His restraint shatters in the heat of my mouth.

“Open your eyes,” Jack commands, fisting my hair as he shifts closer, pushing his cock deeper.

I do as he says. But I take my time to meet the glare that awaits me, sliding my gaze up every inch of tense muscle that towers over me. When our eyes connect, it’s like magnets snapping into place. I can’t look away.

“I’m going to choke that pretty throat with my cock, and you’re going to watch me do it. You’re going to take everything I give you. You’re going to swallow every rung of this fucking ladder and every drop of cum. And you will not take those beautiful blue eyes off me. Understand?”

My only response is the dark smile that lights my eyes and the swirl of my tongue across his piercings.

“Good girl.”

And with that invitation, Jack Sorensen fucks my mouth.

He grips my hair, tilts my head back, opens my throat for the invasion of his length. The piercings roll across the depths of my tongue and the walls of my throat and I gag, tears streaming down my face. But I don’t take my eyes from Jack’s. Even though the ache in my jaw is brutal and the sensation of titanium slipping through my mouth is foreign, I still want more. I can’t get enough of him. The pain across my scalp. The throbbing in my clit. The burning need for friction. I want it all.

Every thrust pushes deeper, giving me just enough time to acclimate to his length and girth before his cock is filling my throat again. I swallow and take it all, every rung until my face is nearly flush with his pelvis and the scent of sex and vetiver floods my nostrils. I run my hands up his abs and he shivers with my touch as it slides through the mist of sweat gathered on his skin, his gooseflesh rising in the chill of the air. And then I grip his waist and take him a fraction deeper still, bobbing my head with thrusts as I hum my satisfaction around his cock.

“Kyrie…” he hisses through gritted teeth. One of his hands folds tight around my throat and he thrusts long and deep and hard. I feel his muscles tightening beneath my fingertips, his hard length pulsing against my tongue. And then he roars my name, the sound cutting through the cold air, his cum a hot invasion that I swallow down with a contended moan.

I suck every inch of his cock as I slowly release him from my mouth with a wicked pop. Jack is trembling, his exhalations fogging the air. He turns to grip the edge of the gurney as though his legs might give out and I rise, wiping my mouth and cheeks with the sleeve of his borrowed shirt.

“That’s not all, is it, Jack?” I ask as I turn away toward the shelves.

He doesn’t answer, but I feel his question linger in the cold.

I look across the neat row of medication vials.

Succinylcholine. Epinephrine. Lovenox.

Midazolam.

I pull the vial from the shelf with a sly smile.

“The cold. It’s not all you want,” I say, taking a syringe from the tray next to the ampules. My teeth clutch around the pink cap on the needle and I spit it out across the stainless-steel countertop, purely for theatrics. I plunge the pointed tip into the vial of midazolam and tilt it upside down, withdrawing 2.5mg of the clear liquid.

When I place the vial back on the tray and turn to face Jack, his gaze burns through me. He might have just been spent down my throat, but the sight of the needle and everything it means has him straightening as adrenaline surely floods the caverns in his heart. It won’t be long before he’s ready for the next round.

“You want a sleeping beauty,” I say, stopping at the edge of the gurney across from Jack as he pulls up his pants and briefs. The motion of his hands slows as his eyes dart from the syringe to me. “Somnophilia.”

“Kyrie—”

“This is your chance to take me while I’m quiet,” I say with a cheeky wink and a sinful smile. I keep the needle poised between my fingers as I hook my other hand into the waistband of my leggings and shimmy them over my ass and thighs to toe them off. Jack’s hand runs through his hair when he takes in the sight of my bare legs beneath his shirt, my skin pebbling in the cold air. “Don’t you want me silent and compliant, for once? You can do anything you want to me. Taste me. Fuck me. Manipulate me. Dominate me. Spray your cum all over me while my eyes are closed and my limbs are limp. Maybe I’ll wake to your cock already thrusting balls-deep into my swollen pussy and I’ll beg you to keep going. Anything you want, I’m giving you permission to take it. Don’t you want that, Jack? Don’t you want me?”

“Kyrie, Jesus Christ—”

“Stop fighting yourself. You said you were done standing in the way of what you wanted. I’m offering,” I say as I clutch the side rail of the gurney with my free hand and haul myself onto the mattress, the PVC surface cold on my bare skin when I sit facing him. I poise the needle to the general vicinity of my jugular. “I want this too, Jack. I trust you.”

The conflict in Jack’s eyes is a delicious torment that I devour like a starved beast. “This is dangerous, Kyrie. You’ve had alcohol.”

A sigh passes my lips through a petulant pout as I pull the syringe away from my neck to examine the dosage. I press the plunger until a few drops trickle through the needle before holding it to my skin once more. “There. Happy now?”

Silence stretches between us. Jack is torn in a torturous moment. One of need. One of fantasy. One of fear, a man who fears so little, who takes what he wants without regret or remorse. But he fears this, and it will make taking it that much sweeter if he just gives in.

I sink the needle into my flesh just enough for a hint of pain and a drop of blood. Jack’s restraint blisters. It’s a bubble nearly ready to burst.

“I don’t even know if I’m in the right spot. Do you really want me to miss?” I ask, and before the question has even left my lips he’s whipped the needle from my hand and plunged it into my jugular, dispensing the drug into my veins.

My triumphant smirk falls slack beneath Jack’s heated gaze as I drop into a dreamless sleep.

OceanofPDF.com

SEVENTEEN

OceanofPDF.com

INERTIA

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JACK

Bitter notes of angelica and sweet vanilla pervade my cold room. Kyrie’s presence is as overpowering and consuming in my domain as the very perfume she wears, even in her unconscious state.

Like the angelica flower itself that hails from an arctic landscape, she’s designed for me, her wilted petals waiting to be revived.

I remove the needle and lift her slack body into my arms. Gently, I lower her to the gurney and sweep the backside of my fingers along the side of her expressionless face. I smooth the russet waves away from her closed eyes, admiring the way the thick fringe of lashes lay motionless above the high ridge of her cheekbones.

Syringe gripped in my hand, I drop close to her ear and whisper, “You know how to make me fucking feral, petal.”

I toss the depressed syringe on the stainless-steel tray as I head to the thermostat. The temperature is adjusted down a few degrees. Not so cold she’ll freeze, but chilly enough I can make out how her warm breath fogs the air in the florescent lighting. The artificial light also washes her skin in a pale hue, her naturally plump, pink lips tinged the lightest shade of blue.

How I first saw her in the department body cooler, when she tested my restraint, pushing every one of my buttons until I was forced to either strangle her or fuck her.

My cock grows harder at the thought. Easing the confining pressure of my slacks, I lower the zipper, my ravening gaze trained on the sleeping beauty helplessly lying victim in my territory.