“Stop,” he murmured, voice soft yet commanding.
Of course she did. Awareness swept through her as she wondered what he’d claim as his prize.
He stood, his long frame slowly unfolding, and took a step toward her. But he didn’t reach for her right away. He stoodclose enough to feel him, but not close enough to lean into. The anticipation of that first touch always did things to her.
“Have you been to the fountain before?”
“Once or twice, during games.”
“It has some interesting features you should enjoy.”
Her gaze followed his to the eyebolts embedded in the stone. He looked at her with an expression requiring no translation.
“Wrists,” he ordered as he reached for the cuffs, two loops of fleece-lined dark leather hooked to his belt.
She held her hands up and watched as he buckled them in place with the same unhurried efficiency he brought to everything. Once secured, he guided her to the bench.
“Place your hands flat on the stone,” he directed, light pressure on the middle of her back, not a push, a direction, as she bent at the waist and braced herself.
The stone was cool against her skin, as was the mist from the fountain. The heat from his body, his hip and chest pressing against her side as he fastened the cuffs to the eyebolts, felt impossibly warm by comparison.
When he moved back a step, she felt his gaze move over her and could only imagine the picture she presented—bent over, dress hiked up, fabric damp and clinging to her body from the fountain’s drift.
Her heart pounded. Excited but also feeling vulnerable, she gave each restraint a small tug, enough to test their limits. As expected, they held firm.
She glanced at him when he moved behind her, letting out a shaky sigh as his hands moved up her thighs, sliding the hem of her dress up with them. Her panties came next, his thumbs hooking into the waistband and peeling them down her legs.
“Leave them,” he said when she moved to step out. “I only have the one pair of cuffs. They will have to suffice.”
His caress returned, gliding over her thighs and hips, palms curving over her bottom as he lightly massaged. One continued up her spine, tangling in her hair, while the other slid between her thighs.
Julia bit her lip, her head falling forward to hide her flushed cheeks because the wetness he found there had nothing to do with the fountain.
That wouldn’t do for Leland. He wrapped the length of her hair around his wrist, tugging her head back as two fingers dipped inside her.
“Give me all of it. I want to hear everything. Especially when you come for me.”
A sound escaped her before she could stop it. He let her build, fingers gliding slow and relentless, his thumb on her clit not nearly as slow—thank goodness—but not enough to propel her over the top.
It went on for a gloriously long time, until she couldn’t take much more. “Please, sir…”
“You’ve drenched my fingers,” he said with a husky rasp. “I know you want to come. But first…”
She lost his fingers, only to feel the sharp sting of a smack against her cheek. Julia cried out in surprise and, yes, pleasure. When turned on like this, a bare hand cracking against her bottom could make her come in a blink.
“Do not come without me,” he warned, as his hand fell again.
“I’ll try, sir,” she gasped, her answer coinciding with another crack.
“You’ll do more than try, Julia. You’ll wait because it will please me.”
In two sessions, without asking her to name her kink, he had her figured out. She had the overwhelming urge to surrender to sensation but held herself together for him. It wasn’t easy.Especially when he moved behind her, pausing only a moment for protection, and slid inside her.
He was a big man everywhere, and the stretch would have been difficult if she weren’t sopping wet.
He gripped her hip, the other hand still tangled in her hair, but her name from him, in a low, shuddering exhale against her neck, nearly undid her.
Still, she hung on, intent on being the good girl he often called her.
