She raises her eyebrows. “Toys like vibrators?”
I incline my head. “Among other things.”
“Don’t guys usually get unmanned by those things?” she asks curiously. “I don’t have any personal experience with them—I could never afford one—but Cara swears that they can get a girl off quicker than any man.”
I shrug. “I’m not emasculated by toys. I’m perfectly confident in my own ability to incite an orgasm; toys are there to aid me in my quest. They’re a tool, not competition.” I kiss her neck. As much as I’m enjoying this conversation and Mira’s evident curiosity and willingness, I’m eager to get started. “We’re going to use a simple, common safeword system. If you feel your boundaries being pushed, say yellow. I’ll ease up and check in. If you need an immediate stop, say red. It won’t end the scene, but it’ll bring it to an abrupt halt, and if you tell me you need to end it, I will.” I raise one of my hands to her chin, turning her head toward me so I can have access to her lips. I kiss her once, twice, then take a deep, long drink from her lips, a low noise rumbling from my chest when she submits to my kiss. “Are we understood?” I ask, pulling back.
Mira blinks a few times, adorably dazed. “Yes.”
“Repeat your safe-words and their meaning,” I prompt. I might not be hardcore into the BDSM life, but I am mindful of the parameters and limits.
“Yellow means slow down and talk, red means halt everything and check in,” Mira breathes.
“Good girl,” I praise. Her eyelids flutter, and I don’t bother suppressing the smirk that spreads on my lips. “Lay down on the bed, head on the pillows. Get comfortable, baby. You have a long night ahead of you.”
I plant one final kiss on her lips before releasing her. She wastes no time crawling up the bed on all fours, her ass swaying from side to side. It’s tantalizing as hell; everything about her is unbelievably fucking hot, but her ass is truly a thing to be worshipped.
Once she’s in position, head on the pillows, I rise and round the bed until I’m standing beside her. “Do you want to take off your clothes, or do you want me to do it?” It’s a simple question and a simple choice, but her answer will be indicative of her mindset, and of her comfort with this.
“You do it,” she says quietly.
I kneel beside her and take her shoulders in my grip, sitting her up. I finger the hem of her top, raising it up and over her head, revealing a plain blue bra. I run my fingers along the underside of it, gently scratching her with my nails, loving the little shudder that races up her spine. I flick the clasp open, and she helps me pull the straps down her shoulders.
“Lay back,” I tell her softly. I reach over to the bedpost nearest to me, running my hands over smooth wood until I feel the edge of a chain. I clasp the leather cuff it's attached to and pull it from beneath the mattress. The material is sturdy, and the chain clinks as I pull it onto the bed, letting Mira see it.
Her eyes widen but she doesn’t protest or try to stop me.
“You ready?” I ask her.
“I don’t know.”
“You’re ready,” I assure her. “The goal is at least twelve. That’s your punishment. If you need to stop for the night, you know what to say, and we’ll finish in the morning. Give me your hand.”
She holds out her wrist. It trembles when I wrap my hand around it. I’m not sure if it’s from cold, fear, or arousal, but I like it. I like her vulnerability, her hesitation. I like knowing that all of those thoughts cluttering her mind will soon disappear under the thrall of consuming pleasure.
I wrap the cuff around her wrist, tightening it. Enough so that she can’t slip out of it, but not so much that it cuts off circulation. I repeat the process with her other wrist, and then my hands move to her jeans. I unbutton them, unzip them, and hook my thumbs under the waistband of her panties and her pants, simultaneously pulling both down her legs.
I stop to gaze at her, a long breath shuttering out of me. She is absolutelyluminous. Ethereally gorgeous, so beautiful it’s almost painful to look at her. Her soft, platinum hair fans out over my pillows, and her slight breasts tremble with each one of her breaths. Her flat stomach and dipped waist give way to the curve of generous hips and the soft mound of her pussy, which is dusted with light-blonde hair so fine it’s barely visible. I run my hands up and down the soft skin of her thighs, fantasy after fantasy overtaking me.
Pushing those back, for now, I secure her legs in place with the cuffs at the bottom posts of the bed and squeeze her thigh. “I’m going to go get some things. Then we’ll get started.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Mira
As Dorian retreats into the closet, fear takes over. While he was next to me, touching me, speaking to me in a calm, soothing voice, everything felt manageable, and something about us actually seemed right. Now that he’s walked away, even for a moment, I’m struck by the wrongness of this situation.
I am chained to his bed—tightly. I couldn’t escape if I wanted to. I know he gave me safe words to slow or stop the situation, but what assurance do I have that using them will amount to anything?None. He hasn’t broken his word to me yet, but he’s never put me in such a vulnerable position before. I am quite literally bound in place and completely helpless.
When Dorian returns and I see the items clutched in his hand, my fear skyrockets. He’s holding a vibrator—a wand-like object as long as his forearm with a thick, bulbous head—a slim black dildo, and most concerningly, a fuckingcrop. Like the one used to train or direct horses.
While he was talking about his desires, the things that get him going, I was reluctantly excited and a little aroused. At no point did he say he’d whip me like an animal.
“Wait!” I exclaim when he drops the toys andcropat the foot of the bed. “You didn’t say anything about acrop!”
He picks up the object in question, turning the braided handle in his hand, running his thumb over the thin flapper at the end. “It’s not for pain,” he assures me in a steady, calm voice that’s infused with sheer dominance and confidence. “Itcanbe used for pain, but that’s not why I have it.”
I yank at my wrists and legs, shame licking through me when wetness gathers between my thighs. I’ve never been bound like this, and I never expected to actually be turned on from being bound like this. “Dorian—”
