"Actually, it was. You agreed to whatever the fuck I want to do to you. And right now, I want you tied up." He smirks at me. "Besides, you said you wanted to learn everything. This is part of it."
"Part of what?"
He steps closer, until his body is a line of heat against mine. "Learning that you can't control everything," he murmurs against my ear. "Learning how to be an obedient little fucktoy when told."
I open my mouth to argue, but his hands are already on my hips, spinning me until I'm right where he wants me. I struggle, but only half-heartedly, because there's a strange comfort in the inevitability of what's happening here. And a hot bolt of excitement at the thought of anyone catching us.
He gathers my wrists together in front of me, wrapping the silk around them, and then knots it before I even have time to panic. The fabric is soft and cool, but his hands are hot. The contrast makes me shudder.
He leans down, his lips just above my ear. "See?" he whispers. "You're learning so quickly."
He nudges me forward until my thighs are pressed against the front edge of his desk. He pushes gently on my shoulders until I sink into a leather office chair reserved for visitors, my arms bound together.
For a moment, he just stares at me.
I glare at him in response, but there's no real menace in it. If anything, I feel almost weightless, my heart hammering with anticipation. I'll never admit it to him, but part of me loves being under his command, reduced to something meant only to obey. There's a freedom in it I didn't expect, as if, in moments like these, I don't have to think or try or be anything other than his.
He crouches down, bringing his face level with mine. "Good girl," he murmurs, running a fingertip down the center of my chest.
I roll my eyes, trying to pretend his touch doesn't affect me, that my heart doesn't sing at his praise. But it's a lie. Every time his hands are on me, my entire body ignites. And every time he calls me a good girl or his perfect little slut, my fucking heart wants to burst with happiness.
He just grins in response, like he knows exactly how I feel.
He grabs a second rope I didn't even notice, and before I can react, he's got my legs up over the arms of the chair, looping the rope around my thighs and then tying my ankles to the legs of the chair. The position spreads me wide, leaving me more exposed than I've ever been.
I flush, but he just runs his hands up my calves like he's touching a priceless piece of art.
"You're going to stay like this while I finish my paperwork," he says. "If you interrupt me, I'll find a way to keep you quiet."
My pulse spikes. "That's not even remotely professional."
He leans in, his lips brushing my jaw. "I didn't pay for a professional. I paid for something beautiful."
There goes my heart again, bursting with happiness.
He returns to his side of the desk, sits, and opens a folder. For five minutes, he ignores me completely, scribbling notes and flipping pages. And then he glances up, staring right at my pussy for a moment before he goes back to work.
A few minutes later, his eyes are on me again, and then he's back to work. Every time he glances up, it's with that same burning intensity, like he's trying to decide if he wants to devour me or destroy me. The room is quiet except for the scratch of his pen and the sound of my own blood pounding in my ears.
I try to wriggle out of the restraints, but the knots are merciless. I'm stuck, completely at his mercy. The realization sends a bolt of heat straight to my core.
The longer he ignores me, the hotter I get. I feel myself dripping onto the leather beneath my ass.
I'm so mad and so turned on, I think I might come without him ever touching me. But he's not done tormenting me yet. He keeps me right there for over an hour, tied up, helpless, and dripping, occasionally staring at my pussy like he's trying to decide if he wants it badly enough to come take it yet.
Eventually, I can't stand it anymore. I need him to touch me more than I need to breathe. "Please," I whimper, not even caring that I'm begging. I'll get on my damn knees and plead at this point.
He grabs something from his desk and then stands, rounding the desk to kneel in front of me, cool and calm. I'm anything but. Sweat beads between my shoulder blades. My arms scream for me to move them. My legs burn. I'm so fucking wet, the chair beneath me is drenched.
I choke on a whimper when I see the marker and binder clips in his hands. "W-what…?" I can't even force sound out to ask what he's going to do with them.
But he seems to know what I'm trying to say. "Whatever I want," he murmurs, his eyes locked on mine like he's challenging me to stop him. Except…I don't. I don't even try. Not even when he leans forward, sucking one hard nipple into his mouth.
He bites down until I sob his name, then pulls back.
I cry out when he attaches the binder clip to my nipple. It's a perfect kind of pain, sending currents of electricity straight to my clit.
He does the same thing with the other nipple, and my hips arch away from the chair, the ropes digging into my thighs.
