He jerked against the chains. “Ah, fuck. That almost made me come in my pants.”
“Almost?” she teased, feeling a quiver of excitement inside her. “I must be doing it wrong, then. I should practice.” And she leaned in and licked his nipple again, swirling her tongue around the flat before nipping the tip.
“Fuck,” he panted. “I don’t know if I want you to keep doing that or if I want you to stop.”
“You don’t get to say.” She nibbled on his nipple again. “I’m calling the shots.” And oh, shit, was that wetness between her legs? She slid a hand into her panties. It was. Not a ton, but it was arousal nevertheless. Feeling encouraged, she licked his nipple again and then began to kiss down the trail of chest hair toward his belly button.
He lifted his head, gazing down at her. “Are you touching yourself?”
Her hand was still in her panties. She froze. “Maybe?”
“God, will you take your panties off so I can watch? You’re so fucking sexy.”
“Maybe,” she teased again, and moved her hand, stroking her clit. “Maybe if you’re good.”
“Torturer,” he rasped, but he didn’t stop staring. And really, it was kind of arousing that he was so utterly fascinated. She leaned in and flicked her tongue against his belly button, then began to kiss toward the opposite side, scraping the tips of her breasts over his abdomen.
Sebastian made another agonized noise in his throat, and his hips lifted again, his belt jingling.
It reminded her that she hadn’t finished undressing him. Really, all she’d done was flirt and tease his chest. Time to remedy the situation. Her hand left her panties and she went back to his belt. She noticed that the front of his khaki pants had a small wet spot from pre-cum. His cock was already so wet he was leaking through the fabric.
That was . . . kinda sexy.
One hand slid away from his belt and she rubbed the bulge of his erection through the fabric of his pants. “You thinking about The Notebook yet?”
“Christ, no. God, your hands. I love that.” His eyes closed again and his body arched. “I may never think about it again. That movie that cannot be named.”
“Because you don’t want me to stop?”
“Because if you stop, I swear you’ll see a grown man cry.” He bucked his hips again, rubbing himself against her hand.
“I’d hate to see you cry.” Her voice was husky with her own excitement, and she clenched her thighs together as she slid his zipper down slowly. This was exquisite torture. Exquisite . . . and she was having fun. Handcuffs were her new best friend. She pushed aside his slacks, now undone, and revealed the straining bulge of his cock that pushed against his boxer briefs. The soft cotton fabric outlined every detail, right down to the heavy knob of his cock head. She stroked her hand down it again. “Should we do skin or should we do stuff over the clothes?”
“You’re in charge,” he said in a tight voice.
And that was the best answer ever. “I am, aren’t I?” Chelsea considered him for a moment, then moved her fingers to his waistband. “Lift your hips and I’ll slide these down.”
He did, and she tugged the fabric down until his cock sprung free.
And oh, she’d forgotten how big he was, the prominent head mushrooming from the thick girth of him. Curious, she clasped him in her hand and her fingers couldn’t quite meet on the other side. “You’re big.”
“And you’re still torturing me.” His eyes were closed again, as if her touch was too much for him to bear with his eyes open.
Maybe she was. She had to admit, she kind of liked torturing him. Driving him crazy with her touch. Being a tease. She didn’t plan on stopping, though. Not when her own desire was pulsing between her legs for the first time in what felt like a hundred years.
“You should unlock me so I can touch those sweet breasts of yours.”