—
My thought is interrupted by the sensation of soft lips.
A warm tongue.
A moan vibrating against my center.
My back arches before I realize what I just did.
I try to jerk away, but the restraints pull tighter. Try again to curl in, to protect—but the spreader bar holds me wide.
No defense. Only sensation.
Only him.
My pulse stutters. Breath comes fast through my nose. Every nerve raw.
I try to cry out, to protest, but the sound is helpless. Wet. And worst of all, not a no.
It’s been so long since I’ve been touched. Longer since I wanted to be.
Now I’m suspended between violation and surrender, shame and need. My body responds before my mind can catch up.
The mouth groans, sound pressing into me. I moan again, arching, chasing a feeling I shouldn’t want.
“You finally joined the party, Sunshine.”
His voice is low. Not taunting—reverent. Like this is a moment he’s waited for.
He exhales, breath fanning over wet skin, then resumes, lips sealing around that aching place.
I try to say no. Push the word past the gag.
This is wrong. I should say it.
But my protest dies on a gasp as he sucks harder, tongue circling slow.
I move with him now.
My body doesn’t care what my conscience whispers.
Thighs trembling. Hands pulling at the cuffs, reaching for something to hold.
I reach down—straining—and my fingers touch his hair.
Soft. Thick.
He’s taken off the mask.
The knowledge sends a ripple of panic and something else through me.
I should pull away and demand he stop.
But I don’t.
My fingers curl against his scalp.
And I let him stay.
Because even though my body is bound and my voice silenced… I feel alive.
And in this terrible, impossible moment—I don’t want him to stop.
He pulls away slowly, like it hurts. The absence sends a rush of cool air over drenched skin.
“If you want me to stop, baby, just tap me twice.”
He licks me, then presses an open-mouthed kiss against my center.
“You can make this stop.”
A second later, his finger replaces his mouth—slow circles over the pulse of me.
“But you won’t stop this, will you?”
A choked sound escapes. My body jolts.
“Because you were dreaming about me.”
His voice wraps around me like smoke.
“Was I fucking you? Both of us covered in blood?”
I shake my head—weak, useless.
Because that’s exactly what I was dreaming.
Exactly.
He hums. Then I feel a thick line of spit hit my center.
His finger smears it through the mess, gliding in maddening strokes.
The hum that escapes me spurs him forward.
“Don’t lie to me, Sunshine,” he murmurs. “I heard you.”
His finger circles faster now—not enough pressure, just enough to reignite everything.
“You were moaning in your sleep. Fucking your pillow. Begging for it.”
He punctuates it with his tongue, dragging the flat of it through me.
“Admit it,” he breathes. “You wanted this.”
I try to shake my head. Try to resist.
But the truth is already leaking out in every breath.
My dreams had taken me there before he even touched me.
This isn’t new.
It’s a continuation.
He runs faster. My legs tremble. My moans spiral.
I should stop this. I could.
So why haven’t I?
My muscles tighten. Heat builds. It’s coming—rushing at me like a tide.
Then he stops.
I nearly cry out, a keening sound caught behind the gag as pleasure stalls at the edge.
“All you have to do is admit it,” he says, voice lower now. Closer. “Say yes, and I’ll let you come.”
He blows a cool breath against me. My hips jerk.
“Say it.” He whispers, then flicks my center with his tongue.
The need splits me wide.
I nod. Hard. Fast. “Mhmm.”
Yes.
I would say it if I could. If I wasn’t gagged and shaking and unraveling.
“You’re so fucking beautiful gagged like this.”
He exhales—a sharp, satisfied sound—and then he’s there again. Mouth urgent, tongue deep.