Chapter 138: The Devil And The Silk Tie (18+)

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I woke up the morning after the second knot, feeling sore in all the right places, still sticky with the aftermath of everything we had experienced together. That familiar, low burn had returned, nagging me awake even after just a few hours of sleep.

My nest of shirts and that comfy sweater were completely ruined by now, soaked with the mixed scent of heat and satisfaction, tinged with a metallic hint from overuse.

Yet, I still buried my face into the nearest sleeve, inhaling deeply, hoping it might somehow soothe the restless emptiness that washed over me the moment Lorenzo’s knot finally softened and slipped out.

He was already sitting up next to me when I opened my eyes, holding a glass of water in one hand and a small plate of fruit in the other, looking way too composed for a man who had spent most of the previous night locked inside me while I cried into the pillows.

I groaned at the memory.

"Don’t even start," I muttered, my voice rough from too much talking and too little sleep.

"Drink." He said.

"I don’t want water. I need you back inside me, now."

He stayed calm in that infuriating way that always made me want to bite him. "You’ll get both. Water first."

I tried to shove the glass away more dramatically than I had the strength for, but he just pinned one of my wrists to the mattress effortlessly and brought the rim to my lips until I had no choice but to comply.

The water was cool and perfect, but it was still frustrating since I really just wanted his heat again.

I grumbled around the glass while he watched me gulp it down, clearly enjoying the show.

He tipped the glass a little higher. "Swallow."

I complied, because the alternative would be drowning in my own stubbornness. The moment the glass left my mouth, he replaced it with a piece of fruit that he held between his fingers until I took it, with far less grace than the occasion called for.

The taste almost didn’t matter next to how firmly his other hand held my wrist and the way he watched every little movement of my body like he was taking notes on how long he could keep me still before the next wave pulled me back under.

By the time he decided I’d had enough, I was already restless and half-hard, glaring at him with a kind of exaggerated annoyance that just made him smile wider.

The next couple of days blurred together in a haze of heat and need, along with occasional moments of clarity that never lasted long enough to be useful.

Waves of desire rolled through me, some sharp and demanding, others slow and grinding...but through them all, Lorenzo remained that steady presence, keeping me from spiraling too far into complete fucking madness due the empty ache while also making sure I took care of myself like some possessive nursemaid who had a filthy mouth.

During moments when I was riding him, straddling his lap with my hands braced against his chest, our movements were messy and desperate, starting out slow only because he held my waist and dictated the pace.

"That’s it... slower," he would say, his voice low and commanding, even as I tried to bounce harder. "Feel how deep you take me when you sink all the way down."

I told him to shut up and let me move, but he just tightened his grip, making me look at him as I shook with the pressure building inside me.

The way he smiled and talked me through every shudder only made the eventual release sharper and more intense.

In other moments, he would pull me up until I was kneeling over his mouth, my thighs trembling from the effort of not collapsing.

The first slow drag of his tongue through the slickness pouring out of me forced a broken sound from my throat that I couldn’t have held back even if I wanted to.

"I’m...I’m going to smother you with my weight," I managed to say, half-horrified and half-lost already.

My weighed was always something I was half insecure about and half didn’t give a shit about...but at that time I remembered the years of Lydia forcing me into a diet and pretty much starving me, saying I had to be slimmer, smaller, more dainty and delicate like Blair.

To the point I never really knew if I was even slim enough or not to this very day.

But his hands were locked around my hip and thigh and held me there with an absolute certainty.

"Then smother me," he said, his voice muffled and unconcerned. "Stay right there."

He didn’t let me lift up, even as my thighs jerked and my weight pressed down harder against his face, and the thorough way he took me left me boneless and dazed for what felt like ages afterward.

There were moments in the shower, too, when the hot water cascaded over us, and he pressed me face-first against the cool tile with one hand loosely around my throat and the other between my legs, working me open all over again while I tried...and failed woefully, to remember that we had come in there to get clean.

"We were supposed to be washing," I protested, and he just laughed softly against the back of my neck, saying,

"We are. I’m just being thorough," before sliding into me under the spray and fucking me slow and deep until the water turned cold and I forgot all about being clean.

There was one softer round during the second afternoon when he kept me on my back, moving with slow, unhurried thrusts while he kissed me through every single one.

That gentleness almost got to me more thoroughly than the rougher moments.

"You don’t even fight it anymore," he murmured against my mouth after kissing the living daylights out of my sorry ass. "You just so pliant for me now."

I told him not to say it like that, all quiet and almost dreamy, but he just smiled and said it was true.

The way he kept kissing me while filling me made the climax hit me in long, shuddering waves, leaving me clinging to him and gasping his name like it was the only thing I could say.

Between rounds, he would drag me into the bathtub while I whined the whole way about how I was fine being filthy, but he was having none of it.

He insisted I was covered in dried slick and his and my cum, and I was going to sit whether I liked it or not.

I called it oppression. He called it basic hygiene, washing me with the same thorough patience he used for everything else, ignoring my attempts to pull him back into the water with me.

Later, he held a piece of bread to my mouth while I was still half-hard and restless against the pillows, and when I smirked and told him I’d rather choke on something else, he calmly replied that I would get that chance after I ate three bites.

I called him a tyrant. He called me dramatic as I waited emptily for him to let me open my mouth again.

By the night of the second day, the heat had settled into a constant, low-burning ache that left me feeling shameless and relentless.

The moment Lorenzo pulled out or tried to rest, I was already trying to climb back onto him, hips seeking, hands reaching, mouth forming desperate demands that didn’t embarrass me as much as they probably should have.

After my fourth attempt in the space of an hour, he finally caught both of my wrists and pinned them above my head with a calm finality that made my stomach drop in that thrilling way.

"Enough."

"It’s not enough—"

"It is for now."

He reached for a soft black tie from the nightstand and systematically secured my wrists to the headboard, the silk cool and firm against my skin.

The first yank I gave at the restraints proved they weren’t going anywhere. I was staring up at him, outraged and already dripping again, while he sat back on his heels between my spread thighs, simply looking at me for what felt like a long, silent moment.

His green eyes moved over me, almost as if committing each and every part of my body to memory.

"Huh? You did not just—!"

"I did," he said, his voice quiet and undeniably pleased. "Look at you."

I was completely exposed, wrists bound, my chest rising and falling quickly, slick glistening on my thighs again, and the way he examined every inch of me felt almost reverent in its intensity. Heat rushed to my face.

Pride and need battled across whatever expression I was making, and need quickly won out, almost embarrassingly so.

"Untie me! What the hell???"

"No."

"Dracula, you fucking Devil—!"

"Beg properly and I might think about it."

Silence stretched between us for a few heartbeats as my face got even hotter.

Finally, the words came out rough, wrecked, and completely devoid of the sharp edges I usually kept in check.

"Please... please fuck me. I can’t— I...I need you. Please, Alpha."

He grinned that slow, dark smile that always meant I’d given him exactly what he wanted, and then he moved back over me, not bothering to untie a single knot.