Текст книги "Dangerously Bound"
Автор книги: Eden Bradley
Соавторы: Eden Bradley
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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 18 страниц)
“Allie, you can’t blame yourself for this. He started it years ago—you’re just trying to repair the damage. So, the scene went wrong. So what? That doesn’t mean you two never talk again, or maybe even try the club again. Does it?” Marie Dawn asked.
“No. I mean, there’s nothing in the kink handbook that says we can’t try again, if we want. But . . . this whole thing obviously messed with his head, and I don’t think he’ll want to.”
“I think you’re wrong.”
“I don’t know.” She moved to the lace curtains at the window, let the streetlights outside blur into a wash of pale amber against the tears pooling in her eyes. “He told me that being there with me tonight brought up how he used to feel, and I think he was talking about our relationship, back when things were good between us. I think. I just don’t know.”
“Are you okay? Do you need me to come over? Because I can come right now. You just say the word.”
“No, I’m okay.” She bit her lip. “I’ll be okay. I’m confused and . . . I’ll be fine. I just need to get some sleep and try to work this out in my head. He did make me promise to call him tomorrow.”
“Good. It’ll give you a chance to talk. You do want to talk to him?”
“Yes. Of course I do. I just couldn’t talk to him tonight. I couldn’t stand to face him.”
“Go easy on yourself, honey,” Marie Dawn said quietly. “Love is always hard enough.”
“I do love him,” she said, her voice low, a little strangled. “Wow. I haven’t said those words out loud since I was a teenager.” Awe made goose bumps rise on her flesh.
“Maybe it’s about time.”
“Maybe. I just don’t think . . . I don’t think Mick will ever love me back.”
“Oh, he loves you. He has for years. Give him a chance to figure it out. And Allie? Personally I think forcing him into facing this is the best way—probably the only way—to get through to him. Don’t you give up. You’re stronger than that.”
Allie smiled. “What would I do without you to mama me?”
“You know I love you, chérie.”
“I know. Thank you.”
“You sure you don’t need me? Neal wouldn’t even know I was gone. I can slide into my slippers and be there in fifteen minutes.”
“I’m okay. Really. You stay home with your husband.”
“Check in with me tomorrow.”
“I will.”
They hung up and she found herself feeling marginally better. Amazing how the support of a good friend could hold her up when she was down. How had she lived so far from Marie Dawn all these years? But she was back in New Orleans—to stay, it seemed. She didn’t have to be separated from her best friend anymore. Or her family, whom she loved dearly, even if they could be a little crazy and overwhelming sometimes.
Or from Mick, maybe.
She took in a breath, exhaled and pulled in another. There was the familiar scent of New Orleans—old wood and plaster, dust on lace curtains, and always the scent of flowers that seemed to come from everywhere.
If she shook her head so that her hair fell against her cheek, she could still smell Mick’s scent on her.
Her pulse raced. Her body heated.
No matter how emotional she might be, that primal need for him was always lurking, waiting for one small thought to bloom into sharply burning desire.
His hands had been on her tonight—all over her body.
She had been naked and under his command.
A soft moan escaped her lips. She wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand as if it would erase the need for him.
Mick.
She shook her head as she moved down the hall into the bathroom, stripped out of her clothes as she ran the hot water in the shower, turning the temperature down before she stepped in.
She leaned into the tiles, cool against her back, closed her eyes and remembered.
His dark brows drawn in concentration as he leaned over her. The slide of rope on naked flesh. The scent of him filling her lungs.
She remembered the rope slipping between her thighs, pressing hard between the lips of her sex, and reached down to press there with her fingers.
“Oh . . .”
It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.
She pulled the shower sprayer down and held it so the water hit her clitoris, groaning at the pressure. Parting her thighs, she moved the hard spray of water closer and imagined it was Mick’s mouth on her. Teasing, licking, sucking. Pulling that sensitive nub of flesh into his mouth, running his tongue over the tip.
In moments she was on the edge of climax, her clit pulsing, her legs shaking.
“Mick . . . I’m coming.” She gasped as the first shock wave hit her. “For you . . . Oh!”
She shivered as pleasure rolled through her, wave after wave. Behind her closed eyes was his face. His scent. His air of command.
Mick.
Always.
She leaned harder into the tiles, panting, dizzy with a need still unsated.
It would always be Mick that she needed. She didn’t know how not to need him. She didn’t know how to tame the raging desire for him without him being the one to tame her.
