s**t, do I have a caveman kink?
“So naughty,” he growls into my ear. His free hand cups my breast, squeezing it hard. “You think you can just tug on the leashall you want, hm? That it won’t f*****g snap?”
“N-no,” I gasp. There’s something absurdly hot about this—me begging him to stop, even as my hips roll into his touch withevery stroke. Because the truth is, I don’t want him to stop. “Please, I—”
“Tell me to let you go,” he snarls. “Tell me you don’t want this.”
I can’t. He just started touching me, but I’m already so close, it’s unreal.
“Say the word, kotyonok,” he demands. “Or else I’ll keep going until you scream.”
I open my mouth. Whether to moan or to stop him, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter how badly I want it: if I let it happen, it’ll endin disaster.
But then, just as I’
