[BL] Bound to My Enemy: The Billionaire Who Took My Girl-Chapter 21: denial r18

NOAH

Pinned beneath Cassian on the couch, my body betrayed me at every turn, his weight a heavy reminder of the power he held over me.

His cock, still rigid and slick from my mouth, ground against my thigh through the thin barrier of his open pants, sending jolts of unwanted heat straight to my core.

I was achingly hard, the denim of my jeans straining painfully around my erection, every subtle shift of his hips teasing the sensitive length trapped inside.

Shame burned in my chest, mixing with the raw arousal that had been building since he first yanked my hair and made me kneel.

I hated how much I wanted this, how my body responded to his cruelty like it was starved for it.

His dark eyes bored into mine, hungry and unyielding, as if he could see every filthy thought racing through my head.

Then, without a word, his hand slid down my torso, fingers splaying possessively over my belt before dipping lower.

The first touch was casual... almost. Cassian’s palm settled over the ridge in my jeans like he was checking the time. No warning, no preamble.

The pressure was immediate, electric, his palm grinding against the head, rubbing in slow circles that sent friction sparking along my shaft.

I whimpered, the sound escaping before I could choke it back, my hips bucking involuntarily into his hand.

My brain short-circuited so hard I forgot how to breathe.

What the fuck was I doing?

Letting the same hands that probably touched Lila do unspeakable things to me?

Heat flooded my face, humiliation twisting in my gut as I tried to cover it, lifting my arms to hide behind my hands.

I couldn’t let him see this, the way my defiance was crumbling into desperate need.

But Cassian was faster, his free hand snatching my wrists and pinning them above my head again, his grip like iron.

"No," he growled, voice low and commanding, laced with that sadistic edge that made my stomach flip. "I want to see your face."

Trapped like that, exposed, I had no choice but to meet his gaze as he resumed his torment.

His palm pressed harder now, stroking the length of me through the denim, the seam of my jeans adding a rough drag that made me throb painfully.

Each movement of his hand built the pressure, coiling tight in my balls, the heat spreading like wildfire through my veins.

My breaths came in short gasps, chest heaving as the pleasure mounted, relentless and overwhelming.

He knew exactly what he was doing, rubbing the sensitive underside, teasing the tip where precum had soaked through, making the fabric cling wetly to my skin.

"Stay still," he murmured, like that was a real option. He traced the shape of me with the heel of his hand, learning lines he hadn’t bothered to memorize before.

Each stroke was lighter than the last until I was leaning into the touch without meaning to, chasing contact like an idiot.

I was close, so fucking close, the edge hovering just out of reach but rushing toward me with every stroke.

My thighs trembled, muscles tensing as the orgasm built, a white-hot promise throbbing in my core. ’Cassian—’ I gasped, voice breaking, but he didn’t stop, didn’t let up, his eyes locked on mine, drinking in every twitch and moan.

Then, abruptly, he stopped. His hand lifted away, leaving me hanging on the edge, my cock pulsing desperately against nothing.

The denial hit like a slap, frustration crashing over me in waves. "What— no—" I begged, the words tumbling out hoarse and broken, my hips jerking uselessly into the air.

Cassian smirked, that cruel curve of his lips sending a fresh spike of arousal mixed with rage through me.

"Not yet," he said simply, his tone mocking, as if my desperation was nothing more than entertainment. He even picked up his drink, took a sip, watching me squirm. "Just breathe."

Breathe? I couldn’t remember how lungs worked. My pulse hammered so loud it drowned out the city traffic below.

Every throb felt raw, angry, unfinished.

I clutched the couch fabric, grounding myself before I did something humiliating, like grab his wrist and shove it back where it had been.

Minutes stretched, or maybe seconds. He waited until my chest stopped heaving, until the flush cooled from lava to simple embarrassment. Then he set the glass down, leaned in again.

He started again... this time slower, more deliberate, his hand returning to palm me with agonizing precision.

The denim rasped against my skin, now hypersensitive from the denial, every subtle movement amplified into torturous bliss.