She shook her head. She had to make a decision: Was she going to pursue Mick, or wasn’t she? What was fair to him? Could she live with herself if she didn’t push for time with him? Could she live with herself if she did and they failed as miserably as they had tonight?
She rinsed off and stepped out of the shower, quickly dried her skin and her hair with a towel. She needed to climb into bed and not think anymore. She’d turn on one of her travel shows and lose herself in whatever part of the world was being explored. It was how she’d always dealt with stress, for as long as she could remember.
She climbed naked into the big four-poster bed that had been in the house when she’d arrived. It was a beautiful piece, probably French, and the first thing she’d done when she’d arrived in town was to replace the mattress and buy a dusky lilac duvet and piles of pillows in lilac and white. The bed was too New Orleans—she couldn’t help but make it romantic and plush.
The sheets were cool against her skin as she settled in, plumping the pillows behind her head. She grabbed the remote from the bedside table, turned off the lamp and flicked on the television.
She found a show exploring Tahiti, and let the beauty of the turquoise water and the narrator’s smooth voice soothe her until she was too sleepy to pay attention any longer. She turned the sound off and rolled onto her side to stare unseeing at the night sky through the window. She didn’t see the moon, half-obscured by cloud. She didn’t see the stars shining with their pale light. All she saw was Mick’s face. She slept, and dreamed of him through the night.
* * *
MORNING CAME TOO early. Allie stretched, testing her muscles for any stiffness after being bound the night before, but it had been over too fast to cause any lingering effects. Not to her body, anyway.
She sat up and flipped back the covers, got out of bed and slipped her robe over her shoulders, pretending she wasn’t already full of anxiety. Was it too early to contact Mick? Did she even know what she wanted to say to him?
A glance at the clock told her it was eight thirty, and if she knew Mick—and she still did—he was probably already up and had been to the gym.
“What the hell,” she muttered, finding her phone in the living room and dialing him.
It rang, then went to voice mail.
“Mick, hi, it’s me. Allie. Um . . . I was supposed to call, so I’m calling, but maybe you’re not up yet. I’m sorry if I woke you. I just . . . I’m checking in. Call me back when you can. Okay. Bye.”
She hit the End Call button and swore.
“Way to sound like a complete idiot,” she muttered.
She rubbed her eyes. Why hadn’t she at least had some coffee first so she could manage to make sense?
Tucking her phone into the pocket of her robe, she moved into the kitchen to get coffee started. Her cell phone rang.
Mick.
Her stomach knotted, her pulse fluttering.
Just breathe.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Allie.”
“Oh, hi.”
“Sorry I missed you. I was just getting out of the shower.”
Mick with hot water pouring over his muscular body . . .
She bit back a moan.
“I’m glad I didn’t wake you up.”
“Already went out for a run this morning.”
She had to smile to herself.
“So, how are you doing?” he asked. “Did you get some sleep?”
“Some, yes. And I feel okay. No sore spots.”
“What about the rest? Are you still sorry you got me to play you?”
“I’m only sorry you didn’t kiss me,” she said before she could stop herself.
There was a long pause. Then he said, “Allie,” in a low voice.
She ran her fingers through her hair, catching the tangles. “I know, I know. And that’s not entirely true. I’m sorry about the tears. The drama.”
“I told you last night that wasn’t your fault.”
“I don’t want to argue with you, Mick.”
“Good, then don’t. Just do as I say.”
“What?”
But the sudden authority in his tone was already making her bones melt.
“I thought about this a lot last night after I took you home, and more this morning. The way I see it, we owe it to each other to move ahead with the plan. I owe it to you.”
“To move ahead in what way, exactly? To do a scene at the club? You don’t owe me anything.”
“Don’t argue with me, Allie.”
She walked across the small kitchen, rested her back against the old pink tile at the edge of the sink. She didn’t know what to do, whether to argue or to let him take the lead. She wanted to be with him so badly it hurt. But what was he offering her other than another night of play, the opportunity to set things right in that arena?
“Mick, if this is just you trying to live up to your word as a Dominant, then . . . I don’t know if I can do that. Just have one more scene with you, try to make it a good one, then . . . I don’t know.”
