Chapter 52 Chapter 52
Tiana
He added a third finger, stretching me and filling me so completely that I gasped. The sensation bordered on too much, but he didn’t slow down. His fingers curved inside me, hitting that spot that made my vision white out, while his thumb kept that maddening pressure on my clit.
“You feel that?” His breath was ragged now, his control slipping. “Do you feel how your body takes me? How it was made for this?”
I could barely breathe, so I gave no answer.
His free hand slid up my spine, pressing between my shoulder blades to keep me pinned face-down. The position left me completely at his mercy, unable to move and unable to escape the pleasure building to an unbearable peak.
“I can feel you clenching around my fingers,” he murmured, his voice rough. “You’re close. So fucking close.”
He was right. The coil in my belly wound tighter with every thrust of his fingers, every circle of his thumb. My thighs trembled.
My hands fisted so hard in the sheets that I worried I might rip the fabric.
Please, I thought desperately, though I didn’t know what I was begging for anymore. Please don’t stop. Please make it stop. Please mean something.
The contradictions warred inside me—shame and need, humiliation and desperate wanting.
“Look at you, falling apart for me. Coming undone on my fingers like you were made for it and yet you act like some god trying to piss me off with basic instructions.”
His fingers pumped faster. Harder. The wet sounds of him working me open filled the room, obscene and undeniable.
Heat flooded my face even as my body arched into his touch. How could I want this so badly when it meant so little to him?
“When you come,” he said, his voice dropping to a growl, “I want you to remember who did this to you. Don’t ever forget who you belong to.”
His thumb pressed down hard, and his fingers curled just right.
The orgasm crashed into me without warning.
My back arched violently, my mouth opening in a silent scream as pleasure ripped through every nerve in my body.
It was raw and overwhelming and so intense that I couldn’t contain it.
A loud and desperate cry tore from my throat, completely beyond my control.
“This is it,” Zane’s voice cut through the haze. “Let me hear you. Let everyone hear who makes you feel like this.”
Wave after wave of pleasure rolled through me, each one stronger than the last. My inner walls clenched rhythmically around his fingers, and he kept moving, prolonging it, drawing out every tremor until I thought I might break apart completely.
Tears streamed down my face—from the intensity, from the overwhelming sensation, from the crushing realization that this moment I’d dreamed about for years was happening exactly like this.
My body shook uncontrollably. I couldn’t think or breathe or do anything but feel the twin agonies of physical ecstasy and emotional devastation.
And Zane didn’t stop.
Even as the main peak began to subside, he kept his fingers moving—slower now and gentler, but still there. Still claiming. Still coaxing out every last aftershock until I was a trembling, gasping mess.
“Perfect,” he murmured.
The word should have warmed me. Instead, it felt like another mark of ownership.
Finally, he withdrew his fingers.
The loss left me empty and aching in a way that had nothing to do with physical need. It felt like abandonment. Like being hollowed out and discarded.
I collapsed fully into the mattress, boneless and spent. My body twitched with residual pleasure. My breathing came in ragged gasps against the tear-soaked pillow.
What did I expect? That he’d hold me after? Whisper soft things? This was never about me. It was more about reminding me who I belonged to.
Behind me, I heard him stand.
Then a sharp intake of breath accompanied by a muttered curse.
I managed to turn my head slightly, looking back through blurred vision.
Zane stood at the edge of the bed, his jaw clenched tightly.
His hand moved to his waistband, adjusting himself, and I caught a glimpse of the unmistakable bulge straining against the fabric of his pants.
He was hard. Painfully so, from the look of it.
But he didn’t touch himself or seek relief with me.
Just adjusted his pants with a grimace, his breathing harsh and uneven.
‘His body wants me,’ some broken part of me realized, and won’t take it. Won’t even let himself have that much.
Our eyes met for a brief moment, and I saw hunger there. Raw, desperate hunger barely leashed.
For a heartbeat, I thought he might stay. Might come back to the bed and hold me with some warmth beyond what had just happened.
Then his expression shuttered, going cold and unreadable in a way that made my chest ache.
“Be ready by dawn,” he said, his voice strained. “And Tiana?”
I couldn’t respond. My body was too weak, my throat too tight with unshed sobs.
“You’re a married she-wolf,” he continued, and despite the coldness in his tone, I heard the edge beneath it. The barely controlled possessiveness. “Stop dressing like you’re not.”
Then he turned and walked out, his steps measured and controlled despite the obvious evidence of his arousal.
The door closed with a soft click.
I lay there in silence, my body still trembling as my mind spinned in useless circles.
What had just happened?
He had touched me. Made me come so hard I’d cried. Wrecked me in ways I hadn’t known were possible without actual penetration.
And then walked away.
Visibly hard. Wanting. But unwilling to take more.
Why? The question tore at me. Why touch me like that if it meant nothing? Why make me feel like I was the center of his world for those few minutes, only to prove I wasn’t?
I curled into myself slowly, pulling my nightgown back down with shaking hands. The fabric felt foreign against my oversensitized skin.
My body still hummed with the memory of Zane’s touch, satisfied in a way that felt almost obscene given the hollowness in my chest.
But my heart—goddess, my heart felt like it was breaking.
Because I had just learned something I wished I hadn’t.
Zane could make me feel more alive than I’d ever felt in my life. Could reduce me to a shaking, crying mess with just his hands. Could pull sounds from my throat I didn’t know I was capable of making.
And he could do it all without caring about my feelings.
I pressed my face into the pillow, fresh tears sliding down my cheeks.