Her eyes lock on mine as she grips my forearm, not pushing me away but sliding her fingers along the muscle as if feeling the way it moves.
I twist my wrist and hook a finger beneath the edge of satin between her leg and *. With a long, slow stroke, I slide my touch from her opening to her clit, parting her flesh and relishing the feel of soft short hairs. As I make another sweep, and another, she’s grows wetter and wetter. Her * swells, her legs tremble, and I fucking thrill at the idea of giving her pleasure in a way no one has before.
She plants her feet on the mattress, clinging to my arm with both hands. Her full tits rise and fall as the alluring sound of her breaths chases the silence from the room.
Her parted lips, the flex of her ass against my quads, and the feel of her arousal coating my fingers turn me on in ways I’ve never known. This reaches so much deeper than the rigid pressure between my legs. She’s in my veins, fiery and weightless. She’s in my head, like a whisper of promises. She’s in my heart, softening it, mending it, and making it pump again.
I remove my hand and lift it to my mouth. Holding her gaze, I suck each finger clean, slowly, deliberately. “You taste dirty, Ivory. In the most agreeable, delicious, addictive sense of the word.”
Her jaw drops in a soundless gasp. She closes her mouth, opens it again, but I cut her off with a kiss. My hands slip over her face and hair, holding her to me as I hunt down her tongue, catch it, and tangle it with mine. She follows me, hands on my head, moaning into my mouth and licking her taste from my lips.
Need coils low and tight in my body. The bed frame creaks as I kiss her deeper, pull her closer, pursuing her with fingers and teeth, silently demanding she take everything I give her, because it’s all hers. I’m hers.
She moves her lips over mine, her voice husky. “Damn, you…you really know how to kiss.”
Her sultry exhale carves a space in my lungs, and with each of her little breaths, that space grows fuller and fuller. When she clears her throat, I hear her question in the inhale that follows. What now?
I have my own questions, more than there are minutes left in the night. But she hasn’t eaten, exhaustion weighs heavily on her eyelids, and we’re not leaving this room until she’s learned a crucial lesson.
With great reluctance, I shift her off my lap and settle her on the bed. Her gaze instantly falls to the tent in my slacks. She may as well get used to that.
I stand and grab my rigid length, forcing it sideways in my pants. “Many weeks ago, you said you didn’t want to be gagged, tied, and whatever else you think accompanies those things.” I reach for the belt and loop it in half, holding tight to the ends. “But you’ve thought about it.”
She stares at the leather strap and rubs her hands over her lap. “I…I didn’t mind the spanking.”
“That’s a half-truth. Try again.”
Frustration crinkles her brow. “Okay, I liked it. But that doesn’t even make sense. It was humiliating and painful.”
“Define the pain.”
“It was…I don’t know. It should’ve scared me. Instead, it just made me feel warm and fuzzy all over. Maybe because you don’t scare me. Because I…I like…” She drops her gaze to her hands.
“Look at me.”
She does, her teeth sawing along her lip. “I like you. You make me want things I’ve never…” She looks away and quickly returns to me. “I want your spankings and kisses and…more.”
“Good girl.” Standing over her bent position, I cup her chin with my free hand and kiss her mouth.
The moment our tongues connect, I’m lost to the aimless, sensual slide of our lips. She’s fantasia in the flesh, unbound to convention, vibrating beneath my hands and begging to be directed.
I straighten and step back. “The pain you experienced with other men… That was unacceptable, Ivory, because it was non-consensual.” I punctuate each syllable with a stern tone. “You are not at fault. You will never blame yourself. Say yes if you understand.”
She sits taller, her chin lifting higher. “Yes.”
That glimmer of confidence in her posture does wonders for my ego. We’re making progress, and damn if that doesn’t harden me like a rock.
I widen my stance, the looped belt hanging at my side. “Just like the spanking, I’m going to show you good pain. The kind of pain you control. You’ll have all the power here, because the moment you say no—”
Her shoulders tighten, a reminder that in her experience that word is a useless son of a bitch.
A renewed blaze of anger hits my blood. I spear a hand through my hair and draw a deep breath. “Scratch that. Give me a word you would naturally use in place of no. Something that—”
“Scriabin.”
The speed in which she spits that out shocks me. And why a Russian composer? As I stare into the shadows of her muddy brown eyes, I decide that Scriabin is rather fitting given the conflicted, dissonant quality of his music.
I flex my hand, my heart pumping wildly. “When you say Scriabin, I stop.”
She scans my face, my shoulders, and the belt in my hand. A frown pulls on her mouth.