There was a long beat. She could hear him breathing on the other end of the phone. “I don’t know, either, to be honest. And I have to tell you I topped out last night for the first time—that’s why I had to stop the scene. Don’t try to take the blame for it—it happens sometimes. You were doing beautifully. But last night started something, and I think we have to see it through. I don’t know where to, ultimately. But it’s you and me, Allie. We’re not just two people who met at the club and decided to take each other out for a spin. It can’t ever be that for us. Last night showed me that. Topping out showed me that. Part of it was the reality of being at the club with you. To be honest, it stunned me a little, which I didn’t realize until this morning. To know that you really are a part of the kink world—the sweet Allie I’ve known since we were kids. I have to wrap my head around that. But yeah, play for us can never be a casual thing. So if we’re going there at all, we have to be aware of that.”
“You’re right. But Mick . . . do we really try to do this? Because as you said, it’s us. And I’m still not sure that me pushing things wasn’t a huge mistake.”
“Maybe. Or maybe it’s time we figure out once and for all if we’re a mistake.”
Tears formed behind her closed eyes. Could she take it if they got any closer, only to find out they’d crash and burn?
“Allie?”
“I’m thinking,” she said.
“Don’t think. That gets us both into trouble every time, doesn’t it?”
“Can you tell me this isn’t about you having something to prove, Mick? To me? To yourself?”
“It’s always about trying to prove something to myself,” he said gruffly.
“But if that’s all it is—”
“It’s not.”
She exhaled, bit her lip. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yes. Okay.”
“You’re not going to fight me on this?” he asked.
“I just said okay, Mick.”
He let out a small laugh. “Just kind of hard to believe.”
She laughed then, too. “I know.”
“The minute I get you back in that club I’ll find a way to curb your tendency to argue, Allie girl.”
A long, sweet shiver trembled through her body.
“That’s what I’m counting on,” she told him.
Things had shifted somehow from uncertainty and nerves to a hot sensuality in mere moments, it seemed. But that was Mick. Hard with her one minute and soft the next.
Hard with me . . . oh my.
“Now you tell me what your preference is regarding any sexual contact.”
“I . . .” She pressed her fingertips to her lips for a moment. “I really don’t want to be the first one to say it.”
“What if that’s an order?”
“Then I’ll disobey. Just accept that you’re not going to get me to roll over on this one, Mick.”
He laughed. “All right, stubborn girl. I’ll tell you that I think it’s a bad idea to put too many strict limitations on how things go. Again, this is us. We’re not strangers. We should give it every chance to allow things to flow naturally.”
“I agree. Except . . . actual sex is something else, Mick. It’s too intimate. We need to see how play goes, how we go, before we can even begin to negotiate that.”
“Agreed. But I’ll send my clean health papers to you. I get STI checked every twelve weeks. I’ll expect you to do the same in the name of transparency whether we’re having actual intercourse or not. So, we need to discuss when we do this again,” he said. “What’s your schedule like?”
“I don’t really have much of one yet aside from house renovations, which haven’t begun. Lunch with Marie Dawn today—”
“Good.”
“See? I can follow instructions sometimes.”
“Sometimes,” he said wryly. “What else this weekend?”
“That’s it.”
“Then we’re back to The Bastille tonight.”
The breath went right out of her. “Oh.”
“Is that an argument, Allie?”
“What? No. I just didn’t expect things to happen so fast.”
“I like fast.”
God, she was going wet just hearing the tease in his voice, the authority.
“You always have.”
“I’ll pick you up at eight. Be ready. Same instructions as last night.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Don’t be smart, Allie. You’d do well to remember I’m as much a sadist as I am a rope Top.”
“And I’m as much a masochist as I am a rope bottom.”
They were both silent for several long moments while her system burned with desire.
“Tonight,” he said finally.
“Tonight,” she repeated.
They hung up and she clasped her cell phone in her hands, pressed it to her chest.
This was either going to be amazing or heartbreaking—again. She wasn’t sure she could handle heartbreak. But Mick was right: if they didn’t try, how would they ever know? She didn’t want to live with a head full of the might-have-beens. She’d been doing that for years, and she’d never gotten over it. But she also couldn’t go into this with a heart full of dread. She would need to gather her strength, to not let the fear defeat her. She would do it. For him.
And she would do it for herself. They both deserved, finally, to know.
* * *
SOMEHOW SHE’D KEPT herself busy all day, talking with Allister about the remodel, which he would start next week after a good look at the place on Monday, then at the hardware store, picking out paint and looking at kitchen cabinets. She’d taken a long bath, let herself sink into the ritual of smoothing lotion onto her body, doing her makeup, brushing out her hair until it shone.
This time she wore red silk lingerie and a black knit tank dress that skimmed the tops of her thighs, and high black sandals with straps that crossed delicately over her instep. By seven forty-five she was ready, heart racing once more, checking her reflection in the mirror, wanting to be perfect for him.
