Chapter 22: Bonus

This chapter like the last is full of smut just pure smut so enjoy

Harvey's POV

The second the tie slid over my eyes, I felt everything else sharpen.

Sight gone, breath shallow, senses exposed. Her scent. The brush of her fingertips. The whisper of her breath against my skin. Every inch of me was tuned to her.

God, I'd been tied up before—cases like this weren't exactly rare in the world I lived in. But this? Letting her do it?

This was different.

Because it wasn't about the act.

It was about the trust.

The silk of my own tie wrapped around my eyes, blotting out the room, grounding me in the sound of her soft movements. Then the click of the cuffs—metal and cold, the quick finality of them locking around my wrists and snapping me open in ways I hadn't prepared for.

I was breathing faster now. Not from panic. From anticipation.

From surrender.

She moved slowly—purposefully—like she knew exactly what it was doing to me. I felt the mattress shift as she climbed over me, heard the soft clink of water in a glass, then the warm press of her mouth against my chest.

And then—

Cold.

A splash across my skin, sharp as lightning. I flinched hard, a curse slipping out before I could stop it. "Shit—Jules."

Her mouth was on me instantly—tongue hot and slow, licking the trail of water from my chest like she owned me. I couldn't see her, but I could feel her smirking. That wicked satisfaction in every flick of her tongue, every icy breath.

She dragged the glass down over my abs and lower... so close I had to bite my tongue to keep from begging.

And then I did beg.

"Still sure?" she asked, hovering right at the edge of my sanity.

"Please," I rasped. The word barely made it out of my mouth.

I heard the smile in her breath.

She pulled my boxers down slowly, and I throbbed against the air, fully hard, already aching. I couldn't move. Couldn't touch her. Couldn't see her.

It was torture.

And it was perfect.

"Stay still," she murmured, like she didn't already have all the power in the world.

Then her mouth was on me.

Cold.

I jerked so hard my cuffs clinked against the headboard, every muscle straining as I groaned—raw, uncontrolled. The cold of her mouth and the warmth of her tongue contrasted so sharply I could barely hold still. My cock twitched inside her lips as she sucked me in, and I couldn't breathe.

"Fuck— that's cold—"

She just hummed around me, slow and steady, dragging her tongue over the head in tight circles while her hands pressed into my thighs, keeping me grounded.

I was already shaking.

And I loved it.

"You're so fucking good like this," she whispered, voice velvet and steel. "Tied down. Begging."

A sound—helpless, obscene—tore out of my throat. I didn't even recognize my own voice anymore.

She was everywhere. Mouth, hands, ice and fire, all of it designed to break me in the most exquisite way. My thighs twitched uncontrollably beneath her, my arms straining against the cuffs, the blindfold making every sensation bigger. Every sound louder. Every second longer.

"You're going to break me," I managed, barely.

She didn't slow down. She licked a stripe up my shaft and then exhaled a warm breath that contrasted so sharply with the cold I moaned again, this time with no shame at all.

"You love it," she said.

"I love you," I answered, without hesitation.

It wasn't even a thought. It just was. The only thing I knew for certain in a world where everything else had disappeared.

And I meant it.

God, I meant every word.

She sucked me in again, deeper this time, and I thought I might lose it—right there, just from her mouth and the way she owned every inch of me without even needing to move fast. Every pull of her lips was matched by the devastating stillness of my restraints. My hands were useless. My body hers. My pleasure completely in her control.

I whimpered.

Fucking whimpered.

She didn't laugh. Didn't mock me. Just rewarded me—with another slow pull, another cold breath, another flick of her tongue that made me cry out again.

"Please," I gasped. "I need—"

But I didn't even know what I needed.

To come?

To touch her?

To be inside her?

Yes. All of it.

I was wrecked. Unmade. Floating.

And when she finally climbed up my body—slick and strong and warm—I was trembling.

Still cuffed.

Still blindfolded.

Still hers.

She climbed over me like a slow-burning storm—heat and intent in every movement. I could feel her thighs brushing mine, feel the weight of her settling on top of me, her breath ghosting across my neck. My hands twitched against the cuffs, useless and burning for her skin.

Then I felt her reach between us.

My breath caught.

She guided me to her—slick, soaked, ready—and the head of my cock slid against her folds, teasing, waiting, home.

And then she lowered herself.

Inch.

By.

Inch.

My jaw locked. A curse spilled from my lips. My back arched, restrained by the cuffs as my cock sank into her—tight, hot, wet. I felt every inch of her stretch around me like a velvet vice, welcoming me inside her body with devastating ease.

She didn't move.

Didn't grind.

Didn't bounce.

She just sat there, deep and full and still, warming me from the inside out.

And I almost lost it.

"Fuck," I choked out, head pressing back against the pillow. "Jules—please—"

"Shh," she whispered, her voice honey-slick and iron-strong.

