A thrill bites deep, but so does a thread of panic. He’s just going to let me hang here? Without fucking me? I don’t know about this.
He pauses and moves close; I can feel the currents in the air change, feel the pressure shift. And he says against my ear, “Would you want me to let others see you like this? Touch you like this?”
A moan breaks free and my muscles contract at the mere thought. “No. Just you.”
“Good.”
He doesn’t speak again. He’s silent as he moves about the room, shuffling various things.
It might be five minutes, it might be an hour, but goosebumps rise all over my skin at the thought of him maybe touching me…now…or now…or?—
Then there’s the lightest caress as his fingers move over me again, dancing across my shoulders, my arms, my neck. Then lower to my stomach, my hips. He moves the rope between my thighs an inch.
I’m so wet, it drips down my thigh, soaking my ass, and yet…he doesn’t touch me again. He doesn’t enter my pussy. Just adjusts ropes and drives me half out of my mind.
Then…he withdraws.
“That’s better” is all he says.
More silence. I don’t know now if he’s still here or if he’s left, but the elevator dings outside the room and voices float on the air.
I can’t breathe.
Lucian is talking to a man.
One I’ve met. One who’s touched me.
Fuck.
Santiago is here.
I try to hear what’s being said but their voices are low, and everything in me writhes with need. I want to be touched. I want fingers to sink into me, my nipples sucked.
I want a cock in my mouth.
Lucian’s.
But I don’t want Santiago to see me like this. Lucian wouldn’t let him see me naked and tied up, would he?
I start to shift, trying to get free from the ropes. Footsteps approach the room, and I go still.
I’m not alone.
My clit throbs. I can hear their hearts, both rapidly beating as they visually feast upon me. I hold my breath.
“Did I…interrupt something?” It’s Santiago. And he’s close, maybe at the door. Close, but not fully in the room.
“As I told you, I’m busy.” Lucian doesn’t sound pleased by his apparently impromptu visit. And honestly, neither am I. This isn’t a lesson in patience. It’s torture.
“Come on, Lucian. She’s a delicious morsel. It’s cruel to keep her all to yourself,” Santiago says, his voice gaining volume. Two more steps into the room, but then a sharp stop and a growl.
“Don’t,” Lucian bites out. “Elliot is mine in every sense of the word.”
He grunts. “You never did like to share your toys.”
“Why are you here, Santiago?” Speaking of patience, Lucian is losing his rapidly, I can tell.
“To warn you,” he replies.
