Fated To Not Just One, But Three

Chapter 341: Play 2

Olivia’s POV

The heat of the wax stole my breath, a hiss escaping me as it trailed down my skin in molten ribbons. My body jerked against the cuffs, but there was no escape.

"Breathe through it," Louis’s voice came, low and husky, brushing the shell of my ear. "Let it burn. Let it claim you."

Another drop fell, lower this time, pooling at the dip of my spine before sliding along the arch of my back. I gasped, my thighs clenching together, every nerve alive, every instinct screaming both pleasure and surrender.

The flogger hit my skin immediately after, the sting crossing paths with the lingering heat of the wax. The contrast made me cry out, muffled and desperate, before I remembered his warning. I bit down hard on my lip, swallowing the sound until tears pricked behind the blindfold.

Louis’s hand cupped the side of my face, steadying me in the dark. "That’s it," he praised softly, though his tone carried possession like steel. "My obedient little wolf."

He trailed his fingers lightly over the fresh lines of wax, tracing the patterns he’d painted into my body, his touch tender compared to the bite of heat. My breath shuddered, chest straining against the bench, torn between relief and anticipation of what he would do next.

Then his voice dropped darker, filled with promise. "Let’s go to the next part."

I shivered, bound and blindfolded, not knowing what was coming next. Suddenly, he released my hands from where I was suspended and spun me around. I gasped, unprepared, knowing only that he was close—so close I could feel the hot whisper of his breath against my face.

Suddenly, I felt him move away from my front, and I stretched my attention, wondering where he was going. His presence shifted, circling me like a predator that had all the time in the world. My chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, straining against the fabric that still clung to me. Then I felt it—the brush of his fingers at my back, deliberate, unhurried, until they found the clasp of my bra.

A click.

The strap fell slack, sliding from my shoulders. My body tensed, but I didn’t move, bound in place. The cool air kissed my bare skin where the bra no longer shielded me, my nipples tightening instantly from exposure.

The thin fabric peeled away, leaving me utterly exposed. My breath caught,

of the room, lifting my cuffed wrists high above my head before securing them to a bar of cold metal overhead. I gasped but had no chance to speak before I heard his retreat. My head jerked toward the echo of footsteps, my blindfold a prison, my heart racing as panic mingled with raw, aching

could form a thought, heat ghosted across

And then—ice.

Cold, sharp, shocking.

but it wasn’t warmth I felt—it was the searing kiss of ice, the frozen cube sliding between his mouth and my skin. A strangled cry caught in my throat as my body arched, the temperature so brutal against my already sensitized flesh that it

mouth commanding and merciless. The

the cuffs, every muscle quaking with the torment of sensation. The cube slid over my nipple as his tongue released it, and I hissed at the shock of cold trailing against overheated skin. The sharp ache made me strain against the cuffs, my breasts jutting forward

dragging it down the center of my chest in a slow, merciless path. The freezing trail burned over my heated skin, droplets

the sensation sharper there, vulnerable and exposed.

commanded, his voice deep, authoritative, leaving no room for

to keep from crying out as the cube traced lazy circles around my navel, then lower. My thighs

cube pressed against my inner thigh. My entire body jolted, the contrast between the icy chill and the fever of my arousal unbearable. He dragged it slowly, deliberately upward, each inch of the

And then—

touched my

a strangled cry breaking free before I could stop it. The frozen sting against my swollen, sensitive flesh made me thrash in the cuffs,

through me like another command. He pressed the melting cube tighter, circling on my entrance. My wetness mingled with the water as the ice melted faster against my heat,

he murmured, low and possessive. "Even frozen, you

off from everything. I couldn’t see him, couldn’t tell what he was about

his knees before me with a deliberate grace that made my pulse stutter. His hands slid up my calves, firm and possessive, until they

deep, rough. Then I felt it—cold, sharp,