“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.” My voice is all feathery breath as it comes out.
“I think you do.” He runs a finger up my thigh. It tickles the skin near my hip and makes me struggle under the bondage.
When Ransome caught me reading a dark romance book on my lunch break one day, he told me that it was naughty. Not good workplace behavior, even if I wasn’t on the clock. I think the exact word he used wasdirty.
He confiscated the book. I assumed he threw it in the trash. But as I lay on his bed wearing crotchless lingerie, my hands tied above my head and my body entirely at his mercy, I’m pretty sure he didn’t throw it away.
He read it.
And he’s reenacting one of the most erotic scenes as punishment.
“Are you wet for me, baby girl?” he asks, and I swear to God I start dripping just from the question.
“Yes,” I answer.
Ransome runs the tip of his finger over the slit in my lingerie, a slit made for easy access, and I moan.
“So impatient.” He shakes his head. “Do you know what impatient girls get?”
Fuck.
“Teased,” he answers for me.
He comes to all fours and leans down, opening the slit further with his tongue, flicking my clit until a squirm on the bed.
Then he stops. Just as my skin turns to fire, he stops.
Then he does it again.
Licking, flicking, suckling, nibbling.
And he stops.
Again. And again.
“Ransome…” I whimper.
“What?”
“I need…”
“No. I will decide what you need and what you get.”
“But—”
He does it again. This time he teases me for only a second or two before stopping, waiting long enough in between that the arousal fades so that each time, the rising orgasm has to start over again.
“Please,” I beg.
But he only climbs on top of me, straddling me as he looks down. His hands trace down my arms, over my sides, teasing and setting every nerve on fire.
Then his fingers tips find my nipples through the lace. He circles them at first, not fully touching them. Close enough to make them hard. To make me want and need and whimper for more.
He flutters his fingers over one, slowly at first. So slow it’s painful. Then the other. Back and forth, he toys with my nipples until and I am bucking on the bed, but not because I’m coming. Because Ineedto come.
His hands wander back down. His middle finger finds its way inside of me, slowly sliding in and out. Much too slowly. I could never come at this rate. It’s enough to make me throb, to make me drip, but not enough to make me come.
“You’re such a naughty girl,” he grits out. “Do you like this?”
