I taste myself on his fingers as he spears them into my mouth. Everything in there is eager to please him in turn: my tongue wraps around his fingers, my lips pull them farther in, and my throat begs to feel him deep inside it. He must know this, because he’s pulling away, returning to my carry-on suitcase full of naughty goodies.
“Now here’s a doozy,” he says, pulling out a small leather crop. “This can’t be TSA approved.”
“You’d be surprised.”
Ian returns, leveling the crop across his shoulders. “What should I smack around with this?” Is anyone surprised when he grabs the handle of the crop and taps my breast with the wide end? I gasp, and he’s clearly delighted with the way the whole thing vibrates beneath the leather touch. He does it again, harder. I make that mousey sound again—I can practically see him ready to burst from his pants.
He uncuffs me from the bed, but I know better than to act without order. Besides, I want to see what he has planned for me.
As I imagined, he pulls me up onto my knees and cuffs my hands behind my back. Both of my breasts poke out from my blouse, one nipple significantly harder than the other one. It wants the crop.
“You’re already a mess, sweet wife.” The crop tips my chin up. “Look at your clothes. All wrinkled and disheveled. You really don’t care how you look right now, do you?”
I smile. “Why would I? You’ll take me however I am.”
The crop lowers and taps my breast. The involuntary moan I utter turns me back on—I can only imagine what it’s doing to my husband.
“I still expect some standards. Any wife of mine better be a cleaned up woman.”
“That’s outside of the bedroom. In here, I can be as mussed as I damn well pleased... especially if my fussy husband expects me to be pleasuring him.”
“Pleasuring my what now?”
The crop taps me between the legs. I know I’m already wet as hell, but it doesn’t matter when everything is waking up again. I have half a mind to tell him to rip off my pants and fuck me as he is. I know he’s hard in those trousers. I want to feel his skin slip into my body. I want to feel him thrust deep, deeper, until he swells and comes inside me. I must love the man if I’m into that.
“Pleasuring your whole body.” I may have my hands handcuffed behind my back, but I can still lean against him and flick the bottom of his earlobe with my tongue. “Give me a chance, and you won’t care if my blouse is wrinkled or not.”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong. Your sex-wrinkled blouse is the hottest thing in the world.”
He cups my cheek with one hand and unzips himself with the other. I don’t have to glance down to see what he’s doing. Touching himself. Drawing himself out so we can finally have some real fun. I’ve seen and touched and tasted his cock plenty of times this week, but I haven’t felt it inside me, and that’s all I want right now.
We kiss, my eyes finally closing, his hand leaving his erection for my chest. Two pinched nipples later, my head is going down into his lap, and he’s telling me to get him ready to fuck me. Like he needs my help—like I’m going to say no.
I don’t have the use of my hands, which fumble helplessly behind my back, but I have everything else to make him feel good and bring him to near orgasm countless times. Yeah, I may not have my hands, but my mouth alone can bring him to the edge of climax and back. I’ve had a lot of practice over the past few months. Practice getting to know him, anyway.
Just to fuck with him, I look up, meeting his gaze as he watches me do what I do best with my mouth in the bedroom. I taste the salt of his body all over my tongue. I know every inch, every mark of his body down here, and I know exactly what to kiss and what to suck and what to almost bite to get the most out of him. I want him so close to the edge that he has no choice but to fuck me, but with that crop in his hand, I know he has other ideas.
“Now, Katie,” he says, smacking it against my ass. I nearly choke on him. “Let’s not waste my first one on your mouth. It’s a pretty mouth, to be sure, but I have better places to put what I’ve got inside than the back of your throat.”
I relent. “Then what do you want?”
“I want you to find the perfect balance between sucking my cock and not making me come. If you can manage that, I’ll reward you.”
He asks a lot. While Ian is good at holding back when he puts his mind to it, I also know how much he loves having me suck him off. So we enter this game, where I’m practically worshipping the length of his shaft, sucking his tip, and nibbling on everything beneath, and getting smacked with the crop every time I come too close to being too good. Because every time that leather hits my ass through my trousers, I stop, assessing my own need for him while holding back any pleasure he’s taking from me. And, oh, let me tell you, I’m to the point where I would love for him to ram his cock down my throat and take out any and all frustrations on it.