obey me 2

She lost track of time, the minutes stretching into hours. Her muscles grew stiff, and her mind drifted into a state of hyper-awareness. She could feel the microscopic movement of air against her skin.

Suddenly, she felt a touch. It was a light, teasing brush of a fingertip against her inner thigh. Phoebe jumped, a gasp escaping her lips, her body reacting violently to the sudden stimulus.

The finger traced a slow path upward, circling the sensitive skin of her groin. She arched her back, desperate for more, her hips instinctively searching for the contact. But the finger vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

She waited, her breath hitching, her body humming with a desperate need. She didn't know where he was or what he was doing. The uncertainty was a torture of its own.

A cold drop of liquid fell onto her stomach. Then another, hitting her breast, then her clit. It was ice-cold, making her shiver violently in the dark. She whimpered, her mind racing to identify the substance.

"Is it water?" she whispered to the void.

Then she felt it—a tongue. It was hot, contrasting sharply with the cold liquid. He began to lick the droplets off her skin, his tongue slow and methodical.

He moved from her stomach to her breasts, sucking her nipples through the air. Phoebe moaned, her head tossing from side to side on the mat. The lack of sight made every sensation magnified, every touch an explosion.

He moved lower, his breath hot against her pussy. He didn't enter her; he simply teased the edges, his tongue flickering against her clit. He did this for what felt like an eternity, bringing her to the brink of orgasm and then stopping.

"Please," she sobbed. "Please, Saint, I'm sorry!"

"Are you sorry for the grade, or sorry for the punishment?" his voice boomed, though she couldn't tell where it was coming from.

"Both! I'm sorry for everything!"

"Good girl."

He reached for the blindfold, ripping it away. The sudden influx of dim light blinded her for a second. She saw him hovering over her, his expression neutral, his eyes dark with a mixture of pity and desire.

"You've learned the cost of failure," he said.

"I have."

"Now, do you think you can handle the final exam?"

"Yes, I'll get a hundred percent."

He smiled, and this time, it reached his eyes. He reached down, unbuckling the restraints with a series of sharp clicks. Phoebe surged upward, throwing her arms around his neck, clinging to him like a lifeline.

"I missed you," she whispered into his shoulder.

"I was right here, Phoebe."

"It felt like you were a million miles away."

He pulled back, looking at her flushed face and swollen lips. He kissed her then, a deep, possessive kiss that tasted of salt and longing. His tongue pushed into her mouth, claiming her territory.

"I will always be here to correct you," he murmured.

"I don't want to be corrected anymore."

"You do. You love the boundaries."

He lifted her effortlessly, carrying her back upstairs to the bedroom. He threw her onto the silk sheets, the fabric cool against her heated skin. He stripped off his clothes, his gaze never leaving hers.

"This isn't a reward," he clarified.

"Then what is it?"

"This is a reminder of who you belong to."

He entered her with a sudden, violent thrust that knocked the breath from her lungs. He didn't use a slow build this time; he drove into her with a raw, primal hunger. Phoebe wrapped her legs around his waist, locking him in.

The sound of their bodies colliding was a wet, rhythmic thud. He gripped her hair, pulling her head back to expose her throat. He bit into the sensitive skin of her neck, marking her as his own.

"Tell me who you are," he gasped.

"I'm your good girl," she screamed.

"Whose are you?"

"I'm yours! Only yours!"

He accelerated, his thrusts becoming short and powerful. He was hitting her deep, the friction creating a searing heat that threatened to consume them both. Phoebe felt her orgasm building, a tight knot of tension in her lower belly.

"I'm going to come," she shrieked.

"Do it for me," he commanded.

"Saint!"

She exploded, her internal muscles squeezing him in rhythmic waves. He let out a loud, guttural moan, his own release hitting him seconds later. He poured himself into her, his body shaking with the force of the climax.

They lay there for a long time, tangled in the sheets, their skin slick with sweat. The room was silent except for the sound of their synchronizing breaths. Phoebe felt a profound sense of peace, a surrender that bordered on religious.

"You have two weeks until the final," Saint said softly.

"I know."

"If you get a hundred, I have a very special prize waiting."

"What is it?"

"You'll find out when you earn it."

The next fourteen days were a blur of textbooks, highlighter ink, and sleepless nights. Phoebe studied with a ferocity she had never known, driven by a mixture of fear and anticipation. She didn't leave the house except for her classes.

Saint monitored her every move, checking her notes and quizzing her at random intervals. He was a constant presence, a shadow that both comforted and terrified her. He didn't touch her sexually during this time.