He asked me to trust him. That’s all I can do.

His finger grazes an exposed peak, and the first flutter of need stirs at my core. He fastens the clamps with measured pressure, making my breath hitch at the bite. It’s a pain I know well now, fueling arousal while never dulling the sting of those pinchers.

“These are gorgeous on you.”

His dark, sensual praise shoots straight to my sex, a live wire I can’t fight. Like a carnival ride poised to drop, I’m a powerless passenger.

Oliver moves behind me and steps between my legs. The cords pull taut as he brings me closer, breath ghosting across the flesh of my thigh. Then his tongue finds me in slow, familiar strokes.

Even without the effects of the elixir rushing through my bloodstream, I have zero defense against this man. A violent jolt takes me, hips straining against the bindings.

Holy hell, denial scorches every nerve. Minutes in, I’m dripping for him, crazed for a release that won’t come.

“Please, sir.” The title escapes before I can swallow it.

He groans, thick with satisfaction. “That word was made for your lips.”

Then he doubles his efforts, clamping his teeth around my clit and shaking his head, wild and relentless. My stomach heaves, as if trying to purge the orgasm from my system, but the pressure only builds—an endless rush of blood that won’t stop.

I choke on a cry.

The room hums around us in cries, gasps, and the slap of flesh, but all I feel is him.

“I need to…please, Oliver!”

“That’s it, sweetheart.” His amusement vibrates against my flesh. “Beg like I said you would.”

“It’s too much,” I whimper.

“It’s not enough.” His tongue plunges into my opening, and I pant through raw, uncontrollable pleas.

In my delirium, I sense the tremor in his breath, the rough imprint of his fingers on my thighs. He moans against my mound, betraying the fracture in his control before abruptly veering back to yank on my restraints.

He spins me around and adjusts the cords until I drop a couple of feet, all gentleness gone. His zipper comes down in a rough tug, and then he’s guiding his cock to my lips, eyes hooded and crazed.

Something primal rises in me. I open without thought, starved for the taste of him, and he slides right in. His essence hits me first, a mere second to register the feral notes of his desire before he drags me down his length, holding me there for the longest seconds of my life.

“Relax your throat.”

I try. I do. But he’s thick and relentless, pushing deeper until I’m gagging around him.

“Fuck, yes, Novalee,” he grits out, teeth clenched as his pelvis grinds in sharp, rhythmic bursts. “Such a good fucking girl.”

Those obscene words do something to me.