Page 8 of Obsession
"Oh, fuck," he breathes, and his hips shift restlessly against the mattress.
"That's the lowest setting," I tell him. "There are six."
"You're an asshole."
"I've been told." I bump it up to two and his back arches, hands grabbing the sheets. His cock is fully hard now, straining against the ring, a bead of precome sliding down the shaft. I watch, fascinated, and it's not just alpha instinct. He's fighting the vibrator the same way he's fought everything tonight, with clenched teeth and white-knuckle control, refusing to let me see him fall apart. But his body is already betraying him, hips rocking against the sheets in small, involuntary movements, his hole clenching on the toy.
"Here's how this works," I say, and I put my hand flat on his stomach, feeling the muscles jump under my palm. "I'm going to ask you things. If you answer me honestly, I'll give you more. If you mouth off, I turn it down. And you don't come until I take the ring off."
"That's — that's not —" He's already struggling, the vibration and his rising heat working together against him. "This isn't a deposition."
"Isn't it?" I bump it to three and he moans, full and helpless, his hands fisting the sheets. "You came here tonight with a plan. I've been watching you all night and I know that much. You chose me before you walked onto the floor." I drag my thumb through the slick on his thigh and bring it to my mouth and taste him and his cock jerks at the sight of it. "What I don't know is why."
"I didn't — I don't know what you're talking about."
I turn it down to one.
He makes a desperate sound, hips chasing the intensity that just vanished. His head drops back against the pillow and the noise he makes is all frustration, want, and barely contained fury. His cock is dark and swollen against the ring, looking painful. I know exactly how it feels, and I don't care. I need to see what's underneath the mask—the real one, not the one on his face.
"Try again," I say. "You came here with a plan."
He's breathing hard, chest heaving, and I can see the war happening behind the mask — the instinct to keep performing versus the body that's screaming for relief. His heat is building now, the next wave rising, and every minute that passes makes the denial harder to tolerate.
"Yes," he says through his teeth. "I came here with a plan. Happy?"
I bump it to four and wrap my hand around his cock, over the ring, and stroke him slow. The sound he makes is filthy, this low wrecked groan that vibrates through his whole body, and his hips thrust up into my fist and I can feel how hard he is, how close he'd be if the ring wasn't holding him back, and the desperation in his scent is thick enough to choke on.
"Was the plan about me specifically?" I ask, stroking him slow while the vibrator works him from the inside.
"Yes," he gasps, and he sounds like he hates himself for saying it. "Yes, it was about you, are you happy, does that get you off, knowing I came here looking for you specifically—"
"It does, actually." I tighten my grip and he chokes mid-sentence. "And you're shaking again. You weren't shaking earlier when you were pretending to be in control. This is real."
"Fuck you."
I take my hand off his cock and turn the vibrator down to two and he nearly screams.
"Ask me nicely," I say. I've said it before, on the floor, and it broke him then. It'll break him now, harder, with the ring on his cock and the toy inside him, his heat cresting, no way to come, no way to fight his way out. All that composure he rebuilt is crumbling right in front of me.
"I'm not — you can't just—" He's squirming on the bed, his hips working against the vibrator, trying to get the angle right, trying to get enough stimulation to push past the ring, and it's not going to work and watching him try is one of the hottest things I've ever seen. His cock is leaking steadily, the shaft wet with precome, his balls drawn up tight, and every few seconds his whole body clenches and a broken sound falls out of him that he can't catch.
"You're so close," I say, and I run my fingers up the inside of his thigh, barely touching, and he flinches into the contact. "I can see it. I can smell it. Your whole body is begging me, andyour mouth is the only part of you that's still fighting. How long do you think that's going to last?"
"Longer than you think," he grits out, but his voice is shaking and his thighs are trembling and his eyes behind the mask are glassy and unfocused.
I bump the vibrator to five, lean down, and lick a stripe up his cock from base to tip. He screams. His hand grabs my hair, his hips surge up, his whole body draws tight. The orgasm tries to rip through him and can't because of the ring. The sound he makes—frustrated, desperate, wrecked, right at the edge and held there—is the best thing I've heard all night.
"Please," he says, and he doesn't even fight it this time. "Please, fuck, please take it off, I need to come, please—"
"Not yet." I press my thumb against the base of the vibrator and angle it harder against his prostate and he convulses. "Tell me something true first. One real thing."
He's gasping, shaking, tears leaking from under the mask. His hand is still fisted in my hair, his cock straining against the ring, right at the edge. I'm holding him there and I know it's mean, I know it's cruel, but I don't want to stop. Underneath all the performance, something real is trying to break through, and I can see it.
"I couldn't stop thinking about you," he says, and his voice cracks open. "I tried and I couldn't stop and I had to come here, I had to, I've been—" He chokes on it. "Three months. I've been thinking about you for three months and I hate it."
That's real. I can hear it in his voice and smell it in his scent. I know it's true and something in me shifts that I wasn't planning on shifting tonight.
I pull the ring off and wrap my hand around his cock. He comes so hard his whole body lifts off the mattress. I feel it everywhere—his cock pulsing in my fist, his hole clamping on the vibrator, his hand yanking my hair, his scent exploding intosomething raw and open. He's crying and coming and saying things that don't make sense, fragments of words. I stroke him through it until he's shaking too hard to take any more.
