You Are Mine Little Sister (by Syra Tucker) novel Chapter 119

"If you skip a number," he pinched my lip until it stung. "the whip will help you remember. Then, we start again." His finger skated down to my jaw. "And when you come—because you will come—"

Hot heat rushed through me.

"—you don't stop bouncing."

My heart twisted hard.

"Because if you do, I'll make drowning feel like mercy."

It clicked. The insanity of the situation.

Clarity rushed in, sweeping the heady feeling from my mind. This wasn't just sex. This was a trap.

Since my words were locked down, I shook my head, praying he listens to my plea. He ignored the gesture and drew the leash tight.

"On your feet, Rali."

Shit. How do I get him to stop this?

I fought my way upright with my wrists trussed behind me. He banded an arm around my waist and hauled me close, warmth arrowing under my skin like a shot. His other hand slid to claim the opposite hip. My breath went rough, counting seconds without meaning to.

Then he lowered his head and set his forehead against my belly, eyes falling shut. Something loosened in my chest—one of the knots I'd kept pulled tight for too long. His hands moved in slow, tender paths at my waist, cradling me with a care that felt like a lie and still, God help me, felt good.

I knew better than to trust anything he did. With him, comfort was a coin: one side softness, the flip side steel. But my body was a traitor; every time he touched me like this, like I was a thing worth worshiping, I fell for it.

His palms moved from my waist up my spine, sketching lazy patterns. He stayed folded into me, forehead resting on my belly as if he could hear a song playing under my skin. When his hand reached my shoulder, he changed directions, descending again. Slower. Lower. This time he didn't stop at my waist. From behind, his knuckles slid between my thighs, glancing off the curve of my ass before finding my heat.

Shit.

I tried to shift, but his arm banded tighter and kept me where he wanted me. I stared down at him — his eyes closed, lashes dark against his cheek, looking almost peaceful while he ruined me on his own schedule.

His other hand kept stroking my waist while his knuckles tracked up and down my cunt. I felt my wetness gladly following them. Then his thumb took over, rubbing my clit in slow, tormenting circles that felt like a fuse being lit.

A moan escaped me, my back arching shamelessly. I found myself bucking against him, completely ignorant of the trap this guy was leading me through.

He hummed against my belly, the sound vibrating straight into me. When his thumb made a small slide, I whimpered.

Sweet Christ!

He withdrew the thumb, then pressed it back in, this time all the way. He did it like a man who appreciated craft, slow enough for me to feel every millimeter. My mouth fell open. My knees pressed together and then apart under his control.

My eyes slipped shut. My head tipped back. Shameless sounds unspooled out of me.

Slow and steady, he fucked me with the thumb, each push grazing my inner wall on purpose, each pull making the slick noise that turned my spine liquid.

When his other hand slid lower, found my clit and pressed, I nearly shattered.

I moaned helplessly in his hold while one hand fingered me deep and the other drew maddening circles over the nerve that owned me. It was pleasure packaged as torment; too much and not enough at the same time.

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