Attentive, as always, he noticed, and little wrinkles framed the corners of his eyes. “Ahh. Perhaps you like my ideas after all?” She vigorously shook her head. “Don’t believe you.” He slapped her bottom. “Sit! Over there. Let’s eat.”
How was it that even when he suggested the most abominable things, she grew aroused? Her cunt dampened, even as she tried to think about something else—about anything else, except that embarrassing, exciting picture he’d conjured in her mind.
She knelt where he’d pointed, on the other side of the low timber table, and tried not to look cross or disgruntled. She was already in enough trouble.
With Theo sitting up on the sofa and her down on the floor, kneeling and naked, she felt exposed. Her breasts seemed swollen and heavy, and she was acutely aware of her sex between her legs. But apart from admiring her form at times, lingering on her breasts and making her blush with the attention, he stayed where he sat. Watching, smiling, like a big cat with something tasty trapped between its paws.
This was so…different. She’d slipped into this way of life so easily, and now she wondered how she’d ever lived before. True, he controlled her at times like this, but she thrived on it and adored him. She wanted so much to touch him, for him to touch her, and waiting like this under his scrutiny held her spellbound.
The soup and bread eaten, they started on the dessert. Theo placed a small mountain of cream in her bowl.
A dollop of cream fell from her spoon and, swiftly warmed by her body, trickled straight across her nipple.
When she went to grab a cloth napkin, stretching across the table, her breasts swaying, Theo said, deep and throaty, “Don’t touch.” His gaze seared her.
“Allow me.” He reached over, plucked the napkin from her hand. Her chest constricted. She lowered her hands to her thighs, waiting, taut as a violin string.
Careful not to miss a single speck, he wiped her breast clean. His eyes were gray as storm clouds. Her nipple puckered. Would he lick her there, his tongue swirling, soft and hot?
She sat primly back on her heels and resisted squirming.
“You are so, so enticing. Time to get to work on you, dear.”
She gulped. The room swayed, and it wasn’t from turbulence.
Grinning, Theo put down the napkin, interlaced his hands, and stretched his arms, palms out, knuckles cracking. “I imagine Dankyo will have only packed essential clothing.”
Relief settled. Thank the Lord, he won’t have brought the leather multibuckled coat.
“However, I can improvise. Your breasts are underdecorated.”
Her nipples stood out even more, and she had to resist the urge to cover them with her hands.
Her petticoat and dress lay over the sofa’s armrest. He picked up the petticoat, took hold of the laced edge, then proceeded to rip the lace from it. Such a waste of cloth. The designer had spiraled the lace up the petticoat in one uninterrupted piece. Soon, Theo had the sofa covered in shreds of cloth and had gathered up several yards of tattered lace. He rose.
She shifted back a little, in apprehension, as he approached. The weight of his hand on her head halted her. “No,” he said. “You’ll like this. I promise.”
She licked her lips as he stood over her, finding the middle of the lace, doubling it over, then finding the new halfway point. He trailed the lace across her, under her breasts, and quickly, efficiently, wove it around her back, to the front, crossing it between her breasts and returning. The lace tightened as he tied it. Being thin-edged, he tested how it pressed on her skin, slipping his fingers here, there, tracing a path under her breasts with those fingers and up to her nape.
She couldn’t help half-closing her eyes at the pleasure, and sighed as he bent and licked where his fingers had been playing at the soft nape hairs.
He drew her earlobe between his lips, tongued her there before exploring inside her ear, while both hands cupped the mounds of her breasts. She had lace circling them and pulling them higher. The smell of him engulfed her—man and oiled steel and fine linen. If he wore cologne, it was the strangest scent, but it stirred her. Her nipples, her earlobe, and everywhere below her waist throbbed rhythmically.
She angled her neck, glancing down at his handiwork. “Mmm.” Her breasts felt cared for, adulated, and indeed decorated. A lace halter neck that accentuated without concealing at all.
“Hands behind your back and wrists together,” he whispered into her ear.
He sank his teeth in her earlobe. Ah! She jerked. Gently yet firmly he took both her wrists and drew them to the small of her back. She didn’t resist. She’d done this before, let him bind her. Though the lace was so close to being rope.
Soft cuffs clicked onto each wrist—leather—and before she could speak again, he’d somehow linked them together with the spare lace. She couldn’t separate her wrists, though she tried to. Theo’s hands rested atop her shoulders.
“You won’t get them loose. I can do what I like with you, dear heart. And I will.”
Panting, she sat with her hands fastened at her back, head bowed, feeling what this truly meant. Naked and tied again. She shuddered. Yes.
“Okay? Claire?”