And how much I like being told what to do.
Being ordered.
Being claimed.
He is not wrong.
I hear the tell-tale sign of his belt being pulled through his belt loops.
I moan softly.
"Are you thinking about my cock, amore?"
"Yes," I admit.
"Are you thinking about my cock between those pretty, lush lips?"
"Yes," I say.
"Which lips?" he whispers in my ear as he takes my wrists firmly in one hand.
"Both," I moan, and I hear the rasp of the belt sliding against his palm.
The buckle of his belt scrapes my lower back as he loops it around my wrists, and the cool metal makes me gasp.
His lips find my neck, and his teeth sink into the side, biting, claiming.
He finishes with the belt and steps back, leaving me naked and trembling and blind, hands tied behind my back.
I wait, breathless.
"So beautiful, mia bella ragazza. Such a sight. My woman, bound and wanting."
His hand slides down the front of my body and between my legs.
"Wider," he orders.
I obey, spreading my thighs wide.
"Very good," he murmurs, and his fingers part the slick folds of my pussy.
My hips jerk at the contact.
"Look how wet you are. Dripping."
"Please," I moan.
He pushes a thick finger inside me, and my muscles clench, trying to keep him there.
But it doesn't last long, and I whine in protest when he withdraws.
"Shhh," he says, his finger trailing down my thigh, leaving a damp path. "Step forward."
My breath catches. “What?”
“Carefully.”
I hesitate, blind and bound, and so worked up I can barely think.
