Looking Inside

She shifted the black belt, using it to shift his shirt higher, wiggling her ass the entire time. She played him like that for a minute, dancing and maneuvering the belt until he would have sworn she’d done the dance a hundred times before, she was so fucking skilled at it.

Had she?

The two-word question cut through his enthrallment. He thought of how discombobulated she’d been in the hallway tonight, trying to explain to him her anxieties.

No. Somehow, he didn’t think she was as practiced at all this as she came off as being at times.

He didn’t have time to question the logic or likelihood of his fevered realization, or the flash of savage satisfaction that accompanied it. Eleanor finally revealed the bottom curves of her plump ass beneath the edge of his white shirt.

“God bless it, you have about one more minute, girl,” he rasped, and his hand moved more strenuously between his thighs. She bent and slid the belt beneath her bare ass and started to jerk upward on the firm globes.

He hissed. That was the final straw. He started to back out of the room, unable to look away from the ridiculously erotic image she made, manipulating her gorgeous ass with the black belt. She stretched it tight now beneath her ass, making her flesh jump up and down as she gyrated to the music. Where the hell did she learn this stuff? It was outrageous. Abruptly, she released one side of the belt and it snapped below her buttocks. He saw her jump slightly, and knew the leather had stung her.

He froze.

Again, he was held hostage to her. He was strung tight as piano wire. He couldn’t wait to see what else she was going to do with that belt.

A thought fractured his enthrallment.

Jesus . . . Had she taken that dildo from the photo with her to use in her dance, as well? If so, what torture did she have planned for him with it?

The thought gave him the motivation he needed. He turned grimly and headed over to the cabinet. He pulled out the magenta bag, in search of some of his own ammunition.

—

She jerked on the belt, gasping at the sting of leather flicking against her upper thighs. It stung, but her clit flared with pleasure. The burn quickly segued to a tingle and she found herself emboldened. Straightening, she lifted the tail of Trey’s shirt seductively to her waist and doubled the belt in her hand. Swinging her hips to the beat of the loud music, she reached around her waist with the belt and swatted her gyrating ass.

Ooh, it felt good.

She lost herself to the mounting, increasingly familiar heat. Her swats on her naked ass and thighs weren’t harsh, but they enlivened her nerves, making them prickle and burn. She ached, thinking of Trey watching her, imagining him boiling with want. It was unbearable. She couldn’t take it anymore.

Still standing with her back to the window, she let the shirt fall partially down over her burning bottom. She slipped the belt between her thighs, pulling up on it from the front and back, using the leather strap to stimulate her wet sex. She moaned loudly, the pounding music and her racing blood spurring her onward. Her hips pushed her pussy against the tightly drawn leather. Her eyes fluttered closed as she tensed in excitement. She felt herself rising to orgasm. It felt divine, but she hadn’t planned for this to be the climax of her dance.

A sound like a bullet going off fractured her bliss. She opened her eyelids, air hissing past her lips. The bedroom door had bounced against the wall as it opened forcefully. That had been the noise she’d heard. Trey strode around the foot of the bed, looking tense, irritated, magnificent . . .

Aroused as hell.

Before she knew what’d hit her, he reached around her with one hand, grasping her wrists. He urged her to straighten.

“Let go,” he ordered tensely. Her fingers loosened, and he took the doubled-up belt from her. He slid the leather strap between her legs. She looked up at him, her breath coming erratically. His eyes appeared alight in his rigid face. The music continued to pulse around them, but it was as if they stood inside a vacuum. A roar started in her ears.

He reached up and ripped open the shirt she wore in one swift movement. She gasped, feeling falling buttons tap her legs and feet.

“Do you have any idea what the hell you’re doing, Eleanor?

” he seethed.

“That was your shirt,” she exclaimed. “I didn’t just ruin it.”

“Screw the damn shirt,” he muttered through a snarl. His gaze moved hungrily down the front of her naked body. He cupped a breast possessively, running his thumb over the nipple. Eleanor trembled, the gentleness of his caress following his terse shirt-ripping undoing her. He noticed her quivering at his touch. His stare jumped to her face.

“You can’t stop yourself, can you?”

“Can’t stop myself from what?” she whispered, unable to look away from his blazing eyes and moving lips. She experienced an overwhelming urge to press against his male body, to press him into her.

“Torturing me.”

She felt something smooth and hard glide across her nipple. Her breath hitched when she realized it was the belt. She started to move into him.