Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103010 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103010 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
“Can I…”
He didn’t have to finish the sentence for me to know what he wanted. “Nuzzle.”
He moaned, leaning in and doing just that. He buried his nose in my groin, dipped down under my sac, taking what he needed from me—my scent, my comfort. I played with his hair, soft brushes with my fingers, then tugs, before rubbing the sting away.
“Enough.” My grip in his hair tightened. Finley whimpered when I pulled his head back. “Stand up.”
“But, Aidan—”
“Shh.” I held my hand over his mouth. “Do as you’re told.”
Finley nodded and stood.
“Take off your clothes. Leave them with mine.”
He scrambled quickly, yanking on his pants and pulling on his shirt in this eager, frantic way that made my dick throb, before folding them and setting them aside. Then he was standing in front of me, gloriously naked, his prick tucked away in chastity. “You’re incredible.” I walked around him, danced my fingers over his chest, his shoulder, his back, down to his ass, which I squeezed. Goose bumps ran after my touch. He shivered and let out a sharp breath.
“Please,” Finley begged.
“Please what?”
“Touch me, Sir. Fuck me. God, I crave your cock. It doesn’t feel right when it’s not inside me now. Like I’m empty.”
The words were potent, almost enough to crack my resolve, to make me just push inside him, keep him in this house, in my bed, so I could use him anytime I pleased. Instead, I said, “Patience. Because you were so good today, I’m giving you the choice of keeping the cage on or taking it off.”
Finley surprised me by shaking his head. “I don’t want to decide. I want you to do what you want with me.”
My cock jerked against my stomach, my body hot with the overwhelming feeling of possession. “Stay.” I went to the closet to grab a few supplies, then came back to the room. I set all but one on the bed. “Give me your wrists.”
Without question, he held his hands out to me. The cuffs were new, soft black leather, with a chain between them. He wasn’t used to being bound, and though it was something he said he was interested in, I still wanted to start easy on him in case he struggled with it.
He looked so innocent, standing there with a cage on his cock and cuffs on his wrists, his blond hair a perfect halo around his head as he took me in with those big, expressive eyes of his. I wasn’t sure there was anything he wouldn’t give me, and that made me feel both powerful and afraid. Invincible and unworthy. There was nothing in my life that was more important than doing right by him.
I fisted a hand in his hair, and he whimpered beautifully.
“More,” Finley begged.
“Only when I wish it.” My hand fell away, skating down his body. “Who does this belong to?”
“You, Sir.”
“Tell me.”
“My body belongs to you.”
I pushed my fingers between his ass cheeks and pressed against his rim. “Whose hole is this?”
“Yours, Aidan. Yours, please.”
He was shaking, his whole body almost convulsing with need and the endorphins shooting through him. I smacked his ass, and he fell against me, his legs unable to hold him up. He was so far gone already, so blissed-out. My arm snaked around him, and I held him up, raining more swats down on his ass. “You’re such a slut for it. You’d stay locked up in this house to be my sex slave if I wanted it, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” he mumbled over and over.
Keeping him against me, I pulled him to the bed. “On your knees, ass in the air with your arms out in front of you. Hold on to the bottom part of the headboard and don’t let go.”
“Yes, Sir.”
I traced my hand down his spine. “You arch beautifully.”
His ass was a slight pink, but it wasn’t enough for me. I wanted him red, wanted him to feel me there for days and know he was mine. “Remember your colors—yellow and red.”
I plucked the flogger from the bed. This one wasn’t suede and had thinner strips than what I had used on him before. It would give slightly more sting if I put enough power into the swing, which I intended to do.
He jerked when the first splat hit his ass. I kept going, painting his cheeks as I hit him—his thighs, his ass cheeks, his back, watching the color burst to the surface of his pale skin.
Finley would press his ass toward me, wiggle and cry out. His hands fell from the headboard once, so I held off, pulled away because I knew ending the pain would be more punishment than anything else. “What did you forget?”
“Oh no. Sorry, I’m so sorry,” he said through his tears, gripping it again, and I resumed giving him what we both wanted. Left cheek, right cheek, left thigh, right. Over and over, putting more into each swat until his skin was an angry red.