Chapter
Eleven
Kitten
Fox is gentle as he positions my body the way he wants, which is on my back. It’s literally blind trust with the fabric tight over my eyes. He tells me to put my hands over my head—this is the way I sleep, so it feels natural. However, my false sense of security shatters when I hear him set something on the table. Something thick wraps around my wrists, like wide band bracelets or … cuffs. They tighten and a metal chain drags across the tabletop. After a few quick snaps, my hands are bound to the table.
“Pull your hands apart.” I can’t—they’re connected. “Now try to lift your arms off the table.” Again, no go. “We’ll start off with your arms, then we’ll see if you can handle other parts being restrained.” His fingers push a stray lock of hair off my face and then I feel the heat of his mouth on my cheek. “If you’re a good girl, I’ll do your legs next.”
I swallow the insane amount of saliva building in my mouth. “Let’s go over safety. Green means you’re fine and you want more. Yellow means you’re unsure and you need a little time. Red means stop.” He traces the palm of my hand and it tickles.“Sometimes words are hard, so a visual is helpful.” He closes my hand into a fist. “Closed hands means everything is fine. You tend to tense up your hands anyway when you’re close.” He pries my fingers open and makes them flat “This means stop. One hand or two—it doesn’t matter.”
He releases my hand, and I hear his fingers drag across the table. He pushes the cup of my corset below my breast, massages and kneads it, making my insides soften. “We’re going to practice, okay? Hands closed if you are good, open if you want it to stop.”
He tweaks my nipples, and a zing of pleasure hits me. My hands stay closed. His warm tongue slides over the tender skin, rolling and teasing it, until he wraps his lips around it and starts sucking. God his mouth feels intoxicating, even better because I know he’s fighting against his own rules every time he touches me.
The pain starts to rise, but it’s still fine. He releases with a pop and goes back to his fingers. I grip the chains. The area is sensitive and it’s getting angry at me. Hell, I’m getting angry at him. What’s the point in tormenting my left nipple? What has it ever done to him?
Then he pinches it, and I yelp. It makes him pinch harder and twist. Beads of sweat start to form, and this isn’t fun anymore. No—I don’t like it. He twists it back and forth and the pain is unbearable. I fight against the tension and open my hands, and instantly, he stops.
“Very good,” he says in a soft, cooing tone. “Now I know some of your limits, and you know how to tell me if things are too rough.” He moves toward my head and cups my neck, lifting me off the table. “And I will do everything in my power to make sure you never open your hand again.”
My shoulders tighten, but he presses his lips to mine, his tongue exploring my mouth. His kisses are like drugs—each doseleaves me craving so much more. I can’t keep track of time, only the different ways he touches my body—soft, sweet caresses, long strokes down my thighs with just the right amount of pressure. Every moan I make results in another part of my body being worshiped.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says in a low, breathy voice.
He pays careful attention to every inch of me, except where I crave it the most. My pussy pulses, my clit throbs. I need more. My lower half starts to squirm, so I flex my thigh muscles, trying to relieve any tension. He chuckles and moves something under the table before pulling my legs to the edge and spreading them in a backwards Y. He ties straps that wrap around my thighs and my ankles. I feel secure, but my ass is off the edge of the table and I’m completely vulnerable. Gloved fingers brush the inside of both my legs and I feel his body against my thighs.
His finger slides up my center and I jump, but the restraints keep me still. “You were wet before, Kitten, but now?” I gasp as his fingers slide inside me in a slow, rhythmic pumping. “Is this what you want?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe I’ll keep fingering you until you come. Could you do that? Come on my hand without touching your swollen clit?”
“I don’t know,” I say.
He moves his fingers in and out, his left hand resting on my stomach. Still, he moves slowly, stretching me, making sure I feel every inch of him. “Look at you—tits out, tied down, blindfolded, your legs open for me to do whatever I want. How do you feel?”
The first word that comes to mind: “Slutty.”
He tsks. “Now we need to explore that. Are you sure that’s the word you want to use?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know.” He moves his fingers faster. “I’ve never done this before.” The words become harder to form with every passing second.
His thumb brushes against my clit and I jump. “You’re fooling me—you’re fucking perfect at this.” He lets out a low groan. “You’re making me so hard right now.”
“Really?” My voice squeaks.
“Why don’t you believe me?” He slides another finger in and the pressure is heavenly.
“I can’t tell if you like this or if it’s a show. You tell me I’m beautiful.” I think about the ways he’s touched me, how he called me precious. “No one has ever shown me this much attention before.”
“And that makes you feel slutty?”
“It makes me feel desired, but …” I trail off.
“But what?”
I shake my head and he rubs my clit in a slow circle to match the pace of his fingers. “You have your boundaries and I’m not going to ask you to cross them.”
