Rough Edge (The Edge #1)(43)

“Caden,” she whispered.

She reached behind her and unzipped her dress. I pushed the neckline apart, over her shoulders. It fell into a puddle of fabric at her feet. The swell of her breasts in the lace bra, the curve of her belly over the panties. The shadow where her thighs met.

“Take it,” she said. “Show me what you need.”

She’d understood me and, in doing so, made the first crack in the crust I’d put around my emotions. I was hard. Raging. All the plans I’d drawn up while I waited for her were wiped away to be replaced with harder, more precisely cruel ones.

I tapped her lower lip with my index finger and she opened her mouth. I put two fingers along her tongue to the back, pushing against her barrier until she opened her throat. She bent under the pressure, and Damon hissed.

That was it. I had it. I had her.

I spun her and grabbed her from behind, pressing my erection against her. I hooked my finger in her underwear and snapped it. She got them down to her knees with me still holding her against me, and I wedged my hand between her legs. Throbbing and wet. The temptation to get her off quickly and feel that first bite of satisfaction was in the muscles of my hand.

But the other hand wanted more. The other hand wanted to bring her to the edge of death and back again. Collar her with my body. Restrain her most basic bodily function.

My hand on her throat, I tightened just a little.

“Caden.” She put her hand over mine. I didn’t whisper or speak. I didn’t move either hand. I just held her against me, waiting. “Breath play. You want breath play?”

I’d heard of it when a kid in my class hanged himself jerking off, but we called it something different. She was a psychiatrist with hundreds of patients telling her their deepest, darkest secrets. I couldn’t do anything she hadn’t heard in session. I nodded into her neck.

I waited. I could stand a “no.” There were plenty of ways to control her, myself, and the act, but owning her life for even a second was the ultimate, and my cruelest self craved it almost as much as I craved her pain.

There had been something to Ronin’s observation, but maybe it wasn’t either/or. Maybe I needed both.

She put her weight backward, arching her neck. I felt her swallow against my palm, felt her body take in breath and release it. She didn’t answer, and still, I waited.

Finally, she spoke. “I trust you.”

I rubbed her clit mercilessly and gently tightened my grip on her larynx.

She jerked. I tightened and rubbed, keeping her still by those two points and the pivot of our hips. As I held her tight, she fought, grabbing my wrist, twisting away. Strong as a soldier, she flung herself away, but still I held her by the clit and the throat.

She pulled my arm. She was scared. That wasn’t what I wanted. She needed to trust me.

“Shh,” I whispered because it didn’t engage the ice in my voice. “Shh.”

With a short nod, she stopped resisting. That wouldn’t last. Not as I kept her windpipe closed until her face was bulging red. Her body writhed. My hand taking her clit over and over as the physical reaction resumed. She kicked and twisted, knocking over the end table.

Then some of the fight went out of her. I didn’t let up the pressure on her nub, but I let go of her throat. She went stiff, coming with a cry and a jolt. Her sucking breath turned into an orgasmic cry. Limbs limp against me, she came and came, toes pointing, hips jerking, spine rigid, eyes rolled to the back of her head.

We bent over the back of the couch, my body curved to hers. We breathed together.

Fuck. I did that. I’d held her life in my hands. Cathartic to say the least.

“Is he gone?” she asked.

“Mostly. Are you all right?”

“Yes. That was…” She closed her eyes and rested her cheek on my arm. “The most intense orgasm I’ve ever had.”

I knew I could speak when guilt wound its way into my heart. I pulled back a little, steadying her on the sofa. My stomach was wet.

“Shit,” I said. “I came.”

She smiled. “Was it good for you?”

I laughed, or more accurately, the part of me that wasn’t capable of laughing allowed the capable part to laugh because it would soothe her. The time between changes was the most uncomfortable, and it drove my unquenchable thirst for her.

“We’re not done.”



* * *



My fingers in her cunt, I had her upper arms tied to the top of the headboard with clamps and latex tubing, leaving her ass six inches from the sheets. She had to use her feet to take the pressure off her arms, and the discomfort she endured for me made me want to see her racked with orgasms. She was close to her fourth of the evening. Her eyes were drooping. Her body jerked when I removed my fingers and put them in her mouth.

“Suck yourself off.”

She did it. There was no lipstick left. All the mascara had slid down her cheeks in blue rivulets. She sucked weakly. This would have to be her last one.

Good. I was almost free of the lockdown. Then I’d let the guilt walk right through me, hand in hand with the fear that I’d hurt her or worse.

Wedging my hips under her, I pushed inside her, getting my saliva-slick hand under her chin. “You want to come?”

“Yes.” Her throat was shredded from my cock.

“How bad?”