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 Ican'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.