Olivia’s throat rippled around the head of his cock, and Cade gritted his teeth. It felt fucking amazing, and he was half tempted to forget the rest of the script and just fuck her throat until he came all over her face. He could make it work with the use-and-discard-themed scene he had planned, but it meant she wouldn’t get to come.

In their long email discussions about the kinds of scenes she wanted, being forced to orgasm against her will came up over and over again. The fear turned her on, she’d told him, but she couldn’t push through it to come on her own. She wanted to be forced to enjoy it while every instinct she had was screaming at her not to.

She coughed around his cock, a thick, ragged sound. He couldn’t see her face, buried as it was under his balls, but he was watching everything else with a keen eye. Her legs were shifting restlessly, her thighs gleaming with wet, and even with only the moon for light he could see the lips of her pussy were swollen and slick. Every time he shoved his cock into her throat her hips jerked, and her thighs grew wetter.

Her nipples were bone hard, her breasts red from the repeated slaps of his leather-covered hands. He eyed the small cut on the inner curve of her right breast critically. It had stopped bleeding almost immediately, though each time he slapped that breast, it opened up and bled a bit more. It was little more than a deep scratch and would heal cleanly. He doubted it would even scar, but if it did, there would be only a thin, silvery line as a memento of the evening.

Her thighs shifted restlessly, reminding him that he still had work to do.

“What’s this, then?” he drawled, forcing his voice into the English accent she’d confessed she loved, using the cover of the words to fold the knife closed and lay it aside. He kept one hand on her breast and ran the other down the center of her body, enjoying the convulsive ripple of her abdominal muscles as he forced his cock deeper into her throat. She let out a muffled whine as his fingertips grazed the top of her mound, and she slammed her thighs together.

His laugh was pure perverted delight. “I don’t think so, darling,” he admonished, and delivered a stinging slap to one thigh. “Open your fucking legs.”

She stubbornly kept them closed, and he smacked her again, leaving a bright red handprint on her left thigh to match the one on the right. She jerked with the pain, another thin whine vibrating around his cock, but her legs remained firmly together.

“Easy way or the hard way,” he reminded her, and slowly, carefully, pushed his cock deeper, not stopping until he felt her lips on his balls.