So needy already.

“Trust me,” he said softly, stepping close. “You’ll feel everything more. You’ll crave the sight of me until it aches. You’ll hear every stroke, every moan of your name, and you’ll beg to watch me come for you. And you’ll take it, because you’re my good girl.”

“Yes, Jason,” I breathed, tears already gathering.

He tied the silk around my eyes—gentle, but firm—plunging me into darkness. The world narrowed to sound, scent, touch. The crackle of the fire. His breathing, deeper now. His scent, thicker. The heat of him close. My other senses sharpened—every rustle of fabric, every shift of his weight on the rug.

I whimpered softly, already desperate to see him. “Please… I want to see you.”

His fingers brushed my cheek. “There. Perfect. So needy already. I can hear your heart racing, Rose. Feel your slick soaking the chair.”

His hands returned to my shoulders, thumbs circling slow at the base of my neck, pressing into tense muscle until I melted slightly. Then down my arms, tracing the chains, the metal cool against my heated skin, sending shivers through me.

His palm slid forward—down the center of my chest, over the parted shirt, until it settled flat between my breasts on bare skin.

The contact was electric. Skin on skin. His hand warm, calloused, steady against the frantic thunder of my heart.

“Breathe,” he commanded softly.

I obeyed, shaky, chest rising against his palm.

“Again. Deeper. Show me how you breathe for me.”

I filled my lungs, his hand rising with the motion.

His hand slid lower—cupping one breast through the bra, thumb circling my nipple without quite touching it. Teasing. Tormenting. The fabric rasped against sensitive skin, making me ache.

I moaned—soft, helpless—head falling back.

“Tell me what you want,” he commanded, voice roughened with lust.

“To see you,” I gasped. “To touch you. To feel your mouth on my nipple—sucking, biting. To watch your hand on your cock. Please, Jason—please let me see how hard you are for me—”

“Not yet,” he growled. “Feel me instead. Feel how I control every inch of you.”

His hand slipped beneath the bra cup, warm palm cupping my bare breast fully, thumb rolling my nipple slowly, firmly. Pleasure shot straight to my core, making me moan—high, needy, desperate.

“Still,” he reminded sharply. “No moving. No chasing. Just feel. Or I stop.”

I locked every muscle, trembling violently, moaning softly with every roll of his thumb.

He rewarded me—pinching lightly, then harder, tugging until pleasure-pain radiated through me. My hips jerked once before I forced them still.

“Fuck, listen to you,” he rasped. “Moaning like a little slut. Your nipples are so hard, Rose. So sensitive. I could make you come just from this.”

He switched breasts, repeating the torment—rolling, pinching, tugging—until I was sobbing softly, tears soaking the blindfold.

His other hand slid lower—unbuttoning my jeans, zipper rasping down slowly, deliberately. Cool air kissed my soaked core, the scent of my slick flooding the air.

His fingers slipped inside—sliding over damp cotton, pressing against my clit. A broken moan tore free.

“Quiet,” he commanded. “Or I stop. I want to hear you suffer beautifully.”

I bit my lip, forcing silence, body trembling.

He circled slowly—light, teasing, building tension. Then increased pressure, rubbing tight circles over my clit through the fabric. Pleasure coiled tighter, hotter.

“Tell me,” he commanded.

“Close,” I sobbed. “Please—Jason, I’m so close—”

“Not yet. You come when I say.”

He stopped—hand withdrawing completely.

I whimpered, tears streaming, body aching with denial.

Footsteps—soft on the rug. Then silence. The rustle of fabric. The soft sound of a zipper.

Then his breathing—deeper, rougher.

The slick sound of skin on skin—slow, deliberate.

My breath caught. “Jason—”

“Listen,” he commanded, voice rough. “Feel me without seeing me. Crave it. Crave watching me stroke my cock while you sit there bound and dripping.”

The rhythm started slow—deliberate strokes, the soft slap of his hand, his breathing deepening.

“Rose,” he groaned, voice low and broken. “Look at you—bound, blindfolded, thighs spread, pussy soaked. So beautiful. So mine. I’m stroking my cock for you, Rose. Thick and hard because of you. Precome dripping down my shaft because of how fucking desperate you are.”

The rhythm quickened—faster, harder, the sound wetter now, precome slicking his strokes.

“Rose,” he moaned again, deeper, rougher. “My good girl. My desperate omega. I can smell how wet you are. How much you need this. Imagine it—my hand wrapped around my cock, stroking fast, thinking of your tight little cunt clenching around me. Thinking of knotting you. Breeding you. Filling you with my come until it drips out.”

I moaned—helpless, raw—hips twitching against the chains, clit throbbing in time with his strokes.

“Please,” I begged. “Please let me see you. Please—Jason, I need to watch you come. I need to see your cock—thick, hard, knot swelling—”

“Not yet,” he growled. “Feel me come for you. Hear me say your name while I do. Hear how fucking filthy you make me.”

His strokes became frantic—hard, fast, hips rocking slightly. His free hand cupped his balls, squeezing.

“Rose—fuck—Rose—your pussy would feel so good—tight, wet, milking me—”

He came—hard, a low, broken roar of my name, ropes of come spilling, the scent of his release flooding the air, thick and alpha and mine. The sound of his pleasure, the scent, the knowledge that he was coming while thinking of me—bound, blindfolded, desperate—shattered me. Pleasure crashed through me without touch, a small, denied orgasm rippling through me as I sobbed his name, body arching against the chains, slick flooding my thighs.

He milked every drop, breathing ragged, then stepped close. His thumb brushed my lip, smearing warm come there.

“Taste.”

I licked obediently, tasting him—salty, alpha, mine—sucking his thumb clean like I wanted to suck his cock.

“Good girl,” he praised, voice rough. “You took that beautifully. Came just from hearing me, didn’t you? My filthy little omega.”

He removed the blindfold slowly. Light flooded in, and there he was—shirt open, cock still hard and glistening with come, knot swollen, eyes dark with satisfaction.

I sobbed at the sight of him—beautiful, lethal, mine.

He unchained me slowly, hands gentle now, massaging wrists and ankles.

“Tomorrow,” he murmured, “you earn everything. The knot. The bite. The bond. My cock inside you. My come filling you. My mark on your throat.”

I rose on shaking legs, dressing with trembling hands.

At the door, he caught my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes.

“You pleased me deeply tonight, Rose. You’re mine. And tomorrow, I’m going to ruin you for anyone else.”

I fled into the corridor, body aching, soul branded.

Already counting the hours.

Already aching for the final fall.