When I don’t move to obey him, Lachlan pushes me. Mymind is so blank with fear, I reach for the zipper of my dress instead, sure that comes next, wanting to get ahead of the game so he doesn’t get any angrier.
“No.” He catches my hands, softly chuckling and twisting me around to face the king-size monstrosity that will probably feature large in my future night terrors.
He drops his lips close to my ear. “Leave everything on, even your heels. Get on the bed and wait for me.” He gives another push, this time harder. “I enjoy unwrapping my presents.”
I clamber onto the covers, settling on my knees in the middle.
“Lie down, face up.”
I obey, holding my arms at my sides like I’m lying in a coffin, fighting for space, instead of able to spread out in either direction, the mattress so large even crosswise I wouldn’t hit the sides.
My mind shrinks to a pinhole. Unable to handle the possibilities ahead, it narrows to the present, experiencing each second as it comes and not anticipating.
I stare at the stippled ceiling, my eyes tracing out every pattern. Hear the snick as Lachlan undoes the buckle, the purr as he slowly tugs the belt through the rungs of his waistband and hangs it on a hook on the back of the door.
The perfume Tandi sprayed on me earlier fills my nostrils, evaporating in my increasing body heat. My fingertips worry at the stitched design of the bedcovers, picking at them, picking, picking, until I force them to lay flat.
Lachlan’s shoes go next, each nudged off with the opposite foot, then carried to the wardrobe where he lines them neatly on a rack skirting the floor, tossing his socks in the hamper.
He undoes his cuffs while sauntering towards the bed, rolling his sleeves up as he knee-walks across the covers then straddles me.
I flinch as he touches the jewellery that Tandi picked out to match the dress. He unhooks the dangling earrings, placing them on the bedside table and massaging the lobes where the heavy stones pulled them out of place. The choker goes next, my neck exposed without its expensive covering.
Then he sits back on his heels, running his hands along my torso while I hold myself tightly, trying not to shy away from his touch.
The second time through, that’s easier. The time that follows, even more so. The strokes are comforting, pleasurable, relaxing.
He lifts my right arm and massages it from the shoulder to my elbow, using small rhythmic circles that relax me enough I can take deeper breaths. The circuits gradually move further, working along my forearm. He loops his thumb and forefinger around my wrist and laughs softly. “So tiny.”
I return his smile though mine is far more tentative. The reminder that he physically outclasses me isn’t as inherently amusing from my side.
Then he massages my hand, rubbing his thumbs into the centre of my palm while his fingers stroke the back, softly kneading out the tension, a state that miraculously spreads out to encompass the rest of my body.
“Does that feel good?”
I nod, captivated by the softness in his eyes, wondering where he hid the angry monster who stormed into the room. The emotion showing now is contentment. His entire focus on my hand, on me.
“Yes,” I whisper when his eyebrows raise. “It feels wonderful.”
He repeats the process on my left arm, my body sinking farther into the mattress with every twirl of his thumb. Therough pads against my palm send a pleasant buzz flowing along my nerves.
When he reaches the end and pulls away, I whimper and his smile broadens, his hands cupping the balls of my shoulders. I strain upward, anticipating a kiss but he shakes his head, lifting both my hands and pressing them above my head.
“That’s better. I want you nice and relaxed.”
Positioning himself lower down my body, Lachlan lifts my feet, one at a time, bending my knee so the heels rest flat on the bed, legs bent, a space just wide enough for him between them.
My dress hitches up with the movement and he slowly rolls it higher, one hand on each thigh, coiling it into a fabric snake that he lets rest on my lower belly.
“Look at how pretty you are,” he whispers, sitting back again, a hand on each of my knees, spreading me wider. Butterflies multiply at his words.
The delicate lingerie Tandi picked out for me earlier isn’t nearly robust enough to hide my private parts from his intensive inspection. Especially not when he hooks a finger under the thin fabric and pulls it aside, exposing all of me for his viewing pleasure.
He turns his head, kissing the inside of my left knee in a move that sends erotic sparkles streaming across my skin until they lodge deep inside my core.
I jerk, not away or towards but just in reaction to the unexpected touch. When he continues his journey, lighting a line of fire with his soft lips against the silken skin of my inner thighs, my clit begin to throb.
Whose fucking side are you on, sister?
