I tip my chin back. “So, what if I am? You seem to like it.”
He kisses my forehead, and I’m tempted to melt.
“I bought them for you,” he murmurs. “I wouldn’t use them with anyone else.”
I blink. “Oh.”
He’s been anticipating this.
I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s made it clear that he intends to have me, and he’s aware of my preference for him to dominate me.
“Okay,” I agree softly.
He dangles the cuffs in front of my face and drawls, “Is that how my good girl asks for what she wants?”
I lick my lips. “I want them.”
He quirks a brow. “Try again.”
My core flutters, and my arousal wets his pants.
“I want you to handcuff me, Professor.” My voice is low and sultry in a way I’ve never heard before.
He curses again, but his hands are gentle as he secures the cuffs around my wrists, looping the fine chain that connects them around a metal slat on his headboard.
“Don’t struggle. I don’t want you to injure yourself.”
I test the restraints carefully. They’re unyielding, and if I pull against them too hard, I’ll bruise myself.
I nod my understanding. Rand would never want to harm me, and I’ll honor that.
He reaches in the nightstand drawer again. This time, he pulls out a blindfold.
I shake my head. “I want to see you. Please.”
He shushes me gently. “Trust me.”
I draw in a shuddering breath. “I do.”
The padded, black satin blindfold covers my eyes, and the world goes dark as he secures it at the back of my head. Immediately, all of my other senses heighten.
I hear his rapid breaths; he’s practically panting with his own need for me.
He smells faintly of salty body wash and something deeper beneath it that’s purely masculine. The scent reaches something distinctly feminine inside me, and I inhale like I need him more than oxygen.
And the sensation of his gentle fingers tracing the lines of my features is sweet enough to hold an edge of sharpness.
Even though I can’t see him, the intimacy is almost painful in its intensity.
I’ve never experienced anything like it.
I tip my head back, seeking a kiss.
He obliges me, tasting my lips in a slow, languorous claim. The desperate frenzy of our earlier joining melts into tender passion.
I moan into his mouth, craving more of his unique taste.
He can’t seem to get enough of me, either.
