Stealing His Thunder (Masters of Adrenaline) by Sparrow Beckett Page A

Not more. Please . . .
    He spread her pussy lips open again, and she sobbed. Everything was too sensitive, like nails on a chalk board. She couldn’t take any more of this. Every bit of her pussy and ass tickled and itched and ached. Even though he’d barely gone near them, her nipples were distended and painfully erect. Her eyes refused to focus. All of her muscles were tired of the strain, and her legs were starting to shake from exhaustion. How long had he been at this? Hours and hours. Maybe most of her life.
    As the feather swept over her again, she sobbed, broken.
    “Please, no,” she whimpered. “I can’t. I promise I’ll be good. I’ll do anything you want. You can do anything else to me, just please no more.”
    “You’ll tell me?”
    When she hesitated, trying to make her mouth move the right way, he attacked her clit again, the edge of the feather running back and forth over every bit of her exposed and painfully sensitive nub. She screamed again, the sound pulled out of her chest, burning its way up her throat to escape her open mouth.
    Her hips jerked up off the bed, her impending orgasm twisting every muscle in her body, tightening it until she was sure something would snap like an overtaxed rubber band. So close . . . so fucking close . . .
    It stopped. She lay, staring blankly at the ceiling. Shadows of thoughts scuttled around her mind, but pulling them together wasn’t working. The world had gone quiet, except for her thundering heart, and the sound of her and her tormentor’s shaking breaths.
    “Come on, Addison. If you’re a good girl this all stops, but if you’re bad . . .” He made a sound of regret as he trailed off, like he was sorry he had no other choice. “I just want to lick that pretty clit and suck it into my mouth—to make you scream with pleasure when you come for me, but I can’t do that unless you answer the question.”
    Her entire body shook, feeling like it was going to shake itself to pieces. Tears dripped from the corners of her eyes, dribbled down her temples, pooled in her ears.
    “Okay,” she whispered. “Okay.”
    He squeezed her knee. “Where is it hidden?”
    Crap. This wasn’t going to go over well, which was a big part of the reason she’d tried to hold out.
    For a moment her mouth worked, as she tried to get the words out. “It was under your bumper.”
    He scoffed, frowning. “That was the first place I checked.”
    Part of her wanted to gloat, but she was still too desperate and vulnerable to fuck with him, safeword or no. She couldn’t take another second of torture.
    “When I got to the club, before I went in, I took it off your car and shoved it in my purse.”
    At his dumbfounded expression, she wished she found this funny.
    “You little fucking bitch.”
    She shut her eyes, waiting for him to slap her, or worse. A hoot of laughter made her reopen her eyes.
    “God, if I didn’t want to fuck you so bad I’d just untie you and kick you out horny, to get even with you.” He laughed then made a pained noise. “Fuck, the guys will never let this go.”
    “Please, Fox,” she begged, not even sure what she wanted. The plan had been to mock him about this, but considering what he’d just done to her, and how raw her mind felt, joking had become an unfamiliar concept. Quiet tears still slid down her face. She felt disgusting—sweaty and tear-streaked and itchy. Dirty, and not just in terms of her appearance.
    His gaze refocused on her, roamed over her. Maybe she felt dirty, but the glow in his eyes suggested she was exactly his kind of dirty.
    “Please what, clever girl?”
    She sniffled and squirmed even though her muscles felt leaden. “I need you.” Surely, he hadn’t forgotten he’d promised to let her come? But what if it had slipped his mind, or he didn’t want to follow through? What if he wasn’t done tormenting her?
    The safeword she’d chosen would stop him from making things worse, but it wouldn’t make him ease