CHAPTER 92: HOW DOES IT FEEL

Eleanor’s POV

I sat here, trembling, my mind racing as I contemplated whether to tell the truth or not.

I already knew it was ice cream on my stomach—cold, sweet, and melting against my skin. But if I admitted it, this intense, electrifying moment would end, and I didn’t want it to stop.

Not when every nerve in my body was on fire, my core hot and wet, my senses heightened to a level I’d never experienced before.

"I... I don’t know," I finally whispered, my voice shaky.

"That’s a good answer," he replied, his voice low and husky, sending a shiver down my spine.

My body felt like it was on fire, every inch of me hyper-aware of his presence. My arousal was unbearable—wetness pooling between my thighs, my breaths coming in shallow gasps. Is this how women experience it? This overwhelming, all-consuming need?

"I want to lick it off your stomach," he said, his tone commanding yet laced with desire. "Do I have your permission?"

I couldn’t form the words, couldn’t think clearly enough to speak. All I could do was nod, my body betraying my eagerness as I bit my lip to stifle the whimper threatening to escape.

And then I felt his tongue, hot and wet against my stomach, dragging slowly across my skin as he licked the ice cream away. The sensation was electric, sending jolts of pleasure through me that made my legs tremble. A soft whimper slipped past my lips, my hands gripping on the seat.

Blindfolded, the world was a dark, sensation-filled cocoon. "Open your mouth," he murmured, and I obeyed without thought. The cold, sweet taste of ice cream flooded my senses again, a stark contrast to the heat coiling low in my belly.

Being in this position, so vulnerable and yet so alive, wasn’t what I’d ever expected from my life. It was terrifying and thrilling all at once.

When his tongue, traced a path across my stomach to clean the last of the melting ice cream, a soft, involuntary sound escaped me.

I didn’t want him to stop. The moment he pulled away, a keen sense of loss washed over me.

Still in the dark, I heard him shift. "What’s wrong?" I asked, my voice breathy with a panic I couldn’t hide. "Did I do something wrong?"

His voice was rough, strained. "No. You’re perfect. It’s just... I don’t want to go too far. I don’t want to do anything you don’t truly want." He let out a shaky breath. "You have no idea how much your presence is affecting me."

Was that a bad thing? The thought flitted through my hazy mind. All I knew was that I didn’t want this to end.

"You don’t have to feel bad," I said, the words tumbling out with a newfound courage. "I agreed to this too you know. I... I feel it too. Your presence makes me feel things I’ve never felt before. I’m still trying to understand most of it." I took a deep breath. "But I won’t hold myself back from what I want anymore."

"Then tell me," his voice was a low, tempting rumble. "What do you want?"

"Anything," I breathed out, the word a surrender and a plea all at once. Even blindfolded, I felt the sharp intake of his breath.

"Are you sure?" The question was a final checkpoint, a chance to turn back.

"Yes." There was no hesitation left in me.

"There might be things you’re not comfortable with," he warned, his voice laced with a dark promise.

"When you do them, I’ll tell you," I promised, my own voice gaining a strength I didn’t know I possessed. "But for now... do what you’re supposed to do."

"And what am I supposed to do?"

"Entertain me."

A low, appreciative chuckle. "Your wish is my command."

I heard the soft, metallic clink of something being retrieved. Before I could process it, he guided my arms behind my back. The cold, unyielding sensation of metal encircled my wrists. Handcuffs.

His voice was close, practical yet dripping with sin. "What’s the safe word? The word you say if you need me to stop."

I thought for a second, the absurdity of it making the moment feel even more surreal. "Banana."

"Banana," he repeated, his tone making it sound like the most sensual word in the world. "No problem."

Then he began to move.

It was a lap dance, but it was so much more. On the soft, semicircular seat, his body moved against mine with a rhythm that was pure seduction. The heat of him was everywhere, a delicious friction that had me arching against my restraints. His hands roamed my body, a bold, claiming touch that left fire in its wake.

"Is this alright?" he murmured, his lips brushing my neck.

"Yes," I gasped, the word coming out as a moan.

