He walks back into the room, and finds her exactly as he left her. Tied up, blindfolded, a wet spot on the sheets between her legs. Helpless.
He brushes a hand over her arm and she stirs at his touch. He trails it up her arm, then down her body, between the valley of her breasts. She arches into him.
He pulls away.
She whimpers in protest, but stops when Sir squeezes her thigh.
“Little slut,” he says, his breath tickling her neck. “You just couldn’t help yourself could you? Making a mess of the sheets while you wait for me.”
He simultaneously pinches a nipple, hard, and slides his hand between her legs.
She grinds desperately against him, trying to get any friction, needing it.
But he holds himself just far enough away that all she can do is work herself up even more.
“Look at you.” He croons. “So fucking desperate that you’ll do anything for me, and I was only gone for a few minutes. Imagine how you’d react of I left you along for longer…”
She whimpers again.