Fallen General's Omega (BL)
Chapter 87: Suffer [M]

Chapter 87: Suffer [M]

I can feel the heat of Noelle’s body pulling away from mine as he stands, leaving me hanging in the worst, most torturous way possible. I’m still aching, breathless, with my lips tingling from his last kiss. He didn’t even give me a chance to chase after him, to prolong the moment.

"This is unfair, my beloved star," I say, unable to stop the whine from creeping into my voice.

Noelle’s soft hum is his only response, but I can practically hear the smirk in his tone. He’s enjoying this way too much. His thumb presses gently against my lower lip, lingering there, teasing. Blindfolded, I can’t see him, but the absence of sight only heightens everything else. My skin tingles, my senses hyper-alert to every tiny movement, every shift in the air.

I feel his fingers trace my lips, the touch featherlight, then lower, brushing down the column of my neck. It’s slow, deliberate, each graze of his fingertips sending shivers down my spine. He lingers on my Adam’s apple, then glides down to my collarbones, tracing them with the same torturously slow pace. My breath hitches as his hand moves lower, exploring my chest. The anticipation coils tight inside me.

Every muscle in my body is tense, waiting, ready. I sit as still as I can, desperate to see where he’ll touch next. His fingers are warm against my skin, tracing down, down toward where I really need him most. My legs instinctively spread apart, eager, open, my breath ragged as I hope, no, beg that he’ll give me relief.

But just as his fingers brush the skin of my lower abdomen, he pulls away. The absence of his touch is like a slap, and I groan in frustration, unable to hold it back.

"My beloved star, please," I beg, my voice barely more than a ragged breath.

"No, no," Noelle’s voice is teasing, light, with a playful edge that makes me ache more.

"It wouldn’t be punishment if I gave in so easily, would it?" His tone is smug, amused, and I can tell he’s enjoying my suffering far too much.

I want to fight back, but instead, I surrender. His hand presses against my chest, guiding me back against the chair. "Just lean back and let me play."

I do as he says, sinking into the chair, knowing full well it’s going to be a long, agonizing night. The leather of the seat feels cold against my back, a sharp contrast to the heat building in my body. I can hear the rustle of fabric as Noelle tugs at the belt of my robe, and it falls open, leaving me completely exposed. The cool air hits my skin, heightening the sense of vulnerability and making my nerves fire with anticipation.

I can feel his eyes on me, burning into every inch of my bare skin. The weight of his gaze is almost as tangible as a touch, and I can’t help but smirk.

"Like the view, my star?" I ask, cocky despite the fact that I’m the one bound and blindfolded.

"Definitely," he replies, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

Noelle stands between my legs now, and I can feel the heat of his body so close to mine. I hold my breath as he leans in, his lips brushing the corner of my mouth in a soft, almost innocent kiss. But the way my body reacts is anything but innocent. I feel the tension coil tighter in my gut, every nerve in my body strung out, begging for more.

His kisses trail down, slow and deliberate, wet and messy. He lingers at my neck, his mouth hot against my skin as he sucks gently, then harder, marking me in a way that makes my pulse race. I know there will be marks there tomorrow, but the thought only makes my desire burn hotter. I want to be marked, claimed, by him.

He takes his time—too much time—moving from my neck to my chest, planting kisses along the way, dragging his tongue across my skin. I can barely hold back my groans now, every touch sending jolts of pleasure through me. The tension in my body is unbearable, but I love it and hate it in equal measure.

Time stretches out, and I don’t even know how long I’ve been sitting here, my skin burning with need. I feel Noelle’s lips brush lower, kissing down to my lower belly, and I think, finally. But instead of going where I need him, where I’m aching for him, he shifts and places a kiss on my inner thigh. The teasing is unbearable, and I groan loudly, unable to take the torture any longer.

"Noelle, please," I beg again, shameless and desperate. I can feel myself leaking, aching for any kind of relief.

He chuckles softly, clearly enjoying himself. "Oh my, what would people say?" His tone is playful, teasing, but I can hear the pride in his voice.

"I might be on my knees right now, but the great Crimson General is at my feet, begging."

The way he says it makes my pulse quicken. There’s something deliciously humiliating about it, but I can’t deny that I love it. I feel his hands slide up from my thighs, his palms rubbing against my skin, moving over my chest. Every touch is maddeningly slow, every movement deliberate, and I can’t help the way my body reacts to him.

My muscles tense under his touch, every nerve alive with sensation. The scent of him surrounds me, that familiar, intoxicating mix that’s uniquely Noelle. I’m so focused on the sound of his breathing, the feel of his hands on me, the way his lips graze my skin, that everything else fades away.

All I can think about is him—how badly I need him—and how much I love this slow, torturous game he’s playing.

Noelle’s hands roam across my chest, sliding over the curve of each muscle, and my breath hitches with every pass of his fingers. The teasing is deliberate, maddening in its precision. He knows exactly how to make me suffer, how to push me just to the edge of sanity without giving me what I need.

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