You Are Mine Little Sister (by Syra Tucker) novel Chapter 120

Adrenaline dumped into my vein. This was about to be a wild ride.

With shaky knees, I pulled myself up, then sank same time I whimpered, "One."

His eyes darkened like storm clouds, pleasure building up in them. It was unbelievable how turned on he could get from my humiliation.

I rose and dropped again, numbering it, "Two"

The first five hurt as fuck as my body was still trying to house his ridiculous length. By the sixth, the sting began melting into heat, pleasure blooming where pain had lived.

My pace kicked up a little, my pussy climbing up and down his length, leaving proof of my arousal with every descent. When he tipped his head back, closed his eyes, and let out a deep, satisfied sound, it rewired my nerves. Heat shot up my cunt and I chased it.

"Fourty-two."

His head lifted. Hands branding my waist, he pulled me closer and buried his mouth at my chest, kissing everywhere his lips could reach. My breasts bounced against his face as I worked. His hands slid down to my bare ass, same time his mouth closed over a nipple.

I let out a broken "fuck," just before I counted "fourty-six".

He wriggled and kneaded my ass cheeks while his tongue did torturous things to my bud. It almost messed with my head. I squeezed my eyes shut as I fought for balance between the pleasure and numbers.

"Fifty-one...Oh God."

He sucked, pulled, nipped. His mouth moved to the next bud, sucking it while the other nipple got his fingers, receiving teasing circles that shorted my thoughts.

"Shit. Fifty...three. ugh!" My head fell backward.

He kept going—tongue, teeth, cock—each in concert, dragging me open. Suddenly my wrists didn't ache and my thighs didn't burn. All that mattered was the man before me and how badly I wanted to feed him what he demanded.

I understood it then, that even if he didn't have the whip and had simply asked me to ride him with my hands behind my back, I'd have gladly done it. Everyone had a remote button; I must've missed the moment I handed mine to Void.

I kept the count, he kept his tongue. His hand came around my throat, though he didn't choke. Soon, it was in my hair, then the small of my back, then a greedy palm full of ass. Anywhere he could touch me, he did, like mapping me made the numbers climb easier.

By the time I hit a hundred—something I hadn't believed my body could do—strength had begun to leak out of me. My pace stuttered, and my knees shivered.

I came apart on a scream, my eyes squeezing shut like darkness could steady me. He didn't stop. He chased me through it, fucking me through the quake until another smaller shock fired, and only then did his breath hitch and go rough.

For a second I heard nothing but my own blood. Nothing else registered around me and I didn't even realize he was done until I felt his hot release streaming down my pussy.

Fuck, everything hurt. I was scraped raw in places I didn't have names for.

My scream shredded into sobs as he gathered me and tipped me to the cushion beside him, murmuring sentences I was too wrecked to understand.

I laid limp as he undid my cuffs, then the collar around my neck.

"You did good, Green," he said at my ear, his fingers sweeping my hair away from my face. But I didn't even look at him, my eyes staying shut with tears.

I didn't know how I was still conscious. Minutes earlier I'd been sure the number would beat me.

This was the bill for leaving him. It hurt everywhere, and some quiet, ruined part of me still leaned into the hand that smoothed my hair, hating that softness could exist in the same man who set me on fire and called it arithmetic.