Erin looked down at her right hand, looking surprised to find it holding a bottle of olive oil. He hadn’t noticed it either. She must have been using it to cook dinner. “Would you let me restrain you?” She uncapped the bottle and drizzled a small amount of the golden liquid into her palm. His breathing grew unsteady as she rubbed it over his abs, then up and across his chest. Her palm coasted over his nipples, leaving them glistening with oil. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
“How?” he rasped. Could he give up control completely? He’d never handed over the power to another person. There had always been too many outside sources in his life he couldn’t organize, manage, but it always stopped in bed. He was used to ruling there.
“You’ll have to trust me.”
No. He didn’t like the idea of having his hands restrained when she could vanish so easily. Or she could panic like last night and need him. The thought of not being able to go to her, comfort her, infused him with anxiety. “The trust goes both ways, Erin. I’m telling you I won’t put my hands on you. You’ll have to trust me on that.” He took a deep breath and let the towel drop. “Do your worst.”
Jesus Christ. The hunger in her expression. It almost knocked him back against the door. Right before his eyes, her breasts swelled over the top of her bustier as her mouth fell open to suck in a raspy breath. She rubbed her thighs together in a way that told him she was growing wet just by looking at him. How the fuck could he survive this? Without any restrictions, she would have already been divested of her ass-hugging shorts and he would be banging her where she stood. Plain and simple, having her stare at his cock like it was a meal while being unable to do anything about it could very well land him in an asylum.
“Tell me you’ll spread your legs for it someday, Erin. Give me that.” He fisted his cock and pumped twice. “I can only fantasize about coming in your * so many times before I need the real thing. I bet you’re fuck-tight, aren’t you? Like a closed fist.”
She poured more oil into her hands and rubbed them together. “Yes, I want very much to spread my legs for it someday.” Her voice was throaty, sexual. “And yes, baby, I’m nice and tight.”
He almost came. His erection throbbed in his hand, desperate and achy. “Fuck, sweetheart. I’m dying here.”
Her slick palms dragged up his thighs, leaving slippery oil in their wake. “No, you’re not dying yet. But you will be.”
She reached behind him and pushed open the bedroom door, gently nudging him backward with a single finger pressed to his chest. The backs of his knees hit the bed a moment later and he sat, mesmerized by the starvation in her eyes. He might be in excruciating physical pain, but it would take a cavalry of armed men to prevent him from seeing what she’d do next. His question was answered when she dropped her shorts, leaving her clad only in a black thong with the words “You Wish” written across the front. Goddamn right, he wished. Wished he was fucking buried in her, pounding, teeth buried in her shoulder. “Take off your top for me. Let me see those sweet little nipples so I can imagine my mouth shining them up.”
She ran her hands up her thighs, across her belly, making them glisten. “Would you be happy only imagining it? I’m not so sure, so I think I’ll keep them covered.” With that same single finger, she urged him onto his back, showing no reaction to his miserable growl. “I’ll make it up to you, though. You see, I might have a problem being touched, but not touching. Rubbing. Or sucking.” She dragged her teeth over her lower lip and Connor’s head spun. “Hands over your head.”
He complied, anticipation tearing through his veins. She climbed on top of him, looking like a wicked fantasy, only no one could possibly dream her up. “God, I would punish that dick-tease of a body.”
“How?” She came down toward him, fusing their bodies together and sliding up. Connor bit his lip to keep from shouting at the sensation of her curves slipping over him. “Would you punish me with your hands?”
“I leave bruises, but not with my fists. Never, Erin.” He spoke through gritted teeth as she writhed on top of him, straddling him and running her thighs up the sides of his body. “But when I got hard, I’d be fucking you against the first available surface and your ass would bear the impact. That’s where you’d bruise. And looking at what I’d done would only make me hard again.”
Finally, her silk-covered * settled over his cock and she gave a quick buck of her hips, bringing his back off the bed with a groan. “You’re a very naughty boy, Connor. I don’t know if you deserve my mouth on you. Convince me.”