“I want to see you,” I blurt.
This diverts his attention and he looks at me, smiling slightly. Setting me on the bed on my knees, he steps back, pulling off hisjacket, then his tie. He lays the strip of silk on the bed next to me and my toes curl. Is he planning on using that?
As he unbuttons his shirt, my breath catches.
My husband, under all his power suits and expensive linen shirts, is a masterpiece. There’s a riot of brilliantly colored tattoos all over him, a tree snaking up one arm, a serpent coiled on the other, so vividly drawn that I swear its eyes glint at me. On one shoulder, there’s an owl glaring sternly at me and his chest is a mosaic of color and shape, all blending together.
I feel certain that every one of these images has a story and a reason to be on his aggressively masculine, sculpted body. The ink ends where his shirt cuffs would be on his wrists and at his neckline. A secret explosion hidden under his mask as a proper businessman.
Mason is much more of a MacTavish, I suspect, than he wants to admit.
Casually dropping his trousers, he lays them over the back of a chair with his jacket and shirt, and strolls toward me, all coiled menace and strength. He pulls my hair tie away, spreading my loose hair over my shoulders, running his fingers through the strands, until he grabs a fistful at the base of my head.
My gasp is loud in the silent room and he gives me a twisted little grin. It’s real, I see his pleasure in making my breath come faster as he tugs on my hair again, making my back arch and forcing me to look at him.
“Sweet wife. Now that you’ve given me permission, I want to take your virginity. I want to rip it from you, make you scream and come and beg me for more.” His eyes narrow, watching mine widen.
“Are you going to hurt me?” I wheeze.
“Not much, baby. Not this time. But one day soon, you’re going towantme to hurt you.”
This should scare me to death. Mason is enormous, he could crush me. He couldreallyhurt me.
Maybe he’ll hurt you just enough…
I shove that thought away, pressing my thighs together and feeling them grow slick from my embarrassingly wet center. My brain might be reasonably afraid, but everything else from the neck down seems to love the idea.
“Put your hands over your head.” He takes his tie, holding it up for me to see. My hands move without any conscious thought from me, my wrists cross and he leans close, his arms brushing mine as he swiftly loops the tie over them, binding them tightly and attaching the other end to a rail in the headboard.
Then, his dark whisper that makes me shudder again. “Good girl.”
He kisses me hard, sucking on my tongue, my lips, ending with a little bite on my neck before holding up his next toy.
It’s a knife. I think it’s the one he wore at our wedding. “Don’t move,” he purrs. “This is very sharp. Your safe word is Gibraltar; you will say it if you’re too afraid or it’s too much. I will stop everything immediately while we talk about it. Don’t be afraid to use it if you must. Say it back to me so I know you understand.”
“Gibraltar,” I whisper.
The flat of the blade travels up my arm, his gaze raptly following its path until he twists it enough to cut my bra strap loose. The other strap is gone in a second and then, very carefully, he cuts through the front of my bra and it pops off me. I must have madea noise, a moan or a yelp I don’t know, but he stops, drawing back just slightly to look at me. “Do you need to say it?”
“I’m okay,” I whisper.
He spins the dagger between his fingers before slipping it between my undies and my skin, cutting them free and holding the scrap of silk up to his nose.
I ammortified.
“Open your eyes, baby. It’s too late to be shy.” His hands are all over me, cupping my breasts, pinching my nipples, stroking my ass… and then two rough fingers slip between my legs. “So wet,” he growls approvingly. “Almost wet enough to fuck you right now. Almost.” One long finger circles my entrance and then slides in.
My back arches, and this just gives him more room to play with me, two fingers sliding inside now and they sting, pressing and stroking. He puts his other hand over my stomach and I want to cringe away. It’s not flat, I’m round. I’m soft, not hard-edged like the model types he must be used to, but he makes a pleased little grunt.
“The way you’re gripping my fingers… I want to feel you around my cock, your pussy clinging to me.” His fingers press against a spot inside me as his hand pushes against my stomach and I shriek. It’s electric, sharp and hot and so good. “There you are,” he murmurs.
His thick fingers slide in and out of me, making sure to press on that magical little spot each time as his mouth lands on my nipple, tugging it between his teeth and I feel his tongue toying with it before he switches to the other one. He sucks hard, like he’s trying to draw my entire breast into his mouth and thistorment goes on until my thighs are quivering, unable to hold me up anymore.
“Lie back on the pillows, baby.” He helps me, smoothing my hair out around me before he goes back to work, kissing down my heaving stomach with his hot mouth and tongue. Impatiently shoving my thighs apart, he gives a guttural chuckle before taking a long, slow, cat-like lick up the center of me. My knees try to slam closed but his wide shoulders are blocking the effort and he licks me again, the tip of his tongue swirling around my clitoris. Again, and again until my stomach and thighs are wet and when he looks up at me, his mouth and chin are glistening.
“You taste like sin. Salvation. I could stay between your legs for hours but I did promise you…”
His fingers press hard on my G-spot as his lips suck my clitoris into his mouth and everything inside me shatters, gasping and crying out something unintelligible and it feels nothing like I’ve ever managed with my fingers before.