When the doorbell rang at exactly eight o’clock, it startled her, even though she’d been waiting for it.
Calm down.
She shook her head at her own ridiculousness as she went to open the door.
Just like last night, he seemed to dwarf the doorway. And he was so damn sexy, with his devilish goatee. He wore a bit of a smirk.
“Very nice, Allie girl. You ready to go?”
She nodded.
He opened the screen and took her arm, pulling her out. Silently, she handed him the house keys and he locked the front door, handed the keys back to her and kept a hand at the small of her back as he led her to his truck and helped her in.
She was sinking already, her mind emptying of everything but the sense of déjà vu and the overwhelming sense of Mick’s presence as he drove them to the club.
“You doing all right?” he asked her.
“Yes. Just getting my head in the right place.”
They stopped at a light and he turned to her. “I think you’re there already.”
She smiled. “Yes. I can’t help it.”
“I don’t want you to. You’re exactly where I want you, in fact. Going to The Bastille with me, starting to float your way into subspace. About to be in my hands. Oh, yeah. That’s about perfect.”
She didn’t know what to say as a sense of satisfaction at his pleasure flooded her.
For you, Mick.
They reached the club and he parked, came around and helped her from the truck. Inside, the same woman—Pixie—sat behind the desk.
“Welcome back.”
Allie nodded. “Thank you.”
She was glad there was no more conversation aimed her way. She didn’t want to lose her head space.
And Mick didn’t let her. He grabbed her arm hard, his fingers biting a little into her flesh, the command coming through in the small shock of pain, but she welcomed it. Her head sank deeper as she followed him into the club.
He took her to the back of the main room and through a doorway that opened into a long hall.
“We’re going to keep things private tonight,” he said, his mouth close to her temple as he steered her down the hallway. “I don’t want our focus to be interrupted even by the thrill of exhibitionism, the sounds of other people. It’s just you and me tonight, Allie.”
She shivered at the thought.
He guided her through a door and shut it behind them.
They were in a small room that had several pieces of equipment in it: a padded spanking bench with knee and armrests in one corner, a large bondage frame in another, and in the middle of the room was a hanging “bed” suspended from chains at all four corners and covered in red vinyl. Against one wall was a love seat upholstered in red velvet.
“What do you think, Allie?” he asked her, moving in close and wrapping his fist in her hair. “I’m going to lay you out on that table. I’m going to tie you down and do some wonderful and terrible things to you.”
All she could say was, “Yes, please.”
CHAPTER Six
SHE DIDN’T DARE to look at him. Not because he was the Dom, but because she was afraid if she did her legs would shake too hard to hold her up.
He leaned into her and whispered in her ear, “I can sense you, you know. Feel what you’re feeling right now. That trembling under your skin. Your pulse racing. I can see it at the base of your throat. I can feel it.”
He pressed two gentle fingers to her neck, and she sighed.
“Ah, there it is. That honesty. You can’t hide it, can you? But I don’t mean that as any sort of judgment. I want to hear it. Your sighs, your moans. I want to know your pleasure. Don’t hide it from me. Don’t try to hide anything from me. You’re familiar with this process—you know what we have to do in order for this to work. So tell me now, what are the nerves all about? This hard set to your jaw, your shoulders? Because I feel like if I put my arm around you right now you might break in some way.”
“I might,” she murmured, having to bite back tears for some reason she didn’t understand.
“Allie, I don’t want to hurt you. Not in that way.”
She swallowed. “I know. But you might, Mick.”
She heard him exhale on a long breath. “I’ll do my damnedest not to.”
She nodded, glanced away, letting her eyes lose focus in the dim, colored light.
“Look at me,” he demanded.
She swallowed again, the lump in her throat thickening. She couldn’t seem to force herself to do as he said.
“Allie,” he said more gently. When she didn’t answer he said, “Okay, if this is how you want it.”
The next thing she knew, he’d picked her up and placed her sitting on the edge of the hanging bed, parted her thighs and stood between them. A tear plopped onto her cheek.
When he took her chin in his hand, she tried to shake him off, but he held on firmly, forcing her to face him.
“Mick, please.”
His brows were drawn over his beautiful gray eyes. Eyes like granite and quartz.
“I don’t mind if you cry,” he said. “But you will talk to me.”
She started to shake her head, but he wouldn’t let her do it.
“Talk, Allie.”
