I did as he asked, and he pushed his cock between my lips, slowly, inch by inch, until he hit the back of my throat. For a second, I was scared I might choke, but then he pulled out. When he slid in the next time, it was only halfway, allowing me to play and tease and suck as he gently flexed his hips. His hands moved to my head, and he groaned as he adopted a quicker rhythm, a harder drive, a deeper thrust.

“You make me so fucking hard,” he rasped. “Even when I have all the control, I don’t. Every fucking second is a struggle around you.”

Without the use of my hands, I had no control whatsoever, and the fear of choking or suffocating was real in my mind. But I loved his guttural sounds of ecstasy, the way his fingers tightened in my hair, the salty-sweet taste of him on my tongue. The animal noises I made were instinctive, helpless, throaty, frantic. Part of me was embarrassed by them, but another part thrilled at letting go of caring what I looked like or sounded like—I didn’t have to conform to a manufactured version of myself anymore. I didn’t have to be perfect all the time. I could be dirty. I could be real. I could be me.

“My God, your ass in that skirt,” Henry growled, and I realized he was watching this in the mirror. Somehow, that made it even hotter. “I have to fuck you while you’re wearing it.”

Suddenly, he pulled his cock out of my mouth and yanked me to my feet. With my hands still tied, I felt myself being pushed toward the mirror, then spun around to face it. Henry dropped down and reached beneath my skirt to tug my barely-there red lace panties down my legs and help me step out with one foot. When he stood, he braced himself against the mirror with one arm, wrapped the other around my waist and slipped his hand under my skirt, between my thighs.

I moaned, my legs nearly buckling as he played with my clit—stroking it softly while he whispered in my ear. “Did sucking my cock make you this wet? Did it?”

“Yes,” I managed. I could feel his cock pushing against my bound hands and I tried to rub it. Catching my reflection in the mirror, I could scarcely believe the woman in the glass was me. My hair was a wild mess. My lipstick was smeared all over my chin. My skin was flushed. My eyes were hooded and my mouth hung open.

“I love how greedy you are for me,” he said, his voice gravelly with lust as he moved his fingers faster. Christ, he knew exactly how to touch me. “I tell myself you’ve never been this way for anyone else.”