As my fingers brushed her swollen folds, she threw her head back. A violent shudder ripped through her body, her eyes glazing over as a ragged gasp tore from her throat.
"Young master..." Her voice was a fractured breath, leaking out of her like she was bleeding away her final shred of composure.
Only stubborn, ingrained obedience kept her upright.
I dragged my fingers slowly through the slick heat between her thighs. The heavy wetness clung to my skin, fighting to keep me there. Her body chased the faint drag of my touch, leaning into the pressure, silently begging for a salvation she did not dare ask for.
My mouth remained on her breast. My teeth grazed the sensitive peak before my lips clamped down, drawing it in while my thumb rolled over her clit in agonizing, deliberate circles.
Her hips jerked. A violent wave of sensation wrecked her posture.
She was on the absolute precipice.
I stopped.
I pulled my hand away, released her breast, and took a half-step back.
"This... young master..." Lydia whispered. Her chest heaved. Her expression was trapped between pure disbelief and utter desperation.
She hung suspended over a cliff of overwhelming release, suddenly abandoned to ache in the cold air. The instinct to chase the high warred with her submission. Her hands twitched at her sides, desperate to finish what I started. A few strokes would have shattered her.
I could not allow that yet.
"Undress me," I commanded. My tone was absolute steel.
The leftover pleasure still burned through her nerves. Her thighs trembled as the order registered. She swallowed hard, forcing her legs together, and stepped closer to reach for my robes.
Knowing she had no choice, Lydia focused on the fabric. Her fingers shook. The phantom sensation of my tongue on her neck and my cold fingers buried in her heat refused to let her mind focus. She wanted it back. The sheer deprivation forced a fresh, heavy slick of moisture down her inner thighs.
I watched her struggle in silence as she stripped away my robes.
She reached my undergarments. Kneeling with forced care, she pulled the fabric down, freeing my heavy, rigid erection.
She froze. Her breath hitched at the sheer visual weight of it, the heated skin pulsing just inches from her face. I looked down, watching the quiet terror and raw hunger collide in her eyes.
Satisfied, I waited. She immediately reached for the hem of her own skirt, her knuckles turning white as she tried to drag it down. She needed to be bare. She needed the barrier gone.
"Leave the skirt on," I said, catching her wrists. "It makes your desperation far more entertaining."
She blinked, thoroughly disoriented, but her hands fell limply to her sides.
She stood before me, clutching her discarded robes, her shoulders caving inward as anticipation suffocated her.
Silence swallowed the room.
With every passing second, her breathing grew more frantic. The heavy, pooling dampness soaking her underwear finally breached the fabric. A distinct, wet slap echoed against the polished floor.
Then another.
The sound of her own arousal dripping onto the stone burned her cheeks crimson. The composed, mature facade of a seasoned woman completely disintegrated. She wanted to hide, yet the heavy coil of heat in her abdomen forced her hips to shift, helplessly grinding her thighs together to chase the itch.
I closed the distance and crushed my lips against hers.
Lydia let out a muffled, startled cry before melting entirely. Her bones turned to ash. My hand slid beneath her skirt, ignoring the soaked fabric, and plunged directly into the slick, heavy ruin between her legs.
The raw heat of her gripped my skin. Her physical reaction was intoxicating. It was not just her body; it was the total collapse of her dignity, the way she failed to hold herself together under my control.
I slipped a single finger inside her. She was scalding. The tight, wet walls instantly suctioned around my intrusion.
"Mmmmm," Lydia moaned directly into my mouth.
I withdrew slowly, stretching the friction, then buried two fingers deep inside her with a steady, unyielding rhythm.
The thick, heavy sounds of slick flesh filled the quiet room, entirely drowning out her uneven breaths and the broken whimpers she tried to swallow. Her internal muscles spasmed and clamped around my fingers. She was drowning in it.
I did not relent. I quickened the pace, driving her upward, and let my thumb trap her clit against my palm.
She shattered instantly.
Her eyes rolled back. A blinding, full-body climax ripped through her nervous system. Her legs gave out entirely, collapsing like severed strings. I caught her waist before she hit the floor.
"Ah... ah... Fuck... ah..." she sobbed blindly, her head lolling back as a string of saliva broke from her lips. Her body convulsed in my arms, ruined and trembling.
I pulled my hand from the soaked darkness under her skirt. I raised my fingers, slick and heavy with her ruin, and dragged them slowly across my tongue.
Her eyes fluttered open just in time to watch me taste her.
A fresh wave of crimson flooded her neck. Another violent aftershock of pleasure racked her spine, pulling a high whimper from her throat.
Yet, even ruined, her eyes drifted downward. The hollow ache inside her remained empty.
"Please..." Her voice was entirely stripped of pride. "Your cock... young master... I need it. Please."
She had reached the absolute limit of what my hands could give her, but the sheer size and heat of my erection promised a depth she had never survived. Her swollen flesh throbbed, desperate to be stretched and filled until she forgot her own name.
I stepped into her space, letting the blunt tip of my cock brush against her stomach.
"Are you certain you can handle this?" I asked, my voice a low rumble.
Fear flashed behind her dilated pupils. It was the fear of being entirely consumed, of losing the last fragment of her mind.
She looked up at me, trembling, and nodded.
"Please break me."