‘Just promises,’ he whispers, kissing my cheek.
Lowering his head, he strokes my nipple with the flat of his tongue, taking it into his mouth and sucking hard. As soft as his mouth is hard, he draws his fingers across my leg, brushing my entrance just once. I try desperately to absorb the enticing sensation, my body rising on instinct. I whimper as he repeats the actions against my opposite side, the corner of his smile visible against the skin of my breast. I pant quietly, need hot and heavy, drenching my skin as his mouth skims lower, licking and nipping still.
‘Fettered and fucked... my favourite,’ he murmurs against the soft flesh of my belly. I’m about to point out the obvious as he pushes a finger inside me. ‘Finger fucked,’ he growls as he adds another. I moan, the words dying, unformed.
Dark eyes watch me, fingers dipping and curling inside, his touch as exquisite as his gaze is electrifying. I’m so turned on by his watching me that it only increases my pleasure, and as though knowing this, he speaks.
‘Don’t come. Not yet.’
‘Do it, then,’ I moan, my wave of need beginning to crest.
‘Do what?’ he purrs. ‘Come on, say it. Tell me what you want, what you need.’
‘You, I need you,’ I whimper.
‘But we’re not done.’ Lowering his head, he continues kissing my torso. My legs jerk against the restraints as he reaches the apex of my thighs with a chaste kiss. ‘So sweet,’ he murmurs. His fingers hold me open, his flat, full tongue drawing languorous strokes along my flesh. My insides tighten and heat as, like quicksilver, the intensity begins to build again, forcing me to lift my hands to his hair, as though to hold onto it.
‘Ah-ah,’ he admonishes, his tongue circling me as his fingers work me still.
My eyes roll closed and I moan, arching my hips within my limited motion, desperate for more—for harder, deeper—as his teeth graze my sensitive skin. Quivering and desperate, I’m just a bundle of nerve endings, drowning in sensation. I’m close. God, so close.
I sense him standing and whimper, my eyes snapping open to follow, heated and desperate, wanting yet unfulfilled.
Fingers at the hem of his shirt, he reaches for the lowest button, loosening it in a deliberate, unhurried action, revealing his defined torso inch by slow inch. With a light roll of his shoulders, the shirt slides down his arms. I reach to stroke his flat stomach, wanting to touch him, bring him closer as he moves to the back of the chair.
‘Patience is bitter,’ he taunts from behind, running his hands down my arms.
Swallowing thickly, I rasp, ‘But its fruit sweet.’ I’m a pawn in his game and I don’t know the rules, but I so want to play.
‘Clever kitten.’
Grasping my wrists, he lifts them to my head, binding them deftly with another silk, finally threading the fabric through the crown of the chair.
‘Look at yourself,’ he coaxes, but I’m too busy watchinghim; unable to move my eyes from his almost feral gaze. His fingers tilt my chin to our shocking reflection; the mirror in front of me, I’d forgotten.
My eyes are reflected wide with anticipation, complexion flushed, my breasts are thrust out. Satin restraints echo the shoes on my feet. I’m so openand exposed...thrillingly so. Watching him watching me, suddenly it’s a little hard to breathe.
‘What did I promise you?’ He lowers his head, our eyes connecting in the mirror, the question pulsing between my legs.
A really good seeing to?
I lick my lips, summoning a more sensible line. ‘That you’d make me beg.’
He smiles and with a rustle of silk, covers my eyes.
‘So I did.’ The sense of promise hangs heavy in the air as the soft pad of feet sound against the marble floor.
Was that a swish of air from an opening door? My anxiety levels spike. He’s leaving. What sort of a nut job allows a guy, one she barely knows, to tie her to a chair? And now he’s buggered off to god knows where.
It’s all fun and games until somebody gets fucked. Or not, as the case may be.
I try to rein in my rising panic, resisting the urge to pull against the restraints, my breathing shallow and rapid. I hold my breath, straining to make sense of muffled noises coming from the other room, without much success. Time passes, how many minutes—a couple... five... ten?—I have no idea as I wait and speculate, anticipation and anxiety cleaving my insides.
Having no control over what’s about to happen is arousing, consuming.Confusing. As my mind races, doubts and recriminations rise.
Nice girls don’t put themselves in this position. Nice girls have sensible sex. In a bed. Lying down. With a man they know. They don’t allow themselves to be tied to a chair, naked and spread open by a virtual stranger.
My heart skips a beat as the door swishes open once more. Soft steps draw closer, and something I can’t quite place. Maybe the clink of glassware? Then, liquid pouring.
