Hostile Takeover Hill, W (thriller books to read .txt) 📖

her a safe word. He’d simply taken, because she’d told him that was what she wanted and because he was bound and damn determined to prove her wrong.

I love you, I love you… I want to serve you. You’re my Master. She realized then there was a struggle happening inside her mind, and that struggle said she was still trying to hold onto control. She couldn’t totally trust him because he was resisting the idea that she was the one meant for him. But she had to have faith for both of them, had to let go.

She couldn’t. Oh God, she needed his tenderness, his heart, and this was a ruthless Master who was demanding she surrender everything while he gave her nothing.

But those were the terms. That was the risk she was taking. It didn’t matter anyway. She was being dragged to the edge of the cliff by that punishing cock, those knowledgeable fingers, his heated breath on her spine. But what would happen if she stopped pushing back, if she just gave him a smile, her heart in her tear-filled eyes, and took the leap joyously?

“Come for me, Marcie. Come now. Obey me.”

Heart, lungs, every major organ, were gripped in the squeezing moment of decision, then the orgasm crashed over her. He was pumping into her, the fingers at her clit working her like a maestro. Her nostrils flared, lips stretching to allow as much air past the dildo as possible. Her breasts wobbled beneath her with the motion of his thrusts, her fists in their cuffs and chains gripping that anchor point, her whole body chained and subjected to his will. His slave, in every way.

She screamed against the gag until her vocal cords gave out. Even then, she continued to convulse and buck as if gripped in a full epileptic seizure. Tears were on her lips. Her orgasm gushed forth so strong she spurted over his cock. Her legs buckled, but he had her by the waist, kept lifting her with his thrusts. He released then, taking her up once more with the heat of his seed. She shrieked as he kept massaging her clit, milking every last sensation from her. She strained to hear his release, a grunt, a moan, but the mask was too damn effective.

Still, he kept going even after she rode that tide to the end. He would fuck her as long as he wished, until her tissues were sore and begging for relief. Did he do it because he knew it was the key to his and her pleasure both, underscoring that she was his to do with as he desired?

With a mix of terror and other, less sensible, emotions, she realized he was still hard. She couldn’t keep up. She couldn’t be enough for him. No, she would be. She had to be.

At last, he was slowing down. She was panting. Easing her back to the ground, to her knees, he removed the spreader bar and the hobble chain, but he cuffed her ankles together. He adjusted her so she was lying on her back, her arms up above her head, for he left her attached to whatever furniture leg he’d chosen. When something silky touched her ankles, she realized he was binding her legs with nylon rope. He did a wrap from ankles to her thighs, tied off there. Then he took her arms down, unchained them.

For a moment her wrists were held in his hands, and she stretched out her fingers, seeking his face. Please, please let me touch you.

His mouth touched her palms, making her sob. She touched his jaw, his cheeks, stroking, desperate, needy. But then he was wrapping nylon rope between her forefinger and thumb, moving to the other fingers to lace them together so she was palm to palm before he did a similar snug rope wrap from her wrists to her elbows. Oh God. It was like her fantasy when he was biting her neck.

She couldn’t follow what was going on anymore, floating in sensation. He slid his arms beneath her, lifted her. He smelled so good, heat and sweat, aroused male. Moving through a spiraling darkness, she focused on the way it felt to be held in his arms until he laid her face down over what felt like a sofa arm. He adjusted her arms before her, so her fingers gripped a cushion and there was space between her face and the couch surface, protecting air passage. Straddling her bound legs, he put his hands on her hips, thumbs on her buttocks, spreading them open. The opening was sore as hell, but then she made a dove’s cry as he knelt and put his mouth there.

“Ahkh…” She was losing track of all the involuntary sounds he was wresting from her. God, that felt so good. His clever tongue was licking her rim, swirling inside, soothing and stimulating at once, setting off small contractions in her pussy, compressed by that rope wrap. His hands stroked her buttocks, reminding her of the punishing strokes he’d put there, but soothing them as well.

Then he rose. She couldn’t help it; she made an apprehensive noise as he fitted his cock to that opening once more. She couldn’t. She couldn’t possibly.

“Easy, baby. Real, real, easy. Let me do all the work. You just feel.”

He didn’t thrust in hard this time. He worked his way slow. She whimpered throughout, because it was uncomfortable, but it was more than that as well. The desire to serve him, to give him whatever he wanted, superseded everything, made her pussy keep doing those little clenches. It was impossible that she could be getting aroused again so soon. But her nipples were brushing the stiff sofa material, hardening anew. He slid a hand between their bodies, petted her slick and compressed pussy with little strokes that had her mewling like a cat.

When he was all the way in, he leaned over her back, dropped a kiss on her nape, catching that