“This just . . . isn’t what I expected. I don’t know what I did expect. Except I suppose I figured that with all my years of experience to draw on, this would be familiar ground—just you and me getting to know each other again through kink, once we got past you being mad about me dragging you here.”
“I’m past that—I don’t hold a grudge. Well, I do, which I guess we both know. But I’m not mad at you. And this is us getting to know each other through kink. Tell me why it’s hard for you.”
“Isn’t it hard for you, Mick? Jesus, don’t tell me I’m the only one who’s having a rough time with this.”
“Yes, it’s hard for me. Remembering what we used to be. Figuring out where the hell we are now. Because this part—the kink—has changed . . . maybe everything. But my job right now is to hold it together. To hold you together.”
The look in his eyes told her he meant it. That he would hold her together.
“Okay. Okay. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be. Just take a breath and find that place in your head again.” He dropped her chin and stroked a hand over her shoulder. “I’ll help you find it. Come on, now, stand for me.”
He helped her from the table and pulled her dress over her head, paused to smooth her hair from her face.
“The red’s a nice touch. Too nice to cut off you.”
She watched him as his gaze roved over her body, followed by his hands. He stroked her arms, her stomach, making her draw in a sharp breath. She shivered when he stroked the sides of her thighs, the curve of her hips, the small of her back. He pulled her into his body, and she felt the heat of his skin, the hard muscle beneath her cheek pressed against his chest.
His hands moved over her back in featherlight strokes.
“Breathe with me, Allie.”
She knew what he meant to do—take her through the slow yogalike breathing methods meant to relax her. Following his lead, she inhaled deeply, blew it out slowly.
“Again,” he ordered.
She closed her eyes and drew in another breath, careful to keep time with him, exhaled. Inhaled once more, and exhaled, let her body fall into the slow cadence, let her weight lean into his strong frame.
She didn’t know how much time had passed when he said, “Let’s begin.”
He lifted her, setting her back on the hanging table. He stroked one shoulder, bringing down her bra strap with his fingers. Her nipples went hard immediately. He caressed her other shoulder, drawing that strap down, ran both hands over her breasts, filling his palms with her silk-covered flesh. She arched into his touch.
“Ah, that’s it. Good girl.”
That phrase could always make her shiver. Coming from him it was like a small orgasm shuddering across her skin.
He undid the front clasp, and the bra fell off and into his hands. He set it down, then bent to remove her shoes, pausing to caress her calves, her thighs. He dropped her shoes on the floor and laid his hands on her shoulders once more.
“Lie back now,” he told her, his voice soft, yet no less commanding.
She did as he asked, lying down on the cool vinyl. He stood over her, dwarfing her more than ever, somehow. Perhaps it was his command, or the sense of vulnerability that was always present when she was submitting, magnified now because it was him. Not that she minded. She gloried in it.
“I want you to stay there, to stay still,” he told her.
He turned away and she heard him unzip his toy bag, heard some shuffling around as he unpacked what he needed. She kept doing the deep breathing, trying her best to still herself even as desire poured through her system like a rush of heat.
The other rush was a keen need to be perfect for him. Even as her mind began to float, she was acutely aware of it. It was a part of submission for her—to be floating off into subspace, yet feeling the need to please, to be good for her partner. And now it was nearly overwhelming. But the lump in her throat was fading away, being replaced by this familiar role she knew she was capable of fulfilling. She knew that wanting it to this degree would only make her better for him.
She felt him approach, watched as he lifted her arm, used his brushing fingertips to spread her palm open, bent and placed a soft kiss on the inside of her wrist before gently drawing it up over her head and sliding a length of rope around it.
She sighed at the tenderness of his touch, at the pure sensuality of the way he was handling her as he looped and knotted the rope, making a cuff around her wrist, leaving a line of rope dangling. He moved around the table and once more he lifted her arm, used his fingertips to stroke her palm open, kissed her wrist, then her palm, sending a shiver of desire through her body. He wrapped the other wrist in the same way, a few loops and knots, leaving a long length of rope trailing.
She felt the tug on one wrist as he slung the rope through a chain link somewhere above her, and her arm drew up and outward. He pulled it a bit tighter before he secured it. She relaxed into the lovely, familiar safety of the rope as he did the same to her other arm. She loved this sensation of calmness mixed with the near frenzy of pleasure and need coursing through her.
Mick.
The rope.
Mick . . .
He moved toward the end of the table and wove more rope around first one ankle, then the other, before he secured them to the chains at the bottom of the hanging table, pulled it tight so that her legs were spread wide.
