"It was worth it," I said. Immediately.
He looked at me.
"The shot looked incredible," I said. "I stand by it."
"Of course you do."
He didn't take my plain t-shirt off. He couldn't—my wrists were tied. Instead he bunched the fabric up slowly, his knuckles dragging warm up my stomach, my ribs, until the shirt was above my breasts and the cotton hem was right at my chin.
He looked at my face.
"Hold it," he said.
I opened my mouth and took the hem between my teeth.
He reached behind me and unhooked my bra. Slid the straps down as far as they'd go with my arms above my head—not all the way off, not possible—just enough that it fell loose and he pushed it up alongside the shirt.
He stepped back.
Just looked.
I was tied to his headboard with his lasso, shirt held between my own teeth, and he was standing there in his henley with his arms crossed looking at me like he had nowhere else to be and nothing more pressing to do than take me apart at whatever pace he decided.
I was going to kill him.
He uncrossed his arms. Sat on the edge of the bed beside me. Reached out and traced one finger—just one, just the tip—along the curve of my breast.
I breathed through my nose.
"Don't drop it," he said.
I held it.
He did it again. Slower. The same path, unhurried, watching my face the whole time. His thumb grazed my nipple and my back arched off the mattress and he pulled his hand back immediately.
I made a sound that was not dignified.
"Hold still," he said.
I held still.
He leaned in and pressed his mouth to my collarbone. My sternum. The curve of my breast, his breath warm against my skin, his lips barely touching. Not enough. Nowhere near enough. I pulled against the lasso and it held and his hand came up to my hip.
"Still," he said against my skin.
I went still.
"Good girl." His mouth moved, just slightly. Closer. "You're doing so well."
The shirt was still between my teeth. I was focusing very hard on that. On keeping my jaw closed and my breathing even and not making another undignified sound.
Losing on all fronts.
His thumb moved again, slow circle, and I exhaled hard through my nose and he made a low sound of approval that went straight through me.
"You know what I keep thinking about?" he said against my breast. Conversational. Like we were at the picnic table. Like he wasn't currently destroying me. "That stunt today."
I stared at the ceiling.
