The First Tase

His hand still had my wrists pinned, but now my body wasn’t resisting—it was begging...

His hand still had my wrists pinned, but now my body wasn’t resisting—it was begging. The weight of his palm, the heat of his skin, the control in his voice… I felt caged and free all at once.

“You smell so damn good,” he whispered, lips brushing my ear. “I just want to taste you.”

And then he did.

Not greedy, not rushed. He tasted me like a man who knew patience was the kink. His mouth lingered at my throat, dropping kisses that made my pulse race under his tongue. Down my collarbone, slow, like he was taking inventory of every reaction I couldn’t hide.

By the time he laid me back on my ivory couch, I was already trembling. His stubble traced fire over my skin as his lips followed his hands—palming my breasts, grazing my waist, teasing the space just above where I needed him most.

And then… his head dipped lower.