A/N: The Book is FINISHED! Read the entirety of it on my Patreon along with other exclusive content if you want to check those out!
Marc's POV:
I've never seen her like this.
Not just her energy—though that's got me on the edge of losing my mind—but her body.
It's the first time I've really seen her naked in the light.
And fuck... I'm mesmerized.
Every curve, every inch, every tiny detail I've only ever felt in the dark or caught in fleeting glimpses—it's all here now, on full display. And it's even more beautiful than I imagined. It's like angels and goddesses drew her body.
She's sexy in a way that feels unfair. Like my eyes weren't made to handle this much all at once. Her skin, glowing under the light, has me frozen. My breath catches. My heartbeat kicks up.
She's perfect.
And now?
She's insatiable.
Her eyes never leave mine.
The way she strokes me—slow, deliberate, making sure to take care of every inch of me—too fucking good. Not just the motion, but the way she watches me while doing it. That look in her eye like she knows exactly what she's doing to me.
God, she's good at this.
She doesn't look nervous or shy or hesitant. She looks locked in. Focused. Like she'll do anything to win.
And I'm not going to lie—it's working.
"Fuck, baby girl," I mutter under my breath, trying to tighten my grip just a little more around her throat with my left hand. It's a battle, keeping my grip strength while being touched like this. I can feel myself getting close.
It's not just her touch that's turning me on.
It's her energy.
She looks like she's enjoying my hand around her throat—like she wants me to choke her. Like she's proud of it. Like she's been craving it. Like she can't live without it.
Even while she's fighting to stay conscious, her eyes are telling me to choke her harder while her smile is telling me she loves it.
And that? That's what's making me lose my damn mind.
It's not just about control anymore. It's how much she wants to be controlled. How much she's giving herself over to the moment and daring me to do something with it.
It's the way her lips part just slightly when I squeeze tighter.
The way her eyes flutter but never close—still locked on mine like she wants to watch me fall apart.
It's the hunger. The fire. The fucking delight in her face like she's waited her whole life to be handled like this and finally found someone who knows how.
And that does something to me.
Because she's not doing this for my approval. She's doing it because it makes her feel powerful in her own way.
And that's what turns me on most.
But the truth is: she's playing her role a little too well.
The way her hands glide up and down my shaft—alternating speed, pressure, even angle—like she's reading my reactions and adjusting in real time. She's not guessing. She's studying.
And every little sound she makes while doing it—those tiny gasps, the way her breath catches when I squeeze tighter—fuels me.
She's not just taking this.
She's enjoying it.
Feeding off it.
Matching my dominance with her own quiet kind of defiance.
And it's driving me insane.
I lean closer, lowering my mouth to her ear. "You're better at this than I expected," I whisper.
She smirks.
Then strokes me harder.
She might actually win—
Or so I thought.
Because just then, I notice the shift.
Her grip falters. Her eyes, once sharp and locked on mine, begin to glaze over. Her lashes flutter slower this time, not with arousal—but with fatigue. Her breaths turn shallow. Faint.
And that's when I realize—she's starting to go out.
Her eyes are giving out.
"You remember the safety words?" I say, voice steady but urgent.
She nods her head yes.
"Remember if you can't speak but want me to stop, squeeze my arms or wrists repeatedly," I remind her.
But the craziest part?
She's not letting go.
Even as her eyes flutter and her grip weakens, her hand never stops moving. She's still stroking me—slower now, yes—but steady. Determined. Like her body's on autopilot, running on nothing but willpower and adrenaline. Like she refuses to stop until I come undone for her.
And fuck... that does something dangerous to me.
She's fading, barely holding on, but she still wants to please me.
Still wants to win.
And I don't know what kind of twisted part of me this is hitting, but the sight of her—eyes half-lidded, lips parted, hand still working my dick like she lives for it—is about to push me over the edge.
She's too far gone to smile now. But I feel her pride in every stroke.
And I hate how much I love it.
How much I'm turned on by the fact that she's hanging on just to keep giving.
It's not just hot. It's beautiful. It's fucking devastating.
And in that moment, I know—I'm not going to last.
Not with her like this.
Not with this kind of submission. This kind of strength.
Not when she's giving me everything—even her last ounce of breath.
I grit my teeth, trying to hang on just a little longer.
But it's useless.
She's already won.
She's forced me to cum and spray all over her stomach, her chest and her face.
YOU ARE READING
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