I lick my lips, and hope I don’t look too eager. “So,” I say.
His smile is slow and lazy and wonderfully sexy. “So,” he repeats.
“Are you going to tie me to the bed now?”
“Not exactly,” he says with a kind of sensual mischief that creates a tug deep down in my belly. He nods to the bed. “Kneel for me.”
I glance at the rope, then at the bed. Then I do as he asks. “Is this—I mean, are you—”
“Am I into BDSM? Am I a master? Do I want you to be my sub?”
I blink. Well. Now that he put it that way… “Um, yeah. I mean, are you? Do you?”
His smile is a little bit amused, a little bit smug. “I like being in control, kitten. I like giving pleasure, and I like receiving it. I like taking a woman as far as she can go. As far as I’m concerned, anything goes between two consenting adults. I don’t give a fuck about labels. But yes, Jamie, I want to tie you up. I want to see you bound. I want to make you mine. So tell me now—do you want that, too?”
My mouth is dry, but somehow I manage to give the only possible answer. “Yes.”
I think I see the flicker of relief in his eyes, and for some reason that small reaction calms my nerves. He wants me—wants this—as much as I do, and I realize with sudden understanding that whatever I give up is like a reciprocal gift to him.
He steps toward me, the cord in his hands. “Do you know what makes bondage so pleasurable?”
“The submission,” I say, now putting my thoughts into words. “Losing yourself to the will of another. Giving in to his touch completely. Trusting him completely.” I tilt my head to face him more directly. “And for you, it’s knowing that a woman is at your mercy. That you’re responsible for pleasure. For pain. That you can tease her and torment her.” I draw in a shaky breath. “Don’t torment me, Hunter. I want you too badly.”
“And I, you,” he says, then presses his lips to mine and kisses me tenderly.
He moves behind me and binds my ankles together as I kneel, then tells me to twine my hands together behind my back, but also under my rear, so it is almost as if I am sitting on my hands. He binds my wrists, and then uses a length of cord to connect my bound ankles to my bound wrists.
Not that I can see any of that, but I can feel most of what he is doing, and he tells me the rest. What I don’t know is what he has in store for me now that I am trussed up like this. But when he moves back in front of me I tell him what I want. “You,” I say. “I want you in my mouth.”
In this position, I am mostly bent over, and he is kneeling in front of me. He is erect and huge, and I think greedily that I can take all of him. That I need all of him.
“Is that what you want?” he asks. “Why?”
“Maybe I want to take you to the edge,” I say as desire presses down upon me.
“You want me at your mercy?” I can hear the smile in his voice.
“Yes,” I say. “I do.”
“Who am I to argue with a determined woman?”
He is already kneeling in front of me, and now he takes me by the hair. My position is unsteady, but I ease forward, teasing the tip of his cock with my tongue, then growing bolder when he groans, calling my name.
I draw him in, sucking and licking, tasting and teasing, and I know by the way he holds my head, by the way his hips thrust as he fucks my mouth, that this was the right thing. He has taken me to the edge over and over, but now I am taking him.
I suck and tease and use my tongue to play with the tip of him. He thrusts deep, but I’ve never had a problem giving head, and I take him in, all of him, wishing I could use my hands, too. I want to touch him, want to see him. I want to know that I am giving back to him some of the pleasure that he has given me.