“Lower,” I whisper, my voice unsteady. The words shake apart as inhibition slips through my fingers. “Touch me…there.”
He listens, which turns me on even more. That a man as strong as him is letting me take the lead, following my directions. It’s intoxicating.
Carrson’s hand tickles over my stomach before slipping lower.
I moan loudly when he finally makes contact. Unashamed by how soaked I am for him.
“Oh—” The surprised note in his voice is almost as raw as mine.
I move instinctively, rocking into his touch, chasing it.
“Mmm…” I can barely form words. “A little—forward—”
He listens. Finds my clit, and everything inside me goes loose. My head tips back, my body going heavy, the pull of the restraints biting into my wrists as the chains clink.
“Right there,” I pant.
“Here?”
I answer by moving, guiding him without thinking, swaying into his hand.
Tension builds, winds tighter, each touch taking me higher until I’m right at the edge, ready to fall and give in to the release my body is begging for.
I don’t. Because tonight isn’t only about me. It’s about him, the way he’s pushing beyond his past, trying things he’s never done before. Letting himself want this, me.
“Take off your clothing,” I tell him. “I need you next to me.”
I worry he’ll hesitate or protest, but everything that’s happened between us has affected him too. He takes a step back and strips quickly. I hear it in the rustle of clothing dropping to the floor. Then his hands are back on me, returning without pause, helping me out of my clothes until there’s nothing left between us.
“I want you. All of you,” he says between kisses, with his hand back between my legs. He finds my entrance and pushes a finger into me. Then two. I whimper at the sensation. The aching, sinful stretch of it. His erection brushes my hip, hard and ready. Enough to let me know I’m not the only one losing my mind here.
“You can have me,” I tell him.
“Not like this,” he says, firmer now, as if he’s decided to take over.
He reaches up and pulls my manacles free from the wall, leaving them secured around my wrists. With my arms bound in front of me, he guides me across the room. I move carefully, shuffling my feet along the floor, trusting him to lead where I can’t see.
He stops me, hands firm on my shoulders, pressing down.
I hiss as cold metal meets the back of my legs, then my hips.
The altar.
The one in the center of the room.
He eases me back until I’m lying flat against it. He lifts the chain, and I hear a quiet click as Carrson secures the manacles above my head to some hook I must’ve not noticed before. He gives the chain another tug, checking it.
“Are your hands okay?” he asks, a trace of roughness in his voice. “I—” A pause. “I need them like this.”
“They’re fine,” I say, even though pins and needles spark downmy arms.
It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Not now.
Carrson climbs over me, settling between my legs, his weight careful but solid.
“If you don’t want this,” he says, “you need to tell me now. Once I start,” he inhales, “I won’t be able to stop.”
“Don’t stop.” I tilt my pelvis up to him. An invitation.
