Fifteen

He leaned in and kissed me, softly at first, and then with a swift gradation of intensity that sucked the breath right of me. I whimpered against his lips, struggling to catch my own breath, wanting to touch, to hold. To feel. Feel his biceps. Press my fingers against the warmth of his skin.

I was restrained.

Held back and only able to whimper against his lips in protest.

This was the punishment he so much ranted about. Being held back and tortured while I wanted nothing more than to feel and touch.

His insistent mouth was parting my shaking lips, sending wild tremors along my nerves, evoking from me sensations I had never known I was capable of feeling. And before a swimming giddiness spun me round and round, I was kissing him back.

Wildly.

With just as much intensity. His mouth was so warm, the caress of his lips softer than I could have imagined and I opened my mouth with a low moan. I felt him smile against my mouth. And he took the moan as a sign of total invite. He knelt down, not breaking the kiss, fumbling to free me, but the ropes were stubborn. He tugged, and they tightened, pinching painfully, and I gasped against his mouth. He paused, his gaze darkening with a new urgency, loosening the knots more carefully now, his fingers grazing my skin in a way that only heightened the thrill of my release from the restraints.

They had barely come loose, still slithered around my wrists, when he attempted to tug me right out of the chair. The ropes yanked me right back, pain searing through my arms that caused me to yelp in response to the burns.

Punishment.

This pleasure came with pain.

This was the start of it.

And just as the ropes began to fall away, I felt his grip slide to my waist, pulling me to him—no more barriers, nothing holding me back. My legs were wrapped around his waist, completely hoisted up against him. His palms squeezed my bums, massaging them with such intensity it hurt just as much as the zaps of pleasure I felt. He ravished my mouth with his tongue, but soon broke away to leave a pattern of open mouthed kisses along my jaw, down my neck, and I sighed in excitement, clinging tightly to him with my arms around his neck.

“You dare,” He said, breathless, between the kisses. “You dare me!”

I whimpered in response. And before I knew it, he was dashing towards the dining table where his platter of fruits layed. The tray hit the floor with a clatter and my back came in contact with the hard surface of table. His fingers dug into my thighs as he tugged me closer, so my legs were spread apart to his view.

I was a panting, breathless mess, watching him with hooded eyes to see what next he does with my throbbing core in his face. Our eyes locked, his intense, his dangerous. Occasionally, they dropped to my parted thighs as I squirmed in place, eager for his touch, and then he’d lift those eyes to look back at me.

His voice was low, gravelly, “You say you don’t know the boy?”

Breathless, whimpering, I fought to respond. “I swear, I don’t—”

One lengthy finger slipped past my panties and straight into my pussy. I stifled a moan, arched my back, squirming but held still with his other hand gripping my thigh in place. He watched me, too calm for this chaos he was causing. Then he pushed his finger deeper, stealing the breath from me. He pumped in furiously. I could barely breathe, barely speak, barely keep my eyes open. My back arched and my body squirmed, shuddering, held in place by him.

“Look at me!” His voice was a harsh, commanding snarl that snapped my eyes open, just as his hand came down in a sharp slap against my thigh. I bit into my lower lip, a whimper escaping as I tried to hold back the rush of sensations overwhelming me.

“Who is the boy?” His voice was relentless, each word dripping with demand.

I struggled to respond, my voice caught in my throat, barely able to form a coherent answer. Before I could find any words, his second finger slipped inside, pressing into me with an agonizingly slow stroke that made my body jolt. The pace quickened, and my core tightened, a throbbing ache radiating from his touch. I could feel each movement, slick and insistent, the sound of his rhythm echoing in the room, amplifying my shuddering breaths.

My head fell back as waves of pleasure rolled through me, my body arched helplessly, and I couldn’t stop the moans that escaped, each one a stuttering plea that I couldn’t even understand. My skin was damp, a sheen of sweat coating my forehead, temples, every inch of me, caught in this maddening rhythm.

“Viktor… I’m going to—” I barely got the words out before his hand came down on my thigh again, this time harder, the sting shocking a scream from my lips. My whole body quivered as I gasped, “I don’t know!”

He didn’t believe me.

Or maybe he did, and this was all part of the punishment he’d promised. With one rough tug, he ripped my panties clean off, the fabric biting into my skin before tearing away. The sting across my thigh barely registered against the heat flooding my body. His eyes never left mine, an unwavering, intense gaze as he slowly slipped his fingers out of me, lifting them to his mouth. With deliberate, slow precision, he licked every trace of me from his skin, savoring each taste as though he were memorizing it. And then, without a word, he dropped down, his face level with me, his focus unbreakable.

No more questions.

Tongue now.