He traced the outline of my cock with his fingers, pressing into the vein that pulsed along the side, then cupping my balls through the fabric, rolling them gently until I arched off the couch.

The build was faster now, my body primed and traitorous, hurtling toward that edge with shameful speed.

"Please, I can’t—" I gasped, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes, the pleasure bordering on pain as it crested again, so intense I could feel it in my toes.

*You can," Cassian murmured, his voice a dark caress, "and you will." His hand worked relentlessly, stroking faster now, the heel of his palm grinding against the head until I was a gasping mess, teetering right on the brink.

And then he stopped again. The sudden absence yanked the rug out from under me, leaving me trembling, a low keen escaping my lips as the orgasm slipped away once more. My cock twitched violently, denied, the ache deepening into something feral.

I was shaking now, full-body tremors that made my vision blur, words failing me as desperation clawed at my throat. Cassian loomed over me, his expression one of pure satisfaction, eyes gleaming with the thrill of my unraveling.

"Look at you," he taunted, voice dripping with condescension. "So needy. Falling apart for me like the pathetic little slut you are."

His words stung, fueling the shame that twisted hot in my belly, but they only made me harder, my body arching toward him despite everything.

He didn’t give me time to recover this time, his hand dove back in, touching me with renewed vigor, fingers unzipping my jeans just enough to slip inside, brushing bare skin for the first time.

The direct contact was devastating; his calloused palm wrapped around my shaft, stroking from base to tip in long, languid pulls that had me sobbing for breath.

Precum slicked his fingers, easing the glide, and he twisted his wrist at the head, thumb swiping over the slit to spread the wetness.

It was too much, too soon... I was begging before I even realized it, the words spilling out in a frantic litany.

"Please, please, I’ll do anything—"

My voice cracked, hips thrusting into his fist, chasing the release that hovered so tantalizingly close.

"Anything?" Cassian echoed, slowing his strokes just enough to draw it out, his free hand trailing up to pinch my nipple through my shirt, adding another layer of sensation that made me cry out.

"Yes—" I whimpered, nodding frantically, willing to promise the world if it meant he’d let me come.

He chuckled, low and dark, but then he stopped again, pulling his hand free and leaving me cold, empty, throbbing. The third denial shattered something in me; tears welled up, spilling hot down my cheeks as I writhed beneath him, incoherent pleas bubbling from my lips.

Cassian paused, his head tilting as he assessed the wreck he’d made of me, face streaked with tears, body quaking, cock leaking steadily onto my stomach.

A flicker of consideration crossed his features, that sadistic glint sharpening. "One more time," he decided, voice laced with finality.

"I can’t— I can’t—" I sobbed, shaking my head, the oversensitivity making even the air feel like too much.

"You can," he insisted, his hand returning without mercy, wrapping around me once more.

This time, he was ruthless, stroking fast and firm, his thumb pressing into the frenulum with each upstroke, building the pressure until it bordered on agony.

My balls drew tight, the orgasm barreling down like a freight train, every nerve screaming for release. I was a mess, babbling nonsense, tears streaming as my body convulsed, right on the razor’s edge.

But he stopped. Completely, utterly, his hand vanishing as if it had never been there. I keened, a broken sound that echoed in the room, my hips snapping futilely into empty space.

Cassian pulled away then, standing with casual grace, tucking his still-hard cock back into his pants and zipping up as if nothing had happened.

He adjusted himself while I lay there panting, ruined, my own jeans splayed open, erection bobbing desperately in the cool air.

"Not tonight," he said coolly, turning back to his drink.

"What?" I croaked, confusion and frustration crashing over me like ice water. My body screamed for completion, every inch of me wired and unfulfilled.

He glanced back, that smirk returning, eyes raking over my disheveled form with possessive satisfaction.

"You don’t get to come yet. I want you to feel this all day tomorrow... every meeting, every glance my way, knowing I own you." He gestured vaguely at my crotch, where my cock still wept for attention.

My mouth opened, closed. No words came.

"Get some sleep, Noah. You look... tense."