"On the bed," I tell her, still squeezing her hair on my fist. "On your back. Arms up toward the headboard. Legs together."
Leo crawls. Climbs. I'm close behind, pulling her braid loose, still smoothing my hands over her ample ass and thighs. The refined leading the blind. She reclines on the bed, all goose bumps and snatched breaths, her back arching as she raises slender arms. The act shoves her breasts up beautifully.
Soon, the moment will come when she stops being a girl and morphs into a canvas. Ah, fuck. So close.
Both my tie and the box come with me as I swing up next to her. I flick it open, find the tell-tale flicker of silver, fish it out so it sits right on top of the tissue. Then I set about binding her hands to the head board.
Leo closes her eyes as the tie hits her wrists. It is the most cliché of lovers, licking before it bites, and she winces when I tug it tight for the knots. When she's uncomfortably restrained, I climb over her for a kiss; another light tasting that quickly bursts into riot. So this is where my appetite migrated to; flesh. Leo. Her.
"Now," I pant into her neck. "Now, I..." I grope around for the box, but I can't resist taking one of her flushed pink nipples into my mouth, suckling on it, ushering a scrape of a yelp from her throat. We're a mess already and I haven't even got her panties off.
Jesus. H. Christ.
"You're a fucking distraction," I mutter.
She giggles, all dry and ironic and almost drunk. "From what?"
"I have to concentrate. Stop trying to fuck with me by being so fucking gorgeous."
She waits for me to kiss her other nipple and then arches further into my mouth, sighing with pleasure. Whatever she claims, she has waited for this. For my cock. For me.
But I need to keep her in her place. The silver trinket in the box seems to crawl toward my fingers, begging to be used. I pull my face from her breasts and rise up over her. Stare down. Hold my hand up, turn the blade before her black button eyes.
"Tell me what this is," I whisper.
She gulps. "A knife."
"A scalpel. Your scalpel. It was bought for you and it wants you, Leo. Almost as much as I do." I watch her features grow still as I place it on the flat of her belly. It warms in her heat, rises and falls. "It's part of you. See?"
Panic is upon her now; there's a tremble to her jaw again, a visible pulse at the hollow of her throat. "Aeron. Be gentle with me."
A grin claims my mouth, so wide that my dimples feel like piercings. "You're going to learn not to ask me that."
"But I've never...I haven't done this before, or pain, I've never..."
"Never, never, never," I murmur, still watching the scalpel. If she moves too fast, it will tumble down between her pretty legs and slice through her panties. "Tell me how I'm meant to be gentle with a scalpel."
"Smart arse," she mumbles.
"Yeah." I plant a kiss on her firm hipbone, right along the band of her panties. "One of those...Goddamn, you smell good here." Desire is the absinthe, obsession its bullet; don't you remember, grasshoppers, that you can't stop either of them? Give in. In. Ah. I bury my face between her closed thighs, inhaling, imbibing. That lemony scent I once caught on her bra; it's alive and well here, but stronger, slick. Like gin and tonic with lime.
Leo moans again, pushing herself up into me.
"Oh, I see. You like that?" I peer up at my tied mess of a girl. "You like the thought of my tongue between your legs?"
"Uhuh." There's no shame in her voice, only longing. "Please."
"Mmm." I hook my fingers under her panties and start to tease them down. This is for me as much as Leo—though I've touched and tasted her *, I've yet to see it. And I want a thorough look. Once I've pulled the panties down her legs, I lean over to flick the lamp on, sending the glass pebbles ringing like bells, and golden light across her flinching face. Once I've placed the scalpel back in its box on the bed, I come back up to pull my nails down her tied arms, to trace the outline of her lips with my finger. I finish with a wet kiss. "Do you trust me?"
She brushes her lips to mine. "Do you trust me...?"
An abyss sprawls between us; words that should remain unsaid. Then we're pressed so close that my eyelashes tangle with hers, my vision blurring into the lamp light that spatters her skin like syrup. "I'll lick you the way you want. But then I get to fuck you the way I want."
She makes a muffled sound against my cheek.
"Sweetheart, I'm going to fuck you so hard, you're gonna beg me to cut you instead. I promise."
Her giggle ripples up again; she can't take it seriously. This will change.
Is it bad etiquette to tell a girl you've been imagining her * since you stole the notes from her gynaecologist?