I obeyed without thinking, my knees sliding apart on the carpet. The movement made the rope shift against my skin, tightening in some places, loosening in others, and I bit back a moan.
His hand trailed down over my stomach, following the rope patterns until his fingers reached the waistband of my panties. He didn’t rush, just kept touching me while his other hand came up to palm my breast through the rope.
In the mirror, I watched his big hand cup me through the black lace. Watched his fingers press against the damp fabric, and felt my face flush at the evidence of how turned on I was.
“You have no fucking clue how hot you are, do you?” His voice was gravelly against my ear, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror.
Before I could answer, his fingers slipped beneath the lace.
The first touch of his fingers against my clit sent a jolt through my entire body. I gasped, my eyes trying to close, but his other hand left my breast to grip my jaw gently.
“Eyes open. Watch.”
I forced my eyes to stay on the mirror. On the sight of his hand moving beneath my panties, his fingers stroking me in slow, deliberate circles. On the way my chest heaved with each breath, making the rope shift and tighten. On the flush spreading across my skin.
His other hand returned to my breast, fingers toying with my nipple. The sensation shot straight to where his other hand was working, and I moaned.
“That’s it.” He kissed my neck again, his fingers never stopping their movement. “Look how beautiful you are like this.”
Every slide of his fingers created a slick, wet sound that echoed in the quiet room. It was obscene. It was perfect. The friction was a live wire sparking against my nerve endings, dragging a cry from my throat that I couldn’t suppress.
He adjusted his angle, two fingers sliding down to press inside me while his thumb worked my clit. In the mirror, I saw my mouth fall open, saw the way my body arched into his touch despite the rope holding me in place.
“Fuck.” His voice was raspier now, more strained. The hand on my breast squeezed, rolled my nipple between his fingers. “This is what being tied up does to you? Knowing you’re completely at my mercy?”
“Yes.” A pathetic, needy whimper dripped from my lips.
The mirror captured it all. The pale lash of scars, the intricate knots of the rope, the flush of arousal blooming across my chest like watercolor on canvas. It was a masterpiece of carnality, and I was the subject.
The sight of it, combined with the relentless pressure of his fingers, pushed me right to the edge. I stared at our reflection, at the concentration on his face as he worked my body like he’d memorized every response.
“Cam.” His name came out broken, desperate.
“I’ve got you. Let go.”
His thumb pressed harder against my clit and I shattered. The orgasm ripped through me, making my whole body shake against the restraints. I watched myself come apart in the mirror, watched the way my face transformed, the way my bodymoved, the way Cam held me through it all, his fingers never stopping until I was boneless and gasping.
When the aftershocks finally faded, he slowly withdrew his hand. In the mirror, I watched him bring his fingers to his mouth, watched him taste me, and felt a fresh wave of heat roll through my sated body.
He pulled me back against his chest, arms wrapped around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder as we both looked at my reflection.
“We don’t cover the scars, do we?”
All I could do was shake my head, tears pricking at my eyes for reasons I couldn’t fully name.
He kissed my temple, his arms tightening around me. “Good girl.” He paused, his lips brushing against my hair. “What color are you at?”
I locked eyes with him in the glass. “Emerald.”
He smiled against my skin. “Of course you’d give me a shade.”
I shifted slightly in his arms, turning my head to look at him instead of our reflection. His eyes were dark, his pupils were blown wide, and his hard cock pressed against my back through his jeans.
“Will you do something for me?”
“Anything.” He said it instantly, without hesitation.
My heart hammered against my ribs, and I had to drag in air to give me courage. But I wanted this, more than anything; “I want you to fuck my mouth.”
