The shirt falls to the floor, and she’s left standing in a pair of lilac underwear and a matching bra.
“What should I use?” she asks, surveying the room.
“Use?”
“To restrain you.”
My hand goes still on my cock, the heat burning in me turned up another notch at the visual that hits me. “I think there are some old neckties in the back of my closet.”
She pads away, disappearing into the closet. The sound of metal hangers scraping against the rod is followed by a round of giggles. When she returns, she’s swinging four ties in various patterns around. “These are hideous.”
“Tell me about it. I don’t even know why I still have them. They’re from my frat days in college.”
“Oh.” She waggles her brows. “Mr. Pretty Boy was a frat boy, huh?”
“More like a nerd boy. My fraternity was not like the ones you see on TV. We were very…”
“Dorky?” She guesses at the same time I say, “Studious.”
We both laugh.
“C’mere,” I say.
Nearly naked, she crawls on top of me and straddles my hips.
I can’t get my hands on her fast enough, and when I squeeze her firm thighs and her stomach clenches, it’s a damn boost to my ego.
She drops the ties onto my abdomen, then picks the blue-and-gold plaid one to wrap around my wrists.
While I expect a simple knot, she surprises me with one fit for a skilled sailor.
“How—”
“Sailing camp in the Hamptons,” she cuts me off.
“You sail? Why haven’t I seen you out on the water here?”
“Because I hate sailing.” She says. “I capsized once when I was ten, and it scared the shit out of me. Thankfully, I’m only scared of sailing and not the actual water.” She tugs on the tie, searching my face. “Too tight?”
The pressure of the fabric is hotter than I imagined. “No. It’s fine.”
“Good.”
She lifts my arms above my head and loops a second tie through the first to secure my wrists to the wrought iron headboard, her tits hovering over my face.
In one quick move, I lift up and capture her nipple through her bra with my mouth.
Bulls-eye.
She yelps in surprise and loses her balance, catching herself on my chest. “Naughty boy,” she teases, then hops off my lap before I have a chance to do it again.
At the bottom of the bed, she ties each ankle to the footboard so my legs are spread.
I’m completely at her mercy, clothed in nothing but nerves and excitement.
“Are you comfortable?” Her question is genuine.
“Would you prop a pillow under my arms, please?”
