"Please..." I didn't even know what I was begging for. To be touched. To be fucked. To be released from these restraints so I could pull him to me.
"Use your words, Angelina." He held a piece of asparagus to my lips. "Tell me what you want."
"I want you to touch me."
"I am touching you." He dragged the asparagus across my lower lip. "Be specific."
"I want you to touch me between my legs."
"Why?"
"Because I'm—" God, this was mortifying. "Because I'm wet, sir."
"I know you are. I can smell it." He finally let me take the asparagus. "But you don't get to play until I say so. And right now, I say you need to finish your lunch like a good girl. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"That's better."
He fed me the rest of the meal with the same torturous attention—slow bites, long pauses between them, his mouth cleaning up any mess I made. By the time the plate was empty, I was trembling with need, my skin hypersensitive, every nerve ending alive and begging for more contact. Also, full.
"Thirsty?" he asked.
"Yes, sir."
He poured water into a glass and held it to my lips. I drank, and he let me, tipping the glass so I could take my fill. Water spilled down my chin, running down my throat to pool in the valley between my breasts.
"Messy girl," he murmured, setting the glass aside. "Guess I'll have to clean that up too."
His mouth was on my throat again, following the trail of water down, down, until he reached the wet lace of my bra. His tongue traced the edge of the cup, then dipped beneath it to find my nipple. I cried out, the sensation shocking after so much careful restraint.
"Sensitive," he observed, doing it again to the other breast. "I like that."
His teeth closed around my nipple through the lace, not quite biting but close enough that I felt it everywhere.
"Sir, please?—"
"Please what?" He pulled back, leaving me aching.
"Please don't stop."
"Oh, I'm going to stop." He straightened, looking down at me with a wicked smile. "Because we're going to let your lunch digest while I eat mine. Then move to the bedroom. And if you mind your manners, follow every instruction perfectly, I may even fuck you."
"Maybe?"
"Yeah..." He began untying my ankles, his movements efficient. "I haven't decided yet if you've earned it."
The ankle ropes fell away, and he moved to my wrists, freeing them with the same care he'd used to bind them. When I was completely unbound, he stepped back and held out his hand.
"Stand up."
I tried. My legs were shaky from the position and the arousal coursing through me, and I stumbled. He caught me easily, pulling me against his chest.
"Steady," he murmured against my hair. "I've got you."
And somehow, impossibly, I believed him. He turned around the chair, and sat me down in it. Dez then went to his seat and made his plate. There weren’t words exchanged, instead there were heated glances. Ones that I hoped urged him to finish sooner than later. He dropped his fork mid bite.
"Bedroom," he said, his voice going hard again. "On the bed. On your back. Arms above your head."
