“What are you doing?”
“I told you I had plans for these shoes.” Expertly, he threaded the belt through the other strap, nudged the prong into the hole that afforded her the least amount of leeway, and pulled the end through the loop. After a final tug he stood, flipped her around, and dropped her on the bed.
Getting tossed about at his whim shouldn’t have excited her, but it did. So did watching him tear open a condom and roll it down his length, but excited or not, she couldn’t help challenging the limits of the leather. The impromptu bondage only allowed her to part her ankles a foot, at best. “Nice job, Booker. You rig a hell of a chastity belt.”
In answer, he crawled onto the bed. Illegal move! Her inner referee cried foul, but all thoughts of calling him out fled as he wrapped his hands around her ankles and lifted her legs, moving into the space left behind as he slowly folded her body in half. His brow winged up and he tossed her words back at her. “Just trying to keep things interesting.”
With her knees shoved up to her shoulders and her toes pointed toward the ceiling, her interest was impossible to disguise. He squeezed her butt, and then trailed his fingers into the divide.
Her breath hitched as fingertips cruised over territory his tongue had exploited earlier. “Interested, Lauralie? Or would this violate one of those rules you didn’t feel the need to discuss?”
This usually went into the same category as blowjobs, for her. Something she did on occasion, mainly for her partner’s satisfaction. Tonight, though, the idea of being filled by Booker in every possible way created a need so profound it bordered on terrifying. When he dropped his gaze to where he touched her, the muscles enduring the patient weight of his fingers quivered. She’d demanded filthy dirty, but now that they were getting down to it, she couldn’t find her voice to respond either way.
Maybe he sensed her struggle, because he looked at her again, and said the two words guaranteed to draw a response from her. “Next time.”
She reached up and wrapped her fingers around the lowest bar in her headboard. “I’m not big on ‘next time,’ Booker. Whatever’s on your to-do list, you ought to get it done tonight.”
“We’ll have a next time.” The utter certainty in his voice tripped up her pulse. “And a time after that, and then another thousand next times. You want to know why?” He slid his fingers into her heat, and she nearly levitated.
“W-why?”
“Because I’ve got a thousand ways to please you. You’re going to get addicted to the way I make you come. You already are, and I haven’t even been inside you yet.”
“I’m not.”
Those diabolical fingers inched up, spreading her open to his view. “Maybe I’ll suck the orgasm out of you, and save being inside you for next time.” He grazed the very tip of her clit and turned her into a raw, exposed bundle of need.
“Oh, God. Don’t you dare!” She tried to close her legs, but his shoulders prevented her. She’d shatter if he put his mouth on her, but it would be too fast. Too fleeting. A deeper, more elusive orgasm lurked inside her, rare and restive, and slowly building, but she’d never reach it without the help of his long, thick cock.
“No?” He leaned forward, bringing their faces closer, pressing her to the mattress with his weight. “What is it you want?”
Was it possible to die of frustration? “Booker, you know damn well what I want.”
He worked his arm between their bodies and dragged the smooth, wide head of his erection through her center. Then he stilled. “Say it. Say you want me.”
I want you to shut up and fuck me. She swallowed the reply, in part because it wasn’t completely true, but mainly because he might be contrary enough to withhold relief until her side of the conversation satisfied him. She closed her eyes and offered up, “I want you.” The admission came out soft, and far too heartfelt. Pride made her tack on, “I want your cock.”
He lined them up, head flush against her clit. “When do I put my mouth here?”
She gripped her headboard so tight her knuckles ached, but the need mounted to unbearable proportions—the kind of proportions that rolled right over defenses like pride. Fuck it, she was going to say what he wanted to hear, and they both knew it. “Next time.”
He rewarded her reluctant response with a precise surge of his hips, stopping halfway, forcing her body to submit by degrees to the very part of him she’d begged for. His pupils momentarily disappeared behind eyelids suddenly battling gravity, and an irrationally attractive flush rose in his tanned cheeks. He jerked his head back, breathed deeply—in and out—and then refocused on her. “I couldn’t hear you. Look me in the eyes and say it louder.” Perspiration dampened his face, and a muscle ticked in his jaw, but otherwise, he stayed stubbornly still.
Stranded on a razor thin edge between plea
sure and panic, her lips rushed to form the words. “Next time. Next time. Please, Booker…next time.” It didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to survive this time. Every part of her felt hot and tight. Her brain in her skull. Her skin. The stretched-to-capacity muscles straining to take him. Her breath turned choppy from the effort. She couldn’t move, but she couldn’t keep still.
He grabbed the rail above her head, his hands on either side of hers, and withdrew a fraction of an inch.
A sound very close to a sob snuck out between her clenched teeth.
“Are you ready, Lauralie?”
She rocked her hips. A quick, awkward, and mostly ineffective motion, but enough to have him tip his head back and groan. Then he surged forward.
The powerful thrust sent the bedframe crashing into the wall, and forced a sharp cry out of her. Her legs had nowhere to go except over his shoulders, knees splayed to give him room. His sweat-slicked chest flexed. Muscles rippled in his shoulders, and his abs pulled taut. At the same moment, something inside her loosened a critical fraction. Pleasure seeped into those tight spaces.
And then he started to move.