But he teases me. He touches my lips with the head of his cock, but no more. When I lick my lips, I feel his pre-cum, salty on my tongue. "Satisfied?" he asks.
He looks down at me with a smug smile.
"No," I say. "I want you to fuck my mouth. I want to suck you dry."
"Shit, Kate," he growls. "Open your mouth."
This time, he gives me more, and I greedily suck him. He thrusts his cock in my mouth, his movements short, even though I want more. The restraints around my wrists leave me totally vulnerable, and I love feeling this way with him. I moan when he gives me more, sucking him harder to encourage him.
"Kate, your mouth is so warm," he says, his voice gravelly. "What you're doing to me right now is insane."
I groan, squeezing my legs together. My * is throbbing, begging to be touched. I let out a whine and Caulter pulls his cock from my mouth, his hand under my chin. "Shit. Was that too much? Are you okay?"
"No," I say. "I want you to keep going."
He looks at me for a minute, like he's trying to evaluate whether I'm telling the truth, then reaches behind him, between my legs to feel my wetness. "You do like it," he says.
"Put your cock back in my mouth and fuck me," I whisper.
"You are a very naughty girl, Katherine Harrison," he says, his hands gripping my hair and pulling my face toward his cock again.
My mouth opens willingly and this time, he fucks me, his movements no longer short and shallow. He's careful not to go too deep, careful not to choke me, and I want to tell him to stop being careful, but I can't.
Instead, I surrender to him as he uses my mouth the way he wants to use it. He pulls my hair as he fucks me harder, his groans louder and louder the closer he gets to climax. And when he comes, his hot seed flooding my mouth, I swallow every last drop.
Afterward, he runs his finger across my lips. "Those lips of yours," he says. I moan as he lowers his head to my breasts, leaving kisses across them before he focuses on my nipples, teasing me with his tongue.
When he's satisfied with my moans, he looks up. "We need to get you out of those handcuffs," he says.
"Yes, please," I tell him as he slips his fingers between my legs. I sigh heavily at the sensation, the sweet release from the agony of being teased. "My arms are starting to get a little uncomfortable. Where is the key, anyway?"
Caulter looks at me. "Uh…"
His fingers stop moving. "Wait -- don't stop," I beg.
"I don't have the key, Kate," he says, slipping his fingers from between my legs.
"It's in the package the handcuffs were in," I say, watching him search the packaging.
"Not here," he says, looking up at me. "Shit."
Talk about a ladyboner killer.
"It probably fell on the floor or something," I say, acutely aware of the emptiness between my legs.
"Nope," Caulter says. "Let me find a paperclip or something."
I sigh heavily, collapsing against the headboard. Losing the handcuff key is definitely a buzz kill.
Caulter returns, paperclip in hand. "I found it in the desk."
"Have you done this before?" I ask.
He cocks his head to the side, looking down at me. "Hello," he says. "Have you met me? I was a total juvenile delinquent. I've picked a handcuff key before."
He jiggles the paperclip in the locking mechanism, but it doesn't spring open the way I expect. Several minutes of struggling and cursing under his breath later, Caulter shows me a shard of the paperclip.
"It broke off in the lock," he says. "It's stuck."
"It's stuck?" I squeal. "I thought you did this before!"
"I have! Apparently the sex toy company sells handcuffs that are harder to get out of than police cuffs."
"What are we going to do?" I ask, racking my brain to remember whether the gardener keeps tools in the shed out back. Hacksaws cut through metal, right?
Caulter is scrolling through his phone, distracted by the screen.
"You better not be posting this on social media," I say.
"I'm finding a locksmith."
"To come out here and get these off me?" I squeak. "You can't!"
"Would you rather I called your father down here and asked him for help?" He pauses for a beat, silence my only response. "That's what I thought."
"I can't believe I'm handcuffed to the bed," I say.
And left high and dry with no orgasm, to boot.
Caulter has the phone to his ear already. "Do you need anything?" he asks. "Water? Food?"
"A key," I yell as he walks down the hallway.
When he returns, he holds up the phone. "Locksmith is on the way," he says. "Trapped pregnant woman qualified as an emergency. He'll be here in thirty minutes. Now I just have to figure out what to do with you for thirty minutes."
"Make up for trapping me in this bed?" I ask.
"That I can certainly do," he says, sinking between my legs.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Caulter