“Don’t bother,” a gravelly voice rumbles from the shadows. It’s the type of sound I’d imagine coming from the monster hidden in the corner of the room. “You’re not getting away from me now, Bella. You’re mine to do with as I please.”

I gasp, whipping my head toward the sound, blinking once, twice, three times. It doesn’t matter how long I stare; the sight in front of me doesn’t change, but my body does. The rose-tinted film falls back into place and my veins thrum with desire because it isn’t just any monster waiting to devour me whole. It’s my monster.

I’m completely bare from the neck down, covered only by the arms curled around my thighs and the head nestled between them. His tongue circles my clit, and I can’t help the guttural moan that leaves me as euphoria edges closer. “Mickey, what are you doing?” I pant into the darkness.

“I couldn’t wait anymore. I’m starving.” The sound of Roman’s strained voice sends a jolt of electricity to each atom of my being.

Light streams through the curtains, casting a hazy glow over his deadly features, highlighting his strong nose and glistening eyes. Light catches on his stubble and the wet glaze covering his chin and mouth.

Ares, Roman, Mickey, whatever he wants to be called, is absolutely stunning.

“You’re my pretty little toy, aren’t you?”

“What?” I gasp. The degradation should be upsetting, not making me wetter with each word that comes out of his mouth.

A shiver rolls through me when his tongue descends upon my entrance. I arch into his touch, my body set on chasing the high.

“I could do whatever I want to you, and you’ll be soaking wet, begging for it. Do you know why?”

Shadows fall across his face, accentuating the lethal edge of his sharp cheekbones. My hips chase after him when he tugs my soft flesh between his teeth. The sensation is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before, a whisper of pain, followed by a flicker of pleasure. His tongue plunges into my entrance with so much brutality that I feel the splinters of his sadistic movements all the way to the back of my throat. Then on the cusps of his torment, when I think I can’t take anymore, he kisses me like I am the most delicate thing on earth. As if I’m something to be cherished, but broken. Loved, but hate fucked. Pretty, but ruined.

“Because you’re mine, Bella. Perfectly made for me. My personal little princess to fill, to fuck, and to… eat.” He drags his tongue along my center, forcing me to shudder. “This pretty pussy of yours belongs to me.”

If he keeps going, I won’t have control over the sounds I make. My inner thighs are begging me to close them for a reprieve from Roman’s relentless attack. It doesn’t matter how hard I try to wiggle my hips away or move my legs to lessen the pain. He has me in an iron grip. Even if he didn’t, I’d still be stuck, legs spread wide and at his mercy. A pair of silken ropes wind around my ankles and the bedposts, baring my pussy to him and the cold air at all times.

The scene before me is concerning on so many different levels. The first is how he managed not to wake me while arranging me like a rag doll. The second is how hot my blood runs at the thought of him tying me up like an object designed to fulfill his desires, then eating me like I’m a delicacy to be savored. The third concern? The fact that I want none of this to stop, even though every part of my rational brain is telling me to say the word that will end this.

Even more messed up is that I might start getting excited for bed because of what might happen while I sleep. I’m his for the taking. He knows it, my body knows it, and it’s just my mind that hasn’t gotten with the program.

For years, he lived another life while I was fast asleep and oblivious. Whether it’s his intention or not, it feels like he’s telling me that he’ll always keep my bed warm. He’s shared the other side of him with me, and it’s as if he’s promising that we’ll do everything together. Maybe it’s all wishful thinking, but I truly believe that promise is our new reality.

Mickey’s hot breath fans my center as he groans, “Fuck, you taste so good.” I yelp when he bites the inside of my thigh. “I told you I’d make you scream again.”

“I’m sore,” I whimper as he continues lapping at me. It’s nothing more than a dull ache, but if he fucks me, the pain will outweigh pleasure.

“I’ll make you feel good, baby,” he mumbles against my wet heat, peppering soft kisses that are so unlike the vicious way his tongue moves. “Tell me what you like.”

I don’t need to say a thing because he figures it out himself, throwing me into a world of bliss. He doesn’t just lick me. It isn’t just foreplay. This is a ritual. He’s a god demanding servitude from his loyal subjects. He’s a puppeteer, pulling all the right strings to make me dance beneath him. And I am a willing victim caught in his net.

It’s not rough or gentle, but it’s consuming. My breathing labors, hiccupping and moaning in time to each flick of his tongue. He works his tongue in and against my pussy like I’m his death row meal; like he’s been starved his whole life. Mickey’s hands leave my hips, groping and searching my tender flesh until he finds purchase on the oversensitive tips of my nipples. I moan at the slightest touch to them, feeling the pleasure zip down to every corner of my body.

Then he perfects his rhythm.

And I’m a goner.

If I was in heaven before, the plane I’m descending to is a place no god or man could survive. There isn’t a higher being that could save me from falling from grace and into Mickey’s grasp. I scream while pressure blooms at the pit of my stomach until colors explode in the backs of my eyes. The sensations keep blossoming and erupting until it’s too much for me to handle. “Mickey, please!” I cry, pulling at the ropes.

“Again,” he grunts. “You’re going to come on my mouth again. And this time, when you scream, you’ll scream my name. If you don’t, we’ll start all over again. Do you understand?”

A muffled sound leaves my throat in answer, unable to form a coherent thought because his thumb takes over from his devilish tongue.

My entire body seizes when he slides a finger inside me. “Good little fuck toys answer questions.”

“Yes,” I sob as his fingers slide in and out of me. It isn’t as painful as I thought it would be, but it aches unlike anything I’ve ever felt. It’s the hungry type of need that could never be sated.

“Has my girl been good?” He drags his teeth along the inside of my thigh.

“I’ve been good, I swear, Mickey.” The words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them. It’s like he’s dragging the answers out of me with his fingers.

“Oh.” Delight wraps around the single word. “I know you have. That’s why you get to come again.”

I nod my head and wiggle in the bindings holding me in place.

His tongue resumes its tortuous rhythm, circling the part of me that begs for friction. Only this time, he’s giving me what I was missing from before: being filled.

The single finger is enough to have me panting and moaning like I have never been touched before, and I never want it to stop. I scream his name and dig my nails into the ropes like it might keep me from crashing into a blubbering mess of moans and curses.

“Again.”

“What?” I say on an inhale.

“Say my name again.”

He isn’t asking me. He’s telling me. He’s making me with the curve of his fingers. The light comes closer with each push of his fingers on my G-spot. I cry out his name over and over when I reach my peak, legs spasming and back arched. He keeps pumping into me, dragging out my orgasm for longer than I thought was humanly possible. Even though I’m completely spent, and my entire body is overstimulated from his greedy touches, my attention fixates on each of his miniscule movements as he rises to his feet. The light casts dark shadows across his abdomen, highlighting every inch of hard muscle and deadly grace. I’m drunk at the sight of him.