Page 104 of Axe Marks the Spot

The thought gives me a bit of confidence, and my chest pushes out as if I’m offering my breasts to him. In a way, I am. Not just this part of me, but everything. Mind and body.

“Can I touch you?” he asks.

“Please, Sir.”

Dane chuckles, and my cheeks warm at how pathetic that sounded. He leans forward in his chair, the wood creaking under his weight. His fingers brush my hair back then ghost down my neck. Goose bumps break out over my flesh, and he traces them down until he’s brushing the crest of one mound. Air gets trapped in my lungs as his fingers smooth over my nipple, this time with no fabric between us.

He takes the hard bud between his fingers and pinches, and the sensation of it, mixed with the low vibrations against my clit, have me crying out.

“So responsive,” he says. He pinches again then brings his other hand to join, both hands cupping and teasing my breasts now. “Does this feel good, baby?”

He pinches both nipples at the same time, and the bite of pain floods my pussy with arousal. “Yes, Sir!”

“Hmm, I love how you fit in my hands, how warm you are, how sensitive. I have no doubt I could make you come from playing with your tits alone.” He pinches again. “I bet your cunt is wet for me, huh?”

“Yours,” I whisper.

Dane stops his teasing, hands stilling on my chest. “Yours, what?” he asks.

“Your cunt is wet, Sir.”

A deep growl rumbles from his chest, and his eyes turn so dark, I wonder if he’s possessed. His touch moves from my chest, but before I can miss the warmth, he shifts to the edge of his chair, and his hands dive into my hair. Then his lips hover over mine, and the way he’s breathing makes me think he’s not in control of himself.

He presses his forehead against mine, and our noses bump, our breath mingling together. “I was going to save the reward of my mouth for later, but you deserve a kiss for knowing what’s mine.”

Dane’s fingers dig into my skull, and I’m overtaken by his scent of cedar and spicy vanilla mixed with the spices of dinner clinging to our bodies. His lips ghost over mine as if he’s asking me for permission, but he already has it.

“Green,” I whisper.

His fingers tug me the rest of the way in, and my hands grip his shins so I don’t fall over from the force of his kiss. I don’t have time to think if that’s going against the rules because, in the next moment, his lips crush to mine.

I’ve had a few first kisses, and all of them were tentative, sweet. Two people attempting to figure out each other for the first time. But there is nothing tentative or sweet about Sir’s kiss.

He consumes me, his beard tickling my skin. I gasp, and he uses the opportunity to slip his tongue inside. His groan vacillates through my body, the sensations of it mixing with the vibrations against my clit. His fingers in my hair attempt to tug me closer, but there’s nowhere to go. Our mouths are fused together.

He tastes like wine and lemon, and the heat of his tongue and the strong grip of his hands nearly send me over the edge. My body tenses, but Dane keeps going, the fabric of his shirt brushing against my nipples as he massages his tongue against mine and kisses me until there’s no air left in my lungs. My clit throbs as he pulls back and sucks on my lower lip; I take in a short breath of air and cry out. My body starts to crest, but a sharp tug on my hair stops my orgasm from happening, and I gasp.

Sir’s low chuckle is akin to sinister as he pulls away from me, hands still gripping my hair so my head tips back from the tension. His lips are red and puffy from our kiss and the stain of my pink lipstick. He looks good, like I’ve claimed him. But I can’t focus on that, because he’s smirking like the devil, and my body is trembling with the denial of my release.

“Bad girl. My reward didn’t include permission to come.” He releases my hair and sits back. I miss the heat of his body, but I can still taste him on my tongue. He continues to grin as he adjusts the roll of his sleeves, the veins of his forearms somehow more prominent.

The vibrations on my clit haven’t ceased, but I do my best to ignore them. He keeps his eyes on me and reaches his left hand into his pocket, pulling out a chain. He holds it up for me to see, and it looks like two clamps on the ends of one long chain.

“These are nipple clamps. Have you ever tried them before?”

“No, Sir.”

He sits forward again, his rough fingers ghosting over my pointed nipples. “It’s going to hurt, but I think you’ll like the pain. Are you willing to try?”

“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “I trust you.”

His eyes soften. “Good. Now arch your chest forward, and put your hands back on your knees, palms up.”

My fingers are still gripping his shins, and my skin prickles with embarrassment. He smiles at me knowingly, and I do as he asked. When I’m in position, he pinches one nipple, placing the clamp on before doing the other. The chain connecting them hangs down, the light weight adding to the subtle pinch. It’s not comfortable, but I also don’t hate it.

“Green, yellow, red?” he asks.

My nipples throb, but so does my clit. “Green, Sir.”