“Such a gorgeous cunt,” he murmured.
The words hollowed me out.
He dragged his tongue along the seam. My body clenched against the restraints. I tried to lift into him, but there was nowhere to go.
He worked his tongue in slow, devastating circles, building, holding me exactly where he wanted me—open, exposed, forced to take whatever he gave. Helpless to do anything but feel.
Then he slid two fingers inside me. The stretch burned, then bloomed. He curled and pressed upward.
My breath broke. I couldn’t move, couldn’t brace. Couldn’t escape the sensation building under my skin.
“You’re so fucking wet.”
The sound of it nearly undid me.
He pumped and twisted and scissored his fingers inside me. The burn was molten as the pressure climbed. My toes curled, and my hips strained uselessly against the cables.
He lifted his head, his mouth wet, and fixed his gaze on me.
“I want to fill this cunt,” he said, voice soft but so cold it could have sliced through steel. “Stretch it. Pack it full until you burst.” A pause. “But what to fill it with…”
“Your cock?” My voice came out breathless.
Luka grinned, teeth flashing. For a moment, I thought he might give in.
Instead, he bent and bit my nipple through the harness, sharp enough to send a jolt up my spine.
“So impatient,” he murmured, tongue laving the sting. “We’ll get there. But I was thinking something more imaginative.”
He glanced around the flat, eyes darting from object to object. Then he disappeared into the kitchen. Drawers slid. Cabinet doors creaked. The refrigerator snapped open and shut again.
When he returned, he carried a tall green bottle with a long, tapered neck. He unscrewed the top and poured a single bead of icy liquid onto the puckered tip of my breast.
I yelped.
He did it again, this time letting the cold trail downward and pool in the hollow between my breasts. Then he took a drink before pouring another thin line, tracing it down the center of my body.
The chill spread. My muscles tightened against the restraints.
Then he touched the bottle’s glass rim to my entrance, rotating the bottle, the lip easing past flesh.
When he tilted the bottle, the cold poured inside.
The shock hit deep—sharp, total, telescoping, stealing the air from my lungs.
“That’s it,” he said quietly. “Drink up.”
He rotated the neck of the bottle slowly, working it in a deliberate circle before pressing deeper.
The stretch was brutal. My body clenched around the glass, a cry tearing out of me before I could swallow it.
Luka stilled for a beat. “That’s it. Take it.”
He brushed his thumb against my clit. My muscles clamped down reflexively, trying to push the bottle out, but he held it steady.
“No.” He clicked his tongue. “This cunt is greedy for more.”
He twisted again, easing forward another inch. The flare at the neck stretched me wider. My eyes rolled back, vision fuzzy at the edges.