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“Soaked,” he rasps, voice thick with lust. “Just for me…”

I whimper and push my hips up toward the feeling of his fingers parting my folds.

“Did sucking me off do this to you, or was it the blindfold?”

“Both,” I moan, hips chasing his fingers, craving more contact, more pressure against my swollen clit. But he pulls back instead, stepping away from me, and I let out a whine of protest.

“Patience.” The soothing tone only makes me burn hotter.

Then he lifts my right wrist and stretches it toward the headboard, looping a silky soft fabric around it. My left follows.

“What are you doing?” I ask, a thrill rolling through me as my core clenches, spasming around an aching emptiness. A thread of fear coils beneath it all, but my body begs to ignore it.

“Shhh. Don’t think,” he quietly orders. “Feel.”

His lips drag down my arm toward my chest, and I push up shamelessly toward him. The sensation of his mouth curving into a smile against my hard nipple is maddening.

I desperately want to see him, his expression, the sight of my nipple against his lips—I want to watch him suck it like he’s starved. I need to.

As if he hears the thought, Dimitri flicks his tongue over my sensitive nub, and the brief contact is like being lashed with fire. I cry out, head digging into the mattress as I throw myself back. But frustratingly, he moves on, leaving the sensitive peak aching for him.

“Please,” I groan needily, my breath hitching as he secures my ankles next, spreading my legs wide in opposite directions, the silk ropes pulling taut against my skin.

“Perfect,” he praises, running a gentle hand over my ankle. “Beg.”

I picture myself spread open for him and shiver.

He’ll ruin me.

And I’ll keep begging for more.

The thought burns through my body, and something inside me turns sharp with it. I want to ruin him too. Leave my mark on him the way he’s carving himself into me.

The bed dips as he settles between my legs, and I hold my breath—waiting. It’s torture.

His tongue strikes first, once, twice, flicking at my clit with flat, broad strokes. Then he licks a slow trail up my slit to circle my clit with firm, sucking pulls that have me gasping and arching up toward him.

“Fall apart for me,” he rumbles.

Two fingers sink into me, hot and thick. He screws them deep with curling thrusts that hit that spot inside, building the pressure until my walls flutter and my orgasm grows tight in my belly. His teeth graze my clit, and he thrusts again, the obscene wet sounds filling my ears, white-hot light flashing behind my eyes.

For a charged moment, I teeter right there on the edge, breaths coming in sobbing pants. I’m so close I can taste it.

Then he stops. Pulling away from me completely, tongue and fingers, leaving me empty and aching.

“No!”

The wail tears out of me.

I reach for him on instinct, but the silk catches my wrists.

A low chuckle fills the darkness, and I’m forced to wait. Blind, begging, desperate.

“Dimitri,” I whisper. “Please.”

When he finally returns—a teasing breath over my slick heat, a soft kiss pressed to my core—I buck my hips up so aggressively it hurts. I need more, more, more.

Look what he’s done to you, I hear myself think. He’s turned you into a blubbering mess.