Sara

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When we get to our room, Peter leads me to the bed. Stopping in front of it, he removes his robe, letting it drop to the floor, and then he unties mine and pushes it off my shoulders, leaving me naked. He seems fully in control, the volatile anger leashed for the moment, and despite my nervousness, my thighs clench on a surge of heat as he brushes his knuckles over the sensitive skin of my upper breasts before cupping each mound and gently rubbing his thumbs over my nipples.

“You look scared,” he observes, his silvery gaze hard and opaque. “Are you afraid I’ll hurt you?” His fingers close on my nipples, pinching with startling force, and I gasp, my hands flying up to grip his wrists.

“Tell me, Sara.” He pinches my nipples harder, the pressure bordering on pain. “Do you think I’ll hurt you?”

“I—” I gulp, my heart hammering as I tug futilely at his wrists. “I don’t know.”

“I could hurt you.” His sculpted mouth twists as he releases my nipples, leaving them erect and throbbing as his hands slide down my body to grip my hips. “And sometimes I want to. You know that, don’t you, ptichka? You’ve sensed it.” His cock presses against my stomach, hard and insistent, and my breath catches in my throat, my core tightening with a heated ache despite the chill spreading through my veins.

“Yes.” I can’t bring myself to lie, even though that might be smarter, might pacify the monster peering at me through the dark metal of Peter’s eyes. “Yes, I have.”

“Oh, ptichka…” Mock sympathy fills his voice as he gives me a hard push. “Of course you have.”

Startled, I fall backward onto the bed, but instead of climbing over me, Peter bends down and straightens a moment later with the tie from my robe in his hand. Anxiety shoots through me as I comprehend his intentions, and I react instinctively, rolling away as he climbs onto the bed next to me.

He catches me before I can roll off the bed, and I find myself face down on the mattress, my lower body pinned by his weight and my arms forced behind my back as he knots the tie around my wrists. His movements are quick and sure, ruthless in their efficiency, and only seconds pass before my hands are thoroughly restrained, the terrycloth fabric looping around my wrists in a soft but unbreakable hold.

I yank on the restraints, panting into the mattress, but there’s no give in the tie, no way for me to get free. “What are you doing?” My panic intensifies as I feel him climb off me. “Peter, please… what are you doing?”

“Shhh.” Gripping my elbow, he tugs me to my knees and turns me around to face him. His face is taut with lust, his eyes gleaming darkly as he says, “I’m giving you a taste of what it means to be my captive. Because that’s what you want, isn’t it? To run and have me catch you? To have me do this, so you can be free of blame?”

I open my mouth to deny it, but before I can utter a word, Peter stands up on the bed. Fisting his hand in my hair, he arches my head back, pulling my face toward his groin, and I gasp, yanking at my wrist restraints as his thick cock slaps against my cheek. His musky male scent fills my nostrils, his ball sac rubbing against my jaw, and my breathing quickens as I realize what he’s about to do.

“Peter, please—” I begin, then clamp my lips shut as the head of his cock presses against my mouth. With his hand in my hair and my arms tied behind my back, I can’t turn my face away, can’t move so much as an inch. In the weeks since Peter has invaded my life, he’s taken me more times than I can count, pleasuring me with his mouth and hands and cock, but he’s never made me pleasure him before. And for the first time, I realize it was a mercy… a small choice he’d left up to me.

A choice he’s now taking away.

“Open your mouth.” His voice throbs with dark lust as he slaps his cock against my cheek again. “Open your fucking mouth, Sara.”

I keep my lips tightly sealed even as my heart rate jumps into the anaerobic zone. It’s stupid to fight a blowjob when we’ve fucked dozens of times, but I can’t help feeling that by doing this, I’d be giving in even more… losing the last bit of me that still belongs to George. Not the alcoholic or the spy who lied to me, but the man I fell in love with back in college, the one who was my first everything.

Peter’s face tightens, his eyes narrowing as he growls, “You want to do it the hard way? Fine.” With his free hand, he pinches my nostrils closed, cutting off my air, and when I open my mouth to drag in a breath, he shoves his cock in, all the way to the back of my throat.

I choke, my eyes watering as my gag reflex kicks in, but he’s merciless as he starts thrusting, fucking my mouth with a hard, relentless rhythm. I don’t even have a chance to bite; with his fingers pinching my nostrils, all I’m focused on is getting enough air and trying not to gag. Panicking, I instinctively yank at my bonds, my eyes scrunching shut as saliva drips down my chin, but his thick length pistons in and out, and there’s nothing I can do, no place I can escape to.

I don’t know how long he ruthlessly uses my mouth, but I can feel myself getting dizzy, the lack of air combining with my exhaustion, and a dream-like lethargy sweeps over me. I’ve never felt so helpless, so utterly in my tormentor’s power, and as Peter continues fucking my mouth, I do the only thing I can.

I stop fighting and give in to him.

The punishing thrusts don’t stop and he doesn’t release my nose, but my panic eases as my body goes soft and pliant in his grasp. I’m a rag doll, a toy to be taken and played with, and there’s peace in that, a twisted kind of acceptance. My throat relaxes, letting him in, and the gag reflex subsides as I embrace his rhythm. Each time he withdraws, I gulp in a breath, and the air sustains me as he pushes in deep, filling my throat, controlling me so completely my very life is in his hands.

“Yes, that’s it. That’s so good… Just like that, my love…” His lust-soaked groan vibrates through me, and I open my lids a sliver, squinting up at him with watering eyes. Savage ecstasy is contorting his features, the tendons standing out in his muscled neck, and as his gaze meets mine, I feel something inside me shifting, changing in some fundamental way.

I’m yours, my body tells him, accepting all he has to give. It’s a complete surrender of myself, yet it feels right, feels comforting and peaceful. In this moment, I want to belong to him, to stay cocooned in his enormous strength.

To give up and let him keep me.

All fear fades, all thoughts about the future disappearing. I feel like I’m floating, like I’m above and beyond myself. If there’s still discomfort, I don’t feel it, yet my senses are heightened, my sex wet and thrumming with arousal. It’s oxygen deprivation, my medical training tells me, but the reason doesn’t matter.

Nothing matters but Peter and his pleasure.

I hold his gaze as the climax takes him, maintaining the connection as his seed spurts into my throat. Eyes streaming, I swallow every salty drop, and it’s only when his fingers release my hair that the strange high fades and reality kicks back in.

Shaking, I collapse onto my side, feeling like I’m crumbling into pieces as he frees my hands from the tie. My eyes are wet, but I’m no longer crying. I can’t. The plunge into despair is too sudden, too frightening and deep. And underneath it all is sick arousal, a hunger that burns in my core.

“It’s okay, my love,” he murmurs, gathering me into his embrace, and my shaking intensifies as his hand slips between my thighs, two rough fingers thrusting into me as his thumb presses on my clit. “You’re going to be fine. This is normal. Let me take care of you, ptichka, and you’ll be okay.”

But I won’t be. I know it, and he knows it too.

It takes mere seconds for me to come, to convulse in his arms with shattering pleasure. And as he holds me, stroking my hair, I know that this is it.

The cage he promised me is here.