Page 271 of Breaking Rosalind
“Hey, that’s not fair,” I say.
“Nothing about this is fair, but you’re going to take my cock like a good girl.” His voice is so smoky with desire that I almost lose track that I should be struggling.
Twisting the fabric, he loops the bulk of it around my wrist, each brush of his fingers on my skin creating electric sparks. I squeeze my thighs together, trying to stem the arousal. As he lashes the pajama top around the headboard’s spokes, I buck my hips, trying to throw him off.
“You’re not getting me so easily,” I say, my voice breathy.
The legs straddling my rib cage clamp with enough pressure on my lungs to make me gasp. Sensing the beginning of breath play, my pussy becomes slick.
When he knots the rope and gives it a testing tug, he finally releases the pressure around my chest. He stares down at me, his features grave. “Remember this, Rosalind. Good pets who stay in their cages get orgasms. Bad pets who escape get edged with no mercy.”
“Who are you calling a pet?”
My protest is half-hearted because I know it’s just a game. Cesare is one of the few men who respects me as an equal, at least outside of the bedroom.
His answer is to grab the front of my pajama top and yanks it apart, sending buttons flying across the mattress. My adrenaline surges, and a breath catches in my throat as he exposes my breasts to the cool air.
“You’re mine, Rosalind,” he snarls, his fingers trailing a path from my collarbone down to my belly button. “Mine to keep, mine love, mine to protect, mine to pleasure, mine to punish.”
Shivers break out across my skin.
Punish?
ONE HUNDRED EIGHT
ROSALIND
Cesare’s fingertips drift lower, tracing the waistband of my pajama bottoms with a tantalizing lightness that makes me squirm.
He circles the outline of my nipple with his thumb, making me arch into this touch. “Who do you belong to?”
“Myself,” I say.
His dark chuckle sends shivers skittering across my skin, and he pulls his hand back toward my belly button. He lowers his head, grazing my other nipple with his lips. “Wrong answer. Let’s try again.”
“Rosalind.”
He bites my nipple between his teeth, sending out a burst of shock that makes me jolt within my restraints. Before the pain can fully register, he soothes it with his tongue.
“Who. Do. You. Belong. To?”
“Cesare,” I say through gasping breaths.
“Good girl,” he croons, his fingers making their slow descent toward my pajama bottoms. “And who owns this pretty little cunt?”
“You,” I say through clenched teeth, knowing good and well that he won’t let me climax until I give him everything he wants.
His tongue traces a slow, tortuous path across my breast, over my ribcage, and down to my belly, punctuated by little nips and kisses that make me wriggle and writhe.
Anticipation makes every inch of my body thrum. I resist the urge to break free of the tangled pajama jacket, grab his messy hair and stick his head between my legs… at least until after my orgasm.
“Say it,” he rasps, his fingers sliding beneath the waistband and pulling the silk fabric down my hips.
“My cunt belongs to Cesare,” I say, my breath quickening.
“And don’t you forget it.”
Instead of pulling off the pajama pants, he twists the fabric around my ankles and ties several knots, leaving my legs bound. Eyes never leaving mine, he spreads my thighs wide and gazes down at my pussy.