Chapter Seven - Location

The chains sang a soft, metallic protest as I shuddered, the aftershocks of my denied climax still rippling through me. A tear of pure frustration traced a path through the grime on my cheek. I hated him. I hated the slick heat between my thighs that betrayed me. Most of all, I hated the hollow, aching void he had carved inside me.

He watched the tear fall, his expression unchanging. He pulled a small, black device from his pocket. It was sleek, unassuming, and hummed to life with a faint, almost inaudible buzz when his thumb pressed a button. The sound made me flinch.

“Pain is a crude tool,” he said, his voice a low, calm contrast to the electric hum. “It only hardens resolve. But this… this is a scalpel.” He knelt before me again, the vibrator held between us like a promise and a threat. “It dismantles. It makes the strongest mind a slave to the weakest nerve.”

“Go to hell,” I rasped, but my voice was thready, weak. My eyes were fixed on the device.

“I’m sure I will,” he mused. “But you’ll be telling me what I want to know long before then.”

He didn’t touch me with it. Not yet. He first touched me with his mouth.

He leaned in and his tongue, that wicked, knowing tongue, found my clit again. I cried out, a sharp, broken sound, as the shock of wet heat jolted through my oversensitized flesh. He lapped at me, slow and deliberate, rebuilding the fire he had so cruelly extinguished. My hips gave a helpless, involuntary jerk, seeking more pressure, more friction, more.

Just as the tension began to coil deep in my belly again, he pulled away. A whimper escaped my lips before I could choke it back.

“Location, Aria?" He prompted, his breath ghosting over my damp skin.

I clenched my jaw, biting down on the words, on the plea, on the need. I shook my head, a tiny, defiant motion.

“As you wish.”

The cool, smooth plastic of the vibrator touched my inner thigh. He traced a languid path upwards, skating over trembling muscle, avoiding the place I desperately wanted it. The anticipation was its own exquisite torture. My breath hitched, my entire world narrowing to that tiny point of contact, that teasing hum.

Then he pressed it against me.

Not directly on my clit. Just below it. The vibration was a low, insistent thrum that traveled through my entire body, making my teeth chatter. It was maddening. It was not enough. I strained against my chains, my back arching, silently begging for him to move it, to grant me the contact I needed.

He held it steady, his other hand coming up to my stomach, splaying across my quivering abdomen to hold me still. His fingers dipped lower, sliding through my slickness with an obscene, wet sound that made me blush with shame. He pushed two fingers inside me, curling them, finding that perfect, devastating spot with unerring accuracy.

Oh god.

The dual assault was unbearable. The deep, internal pressure of his fingers and the relentless, external vibration. It was too much. It wasn’t enough. My moan was a continuous, ragged thing, torn from a place deep within me that had nothing to do with training or loyalty.

He began to move the vibrator in tiny, torturous circles, grazing my clit with the very edge of the device. The sensation was so intense it was almost painful. My vision blurred at the edges. Please, please, please… The mantra was a scream inside my skull.

“Are you ready to talk?” His voice was a distant rumble, a nuisance distracting me from the ascent towards oblivion.

I shook my head again, a frantic, desperate motion. No, I can’t, I won’t…

He increased the pressure. The vibrations seemed to amplify, buzzing directly into my core, syncing with the rhythm of his thrusting fingers. The coil within me tightened to a breaking point. I was there. I was poised on the precipice, my entire body tensed like a bowstring. A scream built in my throat, the orgasm looming, vast and all-consuming.

He removed everything.

The vibrator went silent. His fingers slid out of me.

The crash was physical. A gut-wrenching sob was torn from me. My body spasmed, convulsing with the force of the denied release, all that pent-up energy with nowhere to go. I sagged in my chains, spent and trembling, a raw nerve exposed to the cold air.

“You are remarkably strong,” he said, and I heard a flicker of genuine admiration in his tone. It was worse than his cruelty. “But everyone breaks. Your body wants to break for me. It’s begging for it.”

He didn’t wait for me to recover. He brought the vibrator back, pressing it firmly, directly onto my throbbing clit.

I shrieked. The sensation was blinding after the sudden absence. My hips bucked wildly, out of my control. He held the device in place, his other hand pinning my hip to the stone wall, keeping me exactly where he wants me.