The Architect (Nashville Neighborhood Book 3) by Nikki Sloane (top e book reader .TXT) 📗

the edge. And when the pleasure was gone, so was the war for focus. It was all pain now.

“Clay,” I hissed.

He wasn’t deterred. “I want to see if you can come through the pain.”

“What?”

E’s gaze drifted down my body as if he felt guilt. Was it because he’d gotten me close too quickly for Clay’s liking? Or for what he was about to do?

One of the clamps was pulled from the black velvet bag, and my mouth went bone dry. I had an inkling of where he intended to use it, and just the thought of it made it so I couldn’t catch my breath. The word no echoed loudly in my head, but I kept my tongue leashed. Maybe he planned to use it somewhere else or—

Oh, no. I whimpered in trepidation as E drew in a deep, preparing breath, then pinched my clit between his forefinger and thumb. His gaze flicked to mine, either checking in or perhaps waiting to hear the word stop tumble from my lips. But every muscle in my body was tense and strained, and I was frozen with my intense curiosity.

What would it feel like?

Would it hurt worse than the magnets? Or would it be an even better ‘good pain?’

The long seconds suspended between us, and when it was clear I wasn’t going to stop him, E pushed forward. The rubber tips of the clamp closed around my clit, and he eased off his grip, increasing the bite on my sensitive, swollen nub of skin. It went on, and on, and I clenched my fists so hard, I was sure there were half-moon indentations in my palms from my fingernails.

“Fuck,” I groaned. My head lolled to one side, and panic bubbled in my stomach. The amount of pain was . . . staggering. Tears burned the edges of my eyes. I had to focus on drawing air in and out of my lungs, because if I thought about anything else, I’d fly apart.

It was surreal to see myself on the laptop screen. It exaggerated the feeling like I was outside my body, witnessing this the same way Clay was, rather than experiencing it in the moment. E shifted to one side between my legs so his torso no longer blocked Clay’s view, and the man on screen let out an appreciative sigh.

“Look at yourself,” Clay said with rich satisfaction, “squirming and whining as you try to hold it together. You’re so . . . achingly beautiful.”

Aching was right because everything throbbed and clamored for mercy. I shifted my hips as much as the belt around my waist allowed, futilely trying to get free. “Please . . .” I pleaded. Sweat dampened my temples and tremors rattled my body. “I can’t . . .”

E plucked the clamp off me, and the sharp pain was like a knife slicing down my clit. I hissed through clenched teeth and my vision blurred. It drove the two men into one shapeless figure, both my tormentor and my savior. He leaned in, licking the spot that was white-hot.

“Fucking fuck,” I gasped. “No.”

But I didn’t mean it, because as his tongue continued to caress and massage, the prickly sparks of his indecent kiss morphed into something else. My pain turned upside-down, tumbling into pleasure, and my no flipped along with it.

“Yes,” I cried.

I blurted it again as the man slipped his fingers back inside me. The hot ache in my nipples flooded across my skin and seeped in, making my muscles liquify and my bones melt.

“Look at me,” he demanded.

For a moment, I wasn’t sure how the man meant. There was only one of them, after all. But I blinked through the fog of everything and refocused on the screen. His hand jerked up and down in rapid strokes, and while his eyes were lidded with pleasure, the rest of him was filled with authority.

“It sounds like you’re close and need the clamp again.”

The lie came from me in a rush. “No. I’m not close.”

His smile was knowing. “I think you are.”

There was a flash of silver in his fingertips, and while the word no was a loud, angry chant in my head, the word stop was nowhere to be found.

“You made it once before,” he said, “you can do it again.”

“No,” I whispered, but it was too late. The intense pinch was back, swelling until it blocked out everything else. All the blood had run out of my arms and they’d gone to sleep, but it was ignored. The pull of the magnets no longer bothered me either. Because the clamp on my clit enveloped my body like a vice, squeezing until I thought I might die.

In this agony, I began to dislike the man. It was cruel how he stroked himself like he was taunting me.

Look how much pleasure your suffering gives me.

I hated him as his tongue whipped at me. He fucked me with his mouth and his fingers as the clamp bit at me with teeth of fire. He gave contented sighs of satisfaction like he was feeding off my pain. He threw his forearm over my stomach so his free hand could spread my pussy wider to his brutal tongue.

Only . . .

The pressure of the clamp began to ease.

“Yes,” he encouraged. “That’s a good girl. You can come even when it hurts, can’t you?”

The men had twisted into one, but as the pain in my clit started to subside, they separated. Clay was onscreen and far away. He wasn’t able to see how the clamp was being removed because E’s head blocked his view.

The gradual release of the clamp’s grip meant it didn’t hurt nearly as badly as coming off in an instant, and when he finished, E tightened his fist around it, then focused on his task.

My head swam with thoughts. Did Clay know what he’d done? E had been told he could use his own judgement, but this felt . . . like a secret. I didn’t feel guilty about that either. Clay kept nearly everything about E a secret from me. Wasn’t it fair I kept one from