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I can’t stop staring at him.
“Open your knees.”
I do it slowly, loving the way his attention follows every inch.
“Wider.”
“Greedy bastard.”
“You have no idea.”
I obey, knees sliding apart on the floor, heat flooding my face and my core. He sits deeper and lets the silence do the humiliating part, watching until my knees want to close again just to spite him.
Then he leans forward, elbows on his knees, stare piercing straight through me.
“Look at you,” he says, voice rough. “Tied up, naked, and still trying to work out how to hurt me.”
His hand fists his dick, and he strokes up and down.
“That’s why I want my cock inside you.”
The words hit low, and my knees press harder into the rug. I twist against the ropes, a desperate, needy whimper slipping out of me, thighs slick and useless.
“Use your mouth again or untie me, Fionn.”
He slides off the chair, sinks to his knees in front of me so we’re eye to eye. His hands map my body, palming my breasts, rolling my nipples until I gasp, then sliding up to collar my throat in a firm, possessive grip.
“You gave me your hands,” he says. “Now I’m going to see what the rest of you gives me.”
I plaster on a smirk, even though I’m too far gone in need to be remotely amused. “Your hard dick tells me what you’re ready to give.”
His hand leaves my throat, traces my collarbone, my stomach, and travels lower.
“You’re kneeling in front of me, tied up and wet. I don’t have to give you anything.”
His fingers skate between my spread thighs, stroking through my soaked folds before driving inside and curling just enough to tease that spot before pulling out.
He lifts them to his mouth and sucks with a deep, obscene groan. “Fuck, you taste like desperation.”
He shifts back, sitting on the floor, legs stretched out, dick standing rigid. “Get over here.”
I stare at him.
“Come sit on my dick.”
This is not a stranger in the dark anymore. This is Fionn Harrington, bare and hard beneath me, and I still shuffle forward on my knees—thighs trembling, heart beating out of my chest, the position forcing me to lean into him.
Every awkward inch should make me want to kill him. Instead, it makes me wetter, and I clock the exact moment he notices.
The moment I’m straddling him, his hand closes around my throat again, and he pulls me into a bruising kiss.
He takes my mouth like he’s still angry I almost made him come with it.
My breasts drag against his chest, nipples scraping his skin as I rock against him. His other hand reaches between us, gripping his thick cock and rubbing the fat head along my slit.
“Sit on it,” he says.
I lower myself onto it, just a fraction of the way, then stop.
