Just in case his intentions weren’t clear when he tied me to headboard naked, his shirt coming off would have been a clue. I suck my bottom lip between my teeth. I love his body. It’s like Liev Schreiber and Jason Momoa when they’re not playing superheroes. He would not be the most cut guy in the room. It doesn’t matter because he has well-formed pecs with a light dusting of hair, strong, defined arms, and an almost completely flat abdomen that hints of the abs that used to be there are still waiting just below the surface—thick, manly, and warm.
“Where did you come from?”
I hate his question because it makes me focus on some super negative shit. I don’t want to think about my issues right now. I just want him to make me feel good.
“Answering your question will take me all the way out of the mood. I’ll tell you after.”
He quirks a sexy, dark brow. “After?”
“After you do what you’re planning to do to get off.”
“What if this is what I plan to do? Tease you until I get answers.”
“I’d have to call bullshit.”
“Why?”
“Because the very hard appendage in your jeans that tells me you like to hang to the left, wants to come out and play. You really don’t want to disappoint it.”
He scoots a little lower. His nails scrape from my hips to the top of my thighs. I’m so hot, throbbing, and ready that I want to cry.
“Who said this doesn’t make him happy?”
“Doesn’t matter. Sticking him inside of me is quicker and more pleasurable for all parties involved.”
He slides farther down my body until he’s no longer straddling me.
“I’m afraid you’re stuck with me longer than you planned,” he informs me as he slides off the bed.
The doorbell rings. He pulls his shirt back on and adjusts himself until his erection is not as noticeable.
“Hold that thought.” His tone is coy, but his eyes are all heat.
The door closes behind him, leaving me alone, naked, and tied up. I should be panicking. What if he’s part of a serial killer team and was just waiting for the alpha to come and do the actual killing? What if he’s super into BDSM and trying to train me into being a sub. Wait. I don’t really know how that shit works. All I know is that curiosity and desire are winning over fear.
Besides, being tied to his bed forces me to think about what he did to me the night before and what he is planning to do to me when he returns. Three years. That explains why he fucked me so hard in this very bed that I screamed several times. That man did not miss a beat during his long drought. I don’t know if this was his plan, but I’m much, much wetter when he returns minutes later drinking ice cold water.
“What do you mean ‘longer than I planned?’”
I need answers.
“Do you watch the news?”
“Not really. It’s depressing.”
“A hurricane should be arriving in an hour or so. Not enough time for you to do anything but stay. You’re riding out the storm with me or riding me during the storm.”
My core tugs because that sounds like a wonderful idea. Plus, he just took his shirt off again, and his jeans are also heading south. My eyes bulge when he drops his underwear; it’s a good thing it was dark last night because I would have been skeptical about him fitting.
“Open your legs,” his command is hot and leaves no room for argument.
I bend my legs and let them fall open, displaying myself to him. He soaks in the sight of my wetness.
He takes another long sip of water and sucks some crushed ice in his mouth. He slides the ice over his tongue and chews while studying my twat from the foot of the bed.
“You’re so wet for me.” He put his glass on the nightstand. His erection bobs as he moves onto the bed, almost between my legs.
“If I’d known all of this was going to happen, I would have kept my waxing appointment.”