“So damn beautiful,” he said. “And so gorgeously helpless.”
She smiled. She couldn’t help it. It was exactly what she loved about being bound.
“What shall I do with you now, I wonder?” he mused.
She knew he didn’t require an answer—that the remark was designed to get her mind spinning.
What would he do?
He trailed a finger up the center of her stomach, over her ribs, between her breasts, and her nipples tightened.
“Ah, here’s a good place to start.”
He stroked his fingertips over one nipple, and her sex went damp immediately. When he pinched the hardened flesh between his strong fingers, she groaned.
“Good, Allie? But you don’t have to answer. Your body answers for you.” He kept her nipple pinched firmly between his fingers, making her have to breathe through the pain, eyes closed, as he reached for the other and caressed the tip. Pleasure and pain were a sweet cocktail in her system. Yet the ropes held her safely, giving her something to hold on to.
When he tweaked both nipples hard, she arched up off the table with a gasp, pain lancing into her. But he let go almost right away, stroking and teasing the tender flesh, letting her breath out the pain, take in the pleasure. It was too good. Her pussy was swelling with need.
He pinched again, and she hissed out a breath.
“Inhale,” he instructed her.
She did, and he squeezed harder.
“Oh, God,” she muttered.
“Shh. You can take it, Allie. Look at me.”
She blinked, clearing her vision, and focused on his face, his gaze locking onto hers.
He pinched, twisting cruelly, and she gasped, but his gaze held hers as firmly as his strong fingers held her aching flesh. Pain radiated, brought burning desire in its wake.
“Yeah, there it is,” he said, his tone low. “Your cheeks are going pink, and the same flush is on your beautiful breasts. Your eyes are glittering, the pupils wide. I can feel your need in the heat coming off your body. And your nipples are so damn hard.”
He eased his grip, and she felt the hot rush of blood there as circulation returned. Still watching her carefully, he caressed her nipples again, and pleasure was even more acute, rippling over her skin, deeper, into her belly, her sex.
“Oh . . .”
“Quiet now, Allie girl. Be good for me.” She bit her lip, making him smile. “You know I’ve always loved to see you do that. As if you’re considering your pleasure. Well, I’m considering it, too. Oh, yeah, I am.”
He smoothed a hand over her tight stomach, right down under the silk and between her thighs.
She moaned as his fingers slid in her wet heat. Her thighs trembled when he teased her clit, then slid down and slipped inside her.
“Oh, yes . . .”
His other hand clamped hard over her mouth. “Quiet, my girl.”
She loved the command in his tone, in his hand across her lips, in the way he suddenly pumped his fingers harder inside her. Faster and faster, his fingers curving to hit her G-spot until she couldn’t hold still. She writhed against her bonds, her hips arching into his hand, arms and legs pulling against the rope—she couldn’t help it as pleasure poured through her system, hot and iron-hard. Her sex clenched at his thrusting fingers as he worked her roughly, mercilessly, his thumb pressing down on her clit.
“Don’t do it,” he ordered. “Don’t you come until I say you can, princess.”
She groaned, flexed her toes, her breath hot against his hand still over her mouth.
He kept at it, his fingers surging into her aching pussy, and she was soaking wet, gushing even though she hadn’t come yet. But she was so close she could barely stand it.
“Hold it back. That’s it.”
He kept fucking her with his fingers, stroking her G-spot hard and fast, his thumb causing an almost unbearable pressure on her clitoris. Pleasure crested, and her body arched again.
“Not yet. Hold it back. Hold it,” he commanded.
She groaned, a purely animal sound low in her throat, but she held on to that razor-sharp edge, her body poised. She was panting, her breath burning in her lungs.
“Are you ready, Allie?”
He plunged in hard, drew his fingers out slowly. Pure torture.
She watched his face as he watched her. His gray eyes were glossy. The idea that he was probably hard as stone for her right now passed through her mind, and a new shiver of need coursed through her, making her pussy convulse around his fingers.
“Yeah, you are. Come on then, baby. Come for me.”
He thrust into her and she bucked into his hand. She started to come, and he paused, making her feel as if her entire body were suspended in midair. Then he started again, his gaze hard on hers as he fucked her in quick, pummeling strokes, his fingers burying to the hilt, pulling roughly out, plunging once more.
Her orgasm was like a flood of heat and need, her hips jerking. She cried out against his hand, her throat going raw as her cries turned into a scream. And still he thrust into her, his fingers milking her for every last drop of pleasure.
