He hums. “Do you?”
That lands—because for a second, I’m not sure. The roomfeels wrong.Hefeels wrong. Any trace of his protective countenance replaced by something cold. Something that doesn’t care if I feel good—something that wants fear. The way he’s moving. The way he’s speaking. Controlled. Measured. Watching me react.
My stomach flips. “Soren,” I say again, quieter now. “Stop.”
He doesn’t. His hand moves past my ankle, up my shin, my knee, settling at my inner thigh. Slow. Deliberate. Testing. Waiting.
My breathing turns uneven.
“You trust me.” Not a question.
My chest rises too fast.
“You said you did. Were you lying to me, Ivy?”
His grip tightens—controlled. Not enough to hurt. Enough to remind. “You’re safe.” Soft. Too soft. That makes it worse. “You know I’d never do anything to hurt you.”
I swallow. “I—” The word sticks. Because I did. Because I do. And that’s the problem.
Because nothing about this feels safe. And still, my body reacts. Heat spreads low and fast, coiling tight without permission, without logic, without waiting for my brain to catch up. My thighs press together. I hate that. I hate that it’s happening. I hate that he can see it. A pause. Then— “Say it.”
My breath shakes. “Soren?—”
“Say you trust me.” There’s pressure in his voice now.
I close my eyes for a second. This is insane. This is— “I trust you,” I whisper.
Silence. Then a slow exhale. Like he was waiting for that. “There you are.” Closer now. His voice shifts. Lower. Satisfied. “Good girl… little poison.”
I look down now, examine the bindings more fully. He’s strung me up—expertly—and there’s no way I’m getting out on my own. Even Houdini wouldn’t get out of this. I’m stuck here until he decides to let me go.
I’m fully naked, and I know I went to sleep in my pajamas. He undressed me without waking me. That lands cold. Did he drug me? Or am I suddenly a heavy sleeper?
I exhale, and the adjustment causes the ropes to tug on me. I take a breath and try to evaluate more clearly.
The way the ropes are digging into my skin is—hot. The bindings are symmetrical, trussing me in a way that makes my curves look intentional. Beautiful.
My nipples press against tight ropes, my breasts spilling over the bindings.
The only way I can move is small, controlled—straining against ropes that scrape my skin. Creating a slickness between my thighs I can’t ignore.
His mouth curves in approval. “You like this, don’t you? This is what you wanted.” His hand continues its path up my thigh, and I don’t pull away as he sinks a finger into me. He leans forward, his breath hot against my ear. “You’re soaking, Ivy. Ready for me?”
I nod, anticipation spiderwebbing through my body.
He yanks down his pants, his cock springing free.
He kneels over me, putting it to my mouth and nudging my lips apart. Obediently, I lick the tip and begin to suck. He fists my hair, yanking until my scalp burns. “Suck it, Ivy. Show me how much you want this.”
I take him into my mouth and he pushes deep inside until he hits the back of my throat. My lungs scream for oxygen, and tears sting the corners of my eyes.
He pulls out then, and I gasp, sucking in air. But just as quickly he thrusts back inside me and I gulp, saliva streaming out the corners of my mouth, my eyes watering even more.
He shows no mercy, yanking on my hair harder, sinking deeper than I thought possible.
I force my throat to relax, waiting until he lets me breathe again.
Then he pulls back.