Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
"Yes." The word comes out as a gasp. "Please. Show me—"
His mouth finds me before I can finish the sentence.
And sweet fucking Christ, the man knows what he's doing.
His tongue moves with precision. Deliberate. Calculated. Like he's solving a puzzle and I'm the final piece.
Circling my clit. Dipping inside. Retreating. Advancing.
Building sensation the way an architect builds a cathedral—one perfect stone at a time.
I writhe against the mattress. Hands gripping for purchase, finding nothing but hard vinyl.
"Stay still." The command vibrates against my core.
I freeze.
"Good girl."
Those two words. God. They do something to my brain chemistry that probably requires FDA approval.
His tongue continues its work. Patient. Thorough. Absolutely devastating in its competence. He spreads my legs open wider, lifting my hips up to give him better access. I'm going to come. Again. Already.
My body is a hair-trigger, primed by days of denial and discipline and the twisted psychology of wanting two men who want to destroy me in completely different ways.
"Jino—"
"Not yet."
His fingers join his tongue. Sliding inside me. Curling. Finding that spot that makes my vision white out.
"Please—"
"I said not yet."
This is the temptation. The failure. The deliberate engineering of my own downfall.
He's going to make me come without permission. Another demerit. Another reason for Giovanni to hurt me.
Another way for Jino to put me back together.
The perfect circle.
His tongue flicks faster. Fingers pump deeper.
I'm holding on by my fingernails. By sheer force of will.
"Master—" The word breaks. "I can't—"
"You can." His voice is muffled against my flesh. "You will. Hold it."
But I can't.
I can't I can't I can't—
The orgasm detonates.
Bigger than before. Violent. A full-body seizure that leaves me gasping, sobbing, completely wrecked.
Jino doesn't stop.
Even as I shatter, he keeps going. Tongue and fingers working in tandem, dragging out every aftershock until I'm a trembling, incoherent mess.
Finally—finally—he withdraws.
I collapse completely. Boneless. Destroyed.
His weight shifts. Moving up my body until his mouth is near my ear.
"That's one more demerit," he whispers.
I laugh. It sounds deranged.
"Worth it."
His arms wrap around me. Pull me against his chest.
This should feel right. Safe. The way aftercare is supposed to feel—like being assembled after demolition.
But it doesn't.
Because he's holding me like I'm fragile. Like I'm someone he needs to protect from the big bad wolf upstairs.
That's not what I want.
I want Master.
I want the man who made me hold positions until my whole body was shaking. Who circled me with a crop and corrected every microscopic flaw in my posture. Who looked at me like I was a problem to solve, a system to perfect.
I want Giovanni's chaos met with Jino's structure.
Monster and Master.
Pain and precision.
The perfect fucking circle where I exist in the overlap, claimed utterly and completely by two men in two devastatingly different ways.
For one perfect day, I had that.
Now Jino's treating me like his trauma case again.
"What are you thinking about?" His voice rumbles against my back.
I stare at the concrete wall. At the shadows the single bulb casts across the stone.
"I'm thinking about yesterday." My voice sounds small. Defeated. I hate it. "I want that back."
"Yesterday I made you cry."
"Yesterday you made me into something." I turn in his arms. Force myself to meet those ice-blue eyes. "I want to be your sub in training, Jino. I want you to guide me into the life of Giovanni's slave. My King's subject."
The words hang between us.
His expression doesn't change. Doesn't soften with pity or harden with approval.
Just... studies me.
"That's all very fucked up, Emmaleen."
The use of my name—not 'little one,' not 'good girl,' not even a cold, clinical 'subject'—lands like a slap.
"Why is it different now?" My voice rises. "You were fine with it yesterday. You had a whole curriculum. A system. You were going to break me down and rebuild me and—"
"That was before I understood what Giovanni's actually doing to you."
"He's protecting me."
"He's fracturing." Jino's jaw tightens. "There's something broken in my cousin that I didn't see before. Something that happened to him that he's never—" He stops. Shakes his head.
Terror crawls up my spine.
Not the fun kind. Not the anticipatory dread of waiting for Master's crop.
Real fear.
"What are you talking about?"
"I don't know if I can do this." His gaze locks on mine. "I don't know if breaking you down is the right move when Giovanni's already—"
He stops again.
And this time, the silence stretches.
Panic floods my system. The kind that makes my vision tunnel and my breath catch.
Because Jino isn't a man who can be manipulated. He's questioning his morals right now. Reassessing the entire operation.
And Giovanni isn't a man who can be manipulated either. He's got a monster inside him—one that killed Rico without hesitation.
What if they both deny me?
What if I'm too broken for Jino's structure and too dangerous for Giovanni's chaos?
What if I end up exactly where I started—alone in a basement, but this time with nowhere left to run?