His teeth drag against my wound and I arch my back, melding my body into the hardness of his.
He licks where he bit me, cooling the sting. Then he drags his tongue down between my breasts, over my sternum, ribcage, the line down my stomach before his teeth clamp around the fabric of my shirt. He is shoving it up with his mouth, so his hands never leave my breasts.
He exposes me from the waist up, cold air licking my body, causing my nipples to sharpen into tight points. He sits back between my thighs, my feet hitting the floor, knees falling to the sides to accommodate him as he stares at my breasts, hishands cupping underneath them, pushing them up, his thumbs brushing over my nipples.
I whimper at the touch, reaching for him and grazing only his thighs although I desperately want to explore higher.
He lifts his gaze to mine, his chest rising and falling so fast, his lips swollen, blood at the corner of his mouth in a haphazard smear.
But there is something hesitant in his eyes.
A guarded look locking up his features, as if he has just now realized what we’re doing, where it might lead, what comes next.
“Sullen.”Please don’t stop.
He stares at me, his fingers pinching my nipples, tugging softly, but he isn’t watching what he’s doing.
Then he’s not looking at me at all.
His eyes flicker to the left, over my shoulder, toward the couch I was sitting on. Without a word, he releases me, then leans over my body, momentarily obstructing my view as I catch his scent, delicious and heady, his arm outstretched for something. I don’t realize what it is until he’s back between my thighs, and he is placing the wine glass around my nipple, upside down.
My mouth goes dry.
The circumference of the cup isn’t enough to contain me completely. Still, when I lower my wide-eyed gaze to the coldness of the glass rim around me, I see my hard, pink nipple trapped inside the glass. A bead of red wine rolls down the inside of it before slowly spilling onto my skin.
My chest heaves, causing the glass he holds by the stem between gloved fingers to rise and fall heavily, my stomach muscles contracting as he places a palm there, pressing down.
I remember when he did the same underneath the hotel.
My gaze lifts to his and I don’t remember doing it, but I realize as he stares at me that my arms are stretched over myhead along the rug. It is as if I am surrendering willingly to whatever experiment he has in mind.
And it’s like he wants to test that thought, or he sees the challenge and openness both in my eyes, because he switches his hold on the glass from the stem to the base. His entire palm covers it and causes the pressure of the rim to dig into my skin, pressing uncomfortably around my breast.
At the same time, he leans down, then he bites my exposed nipple, holding my gaze as he does, his lashes longer and thicker from this angle, his teeth tugging at me and I couldn’t stop it if I tried: I moan his name.
He is devouring me from so many angles. His hand on my belly, the deep ache of the rim sinking into my flesh, his teeth doing the same.
I am consumed.
But I’m not scared.
At least not until he lifts his head, his swollen lips brushing my nipple as he says, “You look so pretty, trapped in glass.”
My fingers flex above my head. A subtle, soft movement, but I am trying to hold myself back from grabbing at him. Forcing him to finish this. To make physical all this tension between us.To see me as more than a specimen.
Even though I don’t speak a word, he glances up, at my hands, as if we’re connected. Chained. Bound. Then he slowly lifts the glass from my skin as he straightens his posture, only to grab the bowl in a vicious grip. I hear the leather of his gloves creak, watch a tendon in his neck strain against his skin, just visible from the bandana he’s wearing.
I hold my breath.
Then the glass shatters.
Slivers rain down on my skin; cold, icy,dangerous.I suck in air, a whimper and a gasp both as he examines me while slowlysetting what’s left of the wicked-sharp glass on the carpet at my side.
He keeps pressing on my exposed low belly, but his other hand grazes over the chips and shards on my breast.
I wonder if he can feel my heartbeat.
Still, I don’t move. I give in.