If I was already this overwhelmed, this utterly consumed by just one of them, what would it be like with all three? The thought should have terrified me, but instead, a sharp, thrilling excitement shot through me. I felt possessed, and I never wanted it to end.

The handcuffs made it worse in the best way. I wanted to hold him, to dig my fingers into his back and pull him closer, but I couldn’t. The restriction only amplified the need, the desperate craving for his touch.

He held the back of my neck, his grip firm and possessive, and whispered directly into my ear, his voice a dark, sensual promise.

"I’m going to make you so needy," he purred, his breath hot against my skin. "I’m going to make you crave my touch, my warmth, my tongue, until it’s all you can think about. Because I’m already addicted to you, to your scent, to your skin, to the very essence of you. Can you feel how hard I am for you? Can you feel what you do to me?"

I felt something hard and insistent pressing against me through the fabric of my skirt, which had ridden up. The fabric was getting in the was of it grounding against my core, and i knew exactly what it was.

This incredibly sexy man was getting this hard, this aroused, just from being with me?

I couldn’t believe it. I have always been told i was sexually unappealing. dickson never forget to mention that to me almost everyday. Now, i realized that its has all been a lie.

I arced my body, raising myself towards him, seeking more of that delicious pressure.

But he gently pulled me back down with my hair, his voice a low, calming murmur. "We are going to take it slow. I’m not going anywhere."

Then his mouth was on my neck, sucking hard and an intense, shocking cold followed the heat of his mouth. An ice cube. The sensation was excruciating. The ict trail against my feverish skin, the contrast making every nerve ending scream. It was torture.

A beautiful, agonizing torture.

And it wasn’t fair. He was giving me pleasure, but on his terms, at his pace. i wanted control.

"If you want to make a demand," he breathed, as if reading my mind, "you can. Anytime."

Really?

"I want to be on top of you."

The words were out before i could second-guess them. Was it me saying it? or was it beatrice?

oh, don’t you dare blame me for this. Beatrice purred in my head. You’re the one who’s horny out of her mind. How is this my fault?

In one swift, effortless motion, he lifted me and settled me on top of him, my legs straddling his hips. I was practically half naked, feeling that my skirt has ridden up completely, but i felt no shame. Only a raw, primal need.

His sturdy hands gripped my waist, and now, with nothing between us, i could feel the full, impressive size of his length against his shorts.

My body knew what it wanted. A deep, instinctual need to grind against him took over, and i moved, a slow roll of my hips.

A low, guttural moan escaped him, a sound of pure pleasure. Satisfaction, fierce and feminine, bloomed in my chest. I wanted more of that. I wanted to pull that sound from him again and again.

I moved faster, biting my lip to try and contain my own moans, but the escaped anyway, soft and needy, mingling with the sound of his ragged breathing.

The world narrowed to the rhythm he set, a frantic, desperate pace that had me grinding against the hard ridge of him. he pulled me close, crushing me against his chest. The thrumming bass of the music seemed to pulse in time with my heartbeat, amplifying every sensation.

I felt his face against my chest, nuzzling, rubbing against the fabric covering my breasts. My nipples were hard, aching peaks, and the friction was both torture and bliss.

"Use me," he pleaded, his voice raw and stripped bare. "However you want. I just need more. Please give me more."

His desperate request shattered the last of my control. I was on the edge, teetering, my entire body coiled tight with need. I felt his hand slide under the hem of my top, the palm scorching against my bare skin.

The other hand kept guiding my hip, urging me to move faster, harder against him. I wanted his eyes everywhere.

My bra felt like a prison. Take is off, my mins screamed.

His tongue traced a hot wet path on my stomach that made me cry out. "You’re so good at this," I gasped, the words torn from me. "I want more."

And then, everything stopped.

His hands stilled. His body went rigid beneath me. The frantic energy vanished, replaced by a chilling stillness.

Still blindfolded, disoriented and aching, i whispered, "What’s wrong?"

His voice was strained, distant, as if he were forcing the words out. "I would love to continue...but its getting late. I’ll get you a cab to take you home."

Wait, what?

The whiplash was so violent it felt physical. One second i was lost in a haze of pleasure, the next i was being cold, politely dismissed. What just happened? Why the sudden change?