Sinful Sunday Week 6

“You’re about to come, aren’t you, pet?”

Colton hovers over Darcy and grasps her bound wrists. His firm grip around the ropes is a stark contrast to the soft slip of his fingertips across her slickened skin.

“Aren’t you?” he demands.

Darcy moans a raw, rasping sound and tightens her fist around the bell. If it falls to the floor, he’ll think she’s safeworded, and then he’ll stop.

Her ass is red with his handprints, back rough from scraping on wood, pussy aching after a kiss from his crop, but the last thing Darcy wants Colton to do is stop.

“You told me you couldn’t come like this,” Colton teases. “But look at you. You’re so wound up, I bet all it would take is one. Single. Touch.”

He presses a fingertip to her clit—just a swirl—and she explodes.

But it’s not the pleasure rushing through her that sends Darcy into rapture, nor the relief when he undoes the ropes and stretches out her stiff joints. It’s the moment the mask slips, when Colton asks if she’s okay, that overwhelms her with bliss.

“I’m fine.”

“Good. You clothes are in the corner.”

And then the mask returns.

198 completely words

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