She tightened around me—just once, deliberately—and my hips jerked involuntarily. The cuffs clanked against the headboard again as I tried not to move, not to beg.

"You like that?" she purred, her breath warm against my lips. "Daddy's so desperate."

God, yes.

But the word wouldn't come. All I could do was groan, lost in the unbearable bliss of being filled and denied at the same time.

"I need—" I rasped, and I hated how wrecked I sounded. How fucking needy.

"Let me touch you, baby, please—" The words slipped out before I could stop them, a raw plea tangled in breathless worship.

She leaned down.

Bit my lip.

Whispered, "Not yet."

And I broke.

Or maybe I melted.

It was all the same with her.

I could feel her body fluttering around me, feel her fingertips teasing my chest again—still cold from the water, still electric against my too-sensitive skin. Her tongue flicked at my nipple, then trailed up to my throat, and all the while she kept me inside her, throbbing and restrained and helpless.

"I'm not going anywhere," she murmured, hands sliding up my sides, her voice like silk wrapped in steel. "And neither are you."

A groan ripped from my chest.

I wanted to touch her so badly my fingers ached. Wanted to hold her hips, tilt her mouth to mine, feel the curve of her ass under my palms—but I had nothing. No leverage. No control.

Just her.

Then, finally, mercifully, she moved.

A slow grind. A shallow lift. The kind of movement designed to make a man suffer. My entire body locked up, my cock twitching inside her as the drag of her heat sent a lightning bolt up my spine.

She rode me with intention. With power. Not to chase her own high—but to watch me fall apart.

"You're so good, Daddy," she moaned softly, hips rolling in slow, devastating circles. "So fucking good when you give up control."

The praise hit harder than any orgasm ever could.

I moaned—loud and broken—as her rhythm deepened. My arms strained again, my legs shaking beneath her. She clenched around me and I saw stars behind the blindfold, felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes from the sheer intensity of feeling her.

"Jules—baby—I can't—" I could barely breathe.

"You can," she whispered, leaning down to kiss my temple. "You will."

And I did.

I held still.

I let her fuck me—take me—own me.

Because there was no one else I would ever let do this.

Only her.

Only Jules.

I don't know how long she kept me there—inside her, helpless, trembling beneath her rhythm.

Time had stopped.

There was no room for thought. Only sensation. Only her.

She fucked me like she knew every secret I'd never spoken aloud—like she understood that the man who controlled boardrooms and broke billionaires needed this. Needed to be undone. Needed to be reminded that even the strongest man can fall willingly at the feet of someone who sees everything and stays.

Her pace was perfect. Torturous. Deep and slow, then sudden and sharp. A pattern designed to keep me just on the edge. Her hips rocked in a grind that lit up every nerve in my spine, squeezing me in rhythmic pulses I couldn't resist.

My muscles were shaking.

My breath came in shallow, hitched bursts. Every drag of her warmth around me made my body cry for release, and yet—I waited.

For her.

Because I'd given her everything.

And she knew it.

"You're doing so good for me," she whispered, her voice rough now, breathless, broken in the best way. "My good boy."

That wrecked me.

I whimpered—actually whimpered—as my body jerked under hers. My head rolled back, arms useless above me, cuffs clinking as my fingers tried to hold on to air.

I was begging. Desperate. Unravelled.

"Please—Jules—I can't—I need—" My voice broke completely.

And she kissed me.

Hard.

Open.

Claiming.

Her hand slid between us, fingers finding where we were joined, her thumb circling my clit-slick cock where it disappeared into her. I thought I'd come from that alone—just the image of her owning every inch of me like this.

"Let go," she whispered into my mouth. "Come for me, baby. Let me have you."

And I did.

My hips bucked once, twice—then everything snapped.

My orgasm tore through me with a force I couldn't contain. My entire body locked up, my mouth dropping open in a strangled groan as I spilled deep inside her. Wave after wave pulsed through me, relentless, shattering, as my vision went white behind the blindfold.

I moaned her name like it was the only word left in the world.

"*Jules—*fuck—Jules."

My arms fell limp.

Chest heaving.

Heart pounding.

Completely ruined.

And she didn't let go.

She rode me through every last twitch of pleasure, slowing down only when I was wrecked beneath her—boneless, empty, and utterly hers.

The second the cuffs clicked open, my arms dropped uselessly to the bed.

Spent. Shaking. Shattered.

I didn't even try to move.

Not until her mouth pressed against the red lines on my wrists—soft, slow kisses where the metal had bitten. Not until I felt that whisper of tenderness after she'd spent the last hour breaking me.

And just like that—something snapped.

It wasn't calculated.

It wasn't even conscious.

It was need.

I moved before she could finish untying the blindfold. In one breathless second, I sat up, caught her waist, and flipped us.

Hard.

Fast.

She gasped as her back hit the mattress, but her hands flew to my shoulders, legs wrapping around my hips like her body had been waiting for this.

I tore the blindfold off, vision swimming—but even through the blur, all I saw was her.

Flushed. Smiling. Mine.

"You think I was going to let you finish this without me?" I growled, voice low, rough, barely recognizable.

She didn't answer.

She didn't have to.

Her eyes widened as I lined up, still hard—somehow still hard—and thrust back inside her in one long, brutal stroke.

We moaned in unison—hers high and breathy, mine low and guttural as I buried myself to the hilt. Her walls clutched at me, soaked and swollen and perfect, as if her body had been waiting to be taken all over again.

And I fucking took her.

No finesse.

No hesitation.

Just raw, punishing thrusts—deep and fast and hungry. My hips slammed against hers as I leaned over her, bracing myself with one arm beside her head, the other gripping her jaw as I kissed her like I'd die if I didn't taste her again.

She clung to me—fingernails raking down my back, legs tightening around my waist, voice caught in her throat as I drove into her again and again.

"You drive me fucking insane," I snarled, biting down on the side of her neck. "You tie me up, make me beg, then look at me like that—"

Her moan cracked open into a scream when I changed the angle, slamming into that perfect spot that made her shake.

"Do it again," she gasped. "Please—"

I grabbed her hips and lifted them slightly, fucking into her harder now, chasing her cries, worshiping the way she fell apart under me—because this time, I was in control.

"Mine," I growled. "My girl. My goddamn everything."

Her walls pulsed around me—tight, hot, relentless.

She was close.

So was I.

I bent down, mouth at her ear. "Come for me," I demanded, thrusting deeper, faster. "Let me feel you lose it."

She shattered around me, legs trembling, breath breaking as her orgasm slammed through her. Her cry tore through the room, ragged and beautiful, and it wrecked me.

I followed with a roar—my body locking tight as I spilled inside her again, this time deeper, harder, claiming her with everything I had left.

We collapsed into each other—sweat-slick, breathless, hearts thundering.

And even as I buried my face in her neck, still pulsing inside her, I whispered it again like a promise.

"I've got you."

Because now?

I did.

All of her.

And she had me right back.

The world was still spinning.

I didn't know where I ended and she began. Just sweat and skin and the echo of her cries still ringing in my ears. My body was wrecked—spent, trembling, grounded only by the warmth of her beneath me and the way her fingers threaded through my hair like they were anchoring me to the moment.

We stayed like that for a while.

Our chests rose and fell together, hearts hammering in sync, our bodies still joined—soft now, but intimate in a way that felt even deeper than the sex.

I kissed her neck, then her jaw, then her lips—soft this time. No urgency. Just reverence.

"You okay?" I whispered, brushing the hair back from her flushed face.

She nodded against me, arms still wrapped around my back, not letting go.

But she didn't need to say anything. I felt it.

So I pulled back just enough to slip out of her, ignoring the way my muscles protested. She whimpered quietly at the loss, and something primal in me wanted to bury myself inside her all over again—but I wouldn't. Not now. This wasn't about claiming her anymore.

This was about holding her.

"Come here," I said gently, slipping one arm under her knees and the other behind her shoulders.

She blinked up at me, dazed and pliant. I smiled down at her. "I told you I've got you."

I carried her to the shower like she weighed nothing—even though every muscle in my body was on fire. It didn't matter. She'd just held every part of me with care, and now it was my turn.

The bathroom filled with steam as I turned on the water. I stepped in first, then guided her in with me, one hand on her back to keep her close.

The water was warm. Comforting. She leaned into my chest, and I cradled her there for a long moment, just letting the heat soak into us.

Then I got to work.

I reached for the shampoo and lathered it into her hair, massaging slow circles into her scalp while she melted under my hands. Her eyes closed, lips parted, breath soft and content. I'd never seen her like this before—unguarded, undone, completely at peace.

And it wrecked me in the best way.

I rinsed her hair, then ran soap over every inch of her body, my touch gentle and patient. There were red lines on her wrists from where she'd gripped the headboard when I flipped us. I kissed each one. Whispered nothing into her skin. Just held her as the water washed everything else away.

She let me do it.

Didn't flinch.

Didn't pull away.

She let me care for her—and that alone almost broke me.

Afterwards, I wrapped her in one of my towels and helped her into one of my hoodies. It was too big on her—swallowed her whole—and I couldn't stop staring. My name on her wrist. My clothes on her skin. My world, right there in front of me.

We made it to the kitchen, and I sat her down at the island while I cooked—still shirtless, still buzzing from the high. She watched me like I was doing something sacred.

And maybe I was.

I made eggs. Toast with honey. Strong coffee. Nothing fancy. Just home.

When I set the plate in front of her, she looked up with that post-orgasm daze still in her eyes.

"You're glowing," I said, sliding her mug across the counter.

She smirked. "I feel like fire."

God, she was.

She didn't know what she'd done to me.

And maybe I didn't either.