Now, she looked down on him.
He looked up at her, satisfaction written across his face. “Dainty but nicely rounded. I shall enjoy my task very much.”
His hands rose to her breasts, caressing lightly, flicking her nipples with the edges of his thumbs. They peaked instantly. From her elevated perch, he didn’t have to bend when he licked one taut peak then the other.
“What a lovely treat,” he hummed, lingering at the second. His tongue, lips, and teeth worked in slow, deliberate rhythm, sending little currents racing through her. Not to be neglected, he rolled and pinched the other nipple.
Too soon, he drew back.
“We can continue if you select me as your master tonight. For now, there is a task to see to.”
“This wasn’t it?”
His laugh vibrated through the quiet. “Dev’s games are never so tame. You can expect them to increase in intensity as you work your way through the maze.”
“I’d expect the sadist to come last.”
“I only enjoy giving pain to those who enjoy receiving it. I’m funny that way.” He held out his hand, revealing a set of rubber-tipped tweezer clamps connected by a chain. “I cannot wait to see how these look on you. But first…”
He took her hands and moved them behind her, hooking her cuffs together without looking. The position lifted her rib cage, presenting her breasts. Her nipples, still glistening from his mouth, seemed to reach for him.
When he traced one with a fingertip, wet heat rushed to the ache between her legs—an ache that had lingered since Master Everett’s lap.
“Now I can enjoy these beauties without interference.”
Mateo sucked a nipple into his mouth, an arm around her waist keeping her upright as her knees threatened to buckle. After several excruciatingly wonderful minutes, he released her with a soft pop and applied the first clamp. It bit down, tight, but not unbearable, until he turned the screw. She hissed in pain.
He eased off, lessening the tension by a fraction.
“Poor tortured nipple,” he cooed, stroking the compressed skin with his thumb. “I have time for just one more taste.”
The slow lick drew a groan from her parched throat. Then he blew on it—warmth of his breath on her wet skin—making her tremble.
He turned to the other peak, sucked firmly to prepare it for the second clamp.
Ding.
The timer echoed through the clearing, signaling the end of their session but not the torment. Mateo quickly applied the second clamp, just as tight as the first, then lifted her from the stool and set her on the ground.
He lifted her chin and kissed her—slow, sure, undeniably talented. But even as warmth curled through her, something was missing. Mateo could stir her body, but that’s as far as it went.
Out of nowhere, he broke away, muttering, “All right, already.”
Mateo brushed her hair behind her shoulders and admired his handiwork briefly. Then he grumbled, “This has been enjoyable, although thoroughly unsatisfying. Choose me later, and I’ll correct that for us both.”
He gave her a swat to get her going—definitely a dom thing. It surprised her it hadn’t stung as much as from the non-sadist dom. She hurried to the exit, though, not pushing her luck.
Thankfully, there was only one path this time.
Before she left, she turned slightly and asked, “What about the cuffs, sir?”
“Those stay as they are. Hurry to your next stop, Emily, but go cautiously. I’d hate for you to fall on those pretty clamped breasts.”
Her either—ouch!
She entered the winding paths again, breath unsteady. As she picked her way along in the shadows, hurrying, but also trying to keep the chain steady and the clamps from bouncing, she tried to wrap her head around what she was feeling. Pleasure hummed under her skin, but it rang hollow—beautiful notes without a melody. Mateo had awakened her body; the older dom had too. But only Alec could strike the chord that resonated deeper, the one that pulled her like a magnet, drawing her toward him no matter where she turned.
Distracted, she was in the next clearing before she knew it. It wasn’t manned by a man at all, but by a stunning blonde in a black bustier and matching latex pants. The only thing not black—from her winged eyeliner to the four-inch heels of her boots—was the coiled red whip clipped to her belt.
