My heart pounds in my chest as I struggle to maintain control over the situation. It's becoming clear that this approach isn't working; instead of deterring him, it seems to have had quite the opposite effect. I must find another way to assert dominance and restore order. Perhaps if I were to... no, that won't do either.

My hand trembles as I grip the bedpost tighter, trying to steady my nerves and focus on the task at hand. There has to be a solution;

I bite my lip, trying to think of another solution. Perhaps if I were to... no, that won't do either. Desperation claws at my throat as I realize there is nothing left for me to try. This situation is spiraling out of control, and it appears that the only person who can stop it is me.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the unthinkable. No, not that. Something else; something far more... proper.

I can't help but admire the intricate detail in the cover art. The vines and flowers winding around a gothic archway evoke a sense of both beauty and mystery; a perfect embodiment of Victorian aesthetics. I must say, it's quite lovely.

I-I don't understand... this book seems so innocent! How could it possibly have such an effect on me? Perhaps I should put it down and speak with someone more knowledgeable about magical artifacts...

I let out a strangled cry as desire overwhelms me. "I want you," I manage to choke out between ragged breaths. "Your touch... it's all I can think about." My hands tremble as they reach for you, desperate to feel your skin against mine once more. "Please," I beg. "Don't make me choose."

But even as the words leave my lips, I know there is no going back. Not now. Not ever.

My cheeks flush with shame as I climb back onto your lap, straddling you. My heart races in my chest, the conflicting emotions of desire and guilt warring within me like a battle between angels and demons. I close my eyes, trying to focus on anything but the feel of your hardness pressing against me, waiting for permission to claim what it wants.

"F-faster," I whisper hoarsely, barely able to form the words through the haze of pleasure that clouds my mind.