'This is nice,' he purred, turning his cheeks from side to side across my breasts. 'Soft,’
A draught tickled my buttocks. He was gathering the dress up my legs. The feel of my lacy suspenders brought him up short. I wore stockings today, sheer white silk stockings.
'Kate,' he said with a quiet laugh. 'Have I mentioned you wear the best underwear?' Without waiting for a response, he pulled the stretchy dress over my head, pausing only to tug the white scarf back through the neck. When the dress was gone, he froze. My underthings were all of snow-white lace: my French-cut panties, my push-up bra, my suspender belt.
Like most men, Joe appreciated nice presentation. Now he stared, transfixed, and glided his hands down the nipped-in curve of my waist. 'Perfect,' he said. With the considering pucker of an artist, he arranged the ends of the scarf along my cleavage.
To my surprise, he turned away then and poured the wine, half a glass each, after which he recorked the bottle and set it out of harm's way.
'Just enough to relax you,' he said.
I wondered why he thought I needed relaxing.
He waited to enlighten me until the crimson liquid slid down my throat. He smoothed his palms down the fall of my white scarf, then tugged the ends of his black one.
'May I tie you up?' he asked.
My brows rose. He'd never expressed any interest in playing the dominant before and his request threw me off balance. I didn't want to say 'yes', even though I knew if Sean were asking I'd have complied without batting an eyelid. Then again, Sean might not have
asked.
‘I'd rather not,' I said carefully, unsure which aspect of the situation unnerved me the most. 'It's okay for fantasy, but in real life I prefer holding you,’
His mouth curved in a gentle smile. "That's all right. I want you to feel comfortable.'
His ready acceptance disappointed me - and I couldn't explain that, either.
'I'm sorry,’1 said, suddenly miserable.
'Shh.' He gathered me in his arms and kissed my hair. 'Whatever you want, sweetheart. That's what I want.'
But I'm not sure what I want, I almost said.
Dipping me back on the mat, he began to remove his eye-patch. I caught his hand.
His lips twitched. 'You like my disguise, eh?'
I nodded, feeling foolish. He kissed my embarrassment away with sharp, stinging kisses that travelled across my jaw and down my neck. The point of his tongue drew a cool trail down my carotid.
'I can smell your blood,' he murmured in an Eastern European accent too authentic to provoke laughter.
In truth, it excited me. I squirmed under his weight and gripped his back. His lips tightened on my throat. The suction of his cheeks drew my vulnerable flesh between his teeth.
'I'm going to mark you,’ he warned, the words a dark rumble against my skin. 'Everyone will know you're mine.'
'I am yours,’ I said, my voice tinged with melancholy.
He pulled back to search my eyes. I touched the stiff canvas eye-patch and wondered, without quite knowing why, which of us was blinder.
'I am yours,’ I repeated.
He seemed to understand this was as close as I could get to saying, 'I love you.'
His breath escaped in a low, longing sigh and his hips surged into the cradle of my loins. He pressed the suede-soft skin of his cock between scallops of lace, its prominent veins a tantalising variation in texture. His eyes drifted shut, then opened, molten with hunger.
'Sweetheart.' His pelvis moved in slow, incendiary circles. 'I think I need that quickie now.'
But rather than rush straight in, he unsnapped my suspenders one by one, soothing each tiny welt with a butterfly kiss.
'Lift,' he ordered, and slid my panties down my legs. My stockinged feet received their share of kisses, and my knees. He kneaded my thighs like a cat preparing to settle in, then deftly redid my garters. The lace now framed my naked sex, my lips pink with readiness, my clit peeping through the swollen folds. He pressed a single kiss into my honey-brown fleece, right above the rosy target.
'Later,’ he promised, and shifted up to fit his cock to the mouth of my vagina. He rocked back and forth in tiny tormenting surges, not entering, merely testing the snug resilience of my sexual muscles. I lifted my knees.
'Please,’ I said, 'come inside.' But he continued to tease me, adding an upward slide to the motion so that my clit entered into the torture as well.
Frustrated, I hitched my legs higher still, lifting until my calves curved over his hard, broad shoulders. The position opened me so thoroughly the head popped inside at the next slight push. Joe's mouth 'O'd at my unexpected flexibility. Before he could regroup, I crossed my ankles behind his neck and pulled, swallowing three quarters of his cock at a single stroke. 'Oh, man,’ Joe breathed.