Little Lies

I glance down at his lap. He’s wearing gray jogging pants—why are they always gray?—and his erection strains against the fabric.

“Really? Because it looked like you were about to jerk off to that picture of me.”

He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, likely trying to come up with an excuse. “I was taking a study break.”

I snort a laugh. “How often have I been the focus of your study breaks, Kodiak?”

“Probably more than you should,” he admits.

“I see.” I free a strip of duct tape, the zip ridiculously loud.

“What’re you doing?” His voice holds equal parts curiosity and anxiety.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On your personal restraint, and whether or not you think you can keep your hands to yourself. How in control are you right now?”

His pale, vibrant green gