[BL] Bound to My Enemy: The Billionaire Who Took My Girl-Chapter 169: Surrender r18

NOAH

The sob choked me, humiliation and need intertwining in a vise.

I needed release. Needed his permission. Needed him.

"Say it," he commanded, demanding the admission, forcing me to shatter my last shred of pride.

Need won, as it always did with him.

I choked out the words like they were being dragged from somewhere deep and ugly inside me. "I’m pathetic."

Louder this time. My voice cracked right down the middle on the last syllable.

Cassian didn’t react the way I expected, no smirk, no mocking little hum. He just watched me, eyes steady, like he was waiting for the rest of the confession to spill out on its own.

"I’m—" I tried again, but the sentence died in my throat. Too much spit, too much need, too much everything. "Please—Cassian—"

I couldn’t even finish. The plea just hung there, pathetic and wet and trembling.

And then he moved.

Not the hard, punishing snap of hips I was braced for. Just a slow, deliberate roll underneath me, grinding up in a lazy circle that stirred everything inside me without actually giving me what I was dying for.

His cock shifted, thick and heavy, dragging along every oversensitive inch like he was stirring soup with it. It was torture. Perfect, awful, intimate torture.

My head dropped forward on instinct. I couldn’t keep looking at him. Couldn’t handle the way his eyes were eating up every twitch of my face.

His hand shot into my hair, fingers curling tight at the roots, and he yanked my head back so sharply my scalp stung.

"Eyes. On. Me."

Each word landed like a slap, separate and final. No room for argument. No room to hide.

I forced my eyes open again. Tears were clinging to my lashes like they were trying to drown me. My mouth hung slack, lips wet, breathing ragged. I looked exactly like what I felt: completely fucking ruined. No pride left. Just this hollowed-out, aching need that had eaten everything else.

He smiled then. Small. Dangerous. Pleased in a way that made my stomach flip. The kind of smile that said he’d won something he’d been hunting for a long time.

"Start again," he said quietly. "Slower this time. Understand?"

I nodded so fast my vision blurred. Anything. I’d do anything.

"Words."

Of course he wanted the words. He always wanted the words.

"Yes, yes, I understand," I rasped, the sentence tumbling out quick and broken and embarrassingly sincere.

His hands finally eased off my hips. Not gone, just lifted. Permission, but the kind that came with invisible reins still wrapped around me.

I started moving again. Painfully slow, exactly like he’d ordered. Every lift felt like it took a full minute. Every drop felt like surrender.

My whole body was shaking, thighs burning, arms useless with the tie still binding my wrists in front of me, shoulders rounded forward, chest pushed out like some obscene offering. I could feel how obscene I looked. How open. How wrecked.

My face was a disaster. Cheeks flushed so deep they hurt, tear tracks drying in salty streaks, lips swollen and bitten raw. Humiliation and desperation were written across every inch of me and I couldn’t cover any of it.

Every few minutes my breathing hitched sharp and my rhythm started to falter again. I’d feel that coiling heat low in my belly, feel myself start to tighten around him, feel the edge creeping closer, and then nothing. No crash. No release. Just the slow, grinding torture of being held right there.

Cassian never stopped watching. Never moved to help. Never sped things up. He stayed perfectly still beneath me, the calm unmoving center while I fucked myself apart on top of him. I could see the quiet pleasure in his eyes, the way he drank in every tremor, every broken sound, every time my hips stuttered because I was trying so hard not to come without permission.

I was doing this to myself. Under his direction, sure, but it was my thighs shaking, my arms trembling, my hole clenching around him again and again. I was ruining myself for him and I couldn’t stop.

Another sharp whimper slipped out when I sank all the way down. Couldn’t hold it back. My cock jerked uselessly against my stomach, leaking a thin, steady trail that connected to the skin of his abs. I was right there again. Teetering. About to break.

He rolled his hips up once more, slow, deliberate, devastating. Tight maddening circles that pressed right against that spot inside me without ever giving me enough friction to tip over.

My whole body jolted like I’d been shocked. A raw, punched-out sound ripped out of my chest before I could swallow it.

"Keep riding," he said, voice low and even. "Don’t stop. But slower. Let me feel every little twitch."

I tried. God, I tried. I wanted to be good. I wanted to please him. But the grinding was killing me, every slow circle dragging across my prostate, stretching me open, filling me so completely I could barely think. My rhythm kept stuttering. My thighs were shaking so badly I nearly collapsed forward.

His hands caught my tied wrists before I could fall, yanking me upright again until my bound hands were pressed flat against his chest. Forcing me to stay open. Forcing me to keep going.

More tears spilled over. I couldn’t stop them. My voice cracked into something barely human. "Please, Cassian, please, I can’t, I need—"

He tilted his head slightly, voice deceptively gentle. "You need to cum?" He let the question hang for half a second. "Is that it?"

I nodded frantically, face crumpling, tears falling faster. I was right on the verge of shattering completely.

"Yes—yes please—I’ll do anything—"

His hand slid up to my throat, warm palm against my pulse, fingers curled loosely but unmistakably possessive. Like he was reminding me who I belonged to.

"Beg properly."

No more half-sentences. No more vague whining. He wanted everything.

So I gave it to him.

"Please let me come," I sobbed, the words choking out between gasps. "Please, Cassian—I’m sorry, whatever I did I’m sorry—I’ll be good—I’ll do anything you want, just please, please let me cum on your cock—I need it—I need you—please—"

They spilled out messy and humiliating and completely honest. I didn’t care anymore. I just needed.

His eyes darkened. Something hungry and satisfied flickered through them at the same time.

His grip tightened on my hips, hard enough to bruise, and that was the only warning I got.

The first thrust was brutal. Upward. Punching every molecule of air out of my lungs.

Then another. And another. Relentless. Deep. Punishing.

I cried out, loud, broken, shameless, head falling back because I couldn’t hold it up anymore. My whole body bounced helplessly in his lap, no control, just taking it, just being taken.

The orgasm hit like a freight train.

Violent. White-hot. All-consuming. I came untouched, cock pulsing weakly against my stomach as I spilled across his abs in messy, shuddering spurts. My hole clenched around him like it was trying to pull him deeper, milking him while wave after wave ripped through me.

He didn’t stop.

He fucked me through it, slowed the pace but never let up. Deep, rolling thrusts that dragged the orgasm out longer than it had any right to last. Every grind hurt. Every grind felt good. I couldn’t tell the difference anymore. I was shaking, whimpering, oversensitive and still coming in weak, trembling aftershocks.

Only when I went completely limp, when my arms gave out, when my head lolled against his shoulder, when I couldn’t even sob properly anymore, did he finally ease up.

He pulled me down against his chest, still buried inside me, still thick and hard and unrelenting.

Both arms wrapped around me in a crushing, possessive hold. One hand slid into my sweat-soaked hair, stroking through it slowly, gentle in a way that felt almost wrong after everything else.

The other pressed low on my back, keeping my hips locked against his, keeping me full, keeping me his.

My face ended up buried in the side of his neck. I could smell his skin, his cologne, the faint trace of cigar smoke that always clung to him. My breathing came in shaky little hitches, chest hitching against his.

I was done. Completely done.

He’s definitely a psychopath, I thought dimly. No normal person does this to someone.

But the terrifying part, the part I was too wrecked to fight, was that I liked it.

I liked the way he broke me open. I liked the way he watched me fall apart. I liked the way he held me now, like I was something precious he’d just finished claiming.

What the hell does that say about me?

I was too tired to answer.

I just let my eyes close, let my body go slack against his, and let the world fade out around us.

For once, I didn’t have to think.

I just had to breathe.