Chapter
Seventeen
Kitten
For a moment, when I saw Fox standing in my doorway, I was so proud of the boundaries I put up. I told him I was mad, why he hurt me, and why I chose not to go to the club tonight.
And the first time I stood up for myself, I was wrong. And ended up hurting him instead.
I’m not putting up much of a fight when he demands a blow job. Maybe it’s guilt, or maybe it’s because he’s showing me a side of him I’ve never gotten to see. Literally. But mostly I’m curious where this evening will take me.
The shock of darkness and black that Fox’s presence provides clashes against the soft pink vibes of my room. For years I hid my girly side, adjusting my personal aesthetic for Bo’s gross alpha male, beer can decor. I never felt comfortable when I was with my ex. I bought my pink, fuzzy, pillow-shaped stuffed animal two days after I left him. Her name is Mrs. Wigglebottom the Fifth, and her cute smiling face is a reminder that I can finally be myself.
As much as Fox stands out in this room, he belongs here, just as much as I do, and Mrs. Wigglebottom.
I know what he’s about to do to me and I don’t want her to witness it. I pick up the blindfold. “You said you weren’t going to use this, right?”
He nods. I place the blindfold over Mrs. Wigglebottom the Fifth. Of course, it squishes her whole body and she looks less like a circle and more like a deformed egg. It’s moments like this I’m grateful I can’t see his face. My mind’s eye imagines him grinning and rolling his eyes.
He has the rope in his hand and beckons me over. The room isn’t big and his frame feels huge in the space. He drapes the rope over my back and moves methodically around me, crisscrossing and weaving. He works at framing my breasts then locking my shoulders in place. He keeps my forearms pinned against my sides, bends my elbows so they cross at my stomach, and my hands rest just above my pelvic bone.
“Fingers open means we stop. Do you understand?”
“Of course.” We’ve gone over the rules plenty of times.
“How’s your jaw? You worked it hard.” He rubs it with his thumb, caressing my chin.
I go to shrug but I can’t—right, the ropes. “It’s fine.”
He lingers for a beat, his hand on my face like he wants to say something, but doesn’t. He presses his forehead to mine before stepping away and reaching inside his bag. When I see it, my stomach does a triple flip as curiosity peaks. The red ball strapped to leather makes my clit pulse. This is about to be a new level I push myself to. Am I ready to be bound and unable to speak, only being able to communicate with the flexing of my fingers?
Fox is different from Bo. He would never hurt me—he’s proven that. And I doubt Ryan would ever do anything like this.
I take a deep breath. He stands in front of me, holding it, and slowly lifts it to my face. I open my mouth without being askedand he calls me his good girl. The straps fit snug around my head and clip together with a snap.
For a second, I forget how to breathe, and a well of panic bubbles up. But he whispers, “You’re doing great,” as he holds me. My deep breaths make the ropes tighter, and for some reason, the constriction makes me feel safer. “You okay, Kitten?”
I nod and he shifts to the bed, setting up pillows and guiding me over. I sit on the edge, catching a glance of myself in the mirror. He sits behind me, his hands massaging my breasts. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” His chest is pressed against my back and I lean into him. He’s right. My hair is a wavy mess and my cheeks have tear stains from choking on his cock, but I'm desired and captivating while still being captive. I want to say thank you, but the sound is muffled.
He continues to play with my breasts, kneading and tweaking my nipples until they ache. His hands snake down my arms and lock with my fingers. “If I think you can handle more, I’ll tie your legs. If not, this is the most I will do—ok?”
I nod and my answer is rewarded with his fingers prying my inner lips apart. I spread my legs further, giving him the access he wants. His finger strokes up and down my seam. I watch his dark form around me. “Further, Kitten,” he commands and my stomach drops. “I want you to see how beautiful you are.”
It feels weirdly invasive and erotic to watch myself in the mirror doing all he demands, spreading open until I can see my pussy. It’s glistening in the light, so pink and warm. Heat coils low in my stomach as his movements shift from teasing to purposeful, each one slower than the last. His finger traces around the opening and I moan. Tracing isn’t what I want. He pinches my nipple hard, and before I can react, he slides two fingers in and out, slowly, deeply. The rope keeps me still, every breath a reminder that I’m caught exactly where he wants me. I’m bound between wanting release and dreading it.
“Watch me finger-fuck you.” His intensity and calculated motion fill me and leave me empty. I groan and my mouth fills with saliva. “Are you aroused, my sweet little Kitten?”
Fuck yes. I nod vigorously. My muffled “yes” comes out sound-split around the ball.
“Is it being bound, unable to speak, or watching it that’s doing it to you?” How does he expect me to answer that?
I try to respond but it’s unintelligible. His fingers pump in and out, and his hand leaves my breast to move his mask a little over his lips. I gasp because this is the first time he's letting me see any part of his face. A wall he’s willing to break. He kisses my neck, slowly and tenderly, as his fingers move faster and faster.
“How many times do you think I’m going to make you come tonight?”
I have no idea, but when his thumb starts working my clit, I feel the pressure building from my core. His lips sink onto my shoulder next to the rope, his left hand fondles my breast, and his right hand plunges deep into me. I watch how my body reacts—my chest reddens and my breasts feel like they are swelling. The feeling builds until I break and quiver all around him.
“Did I tell you to come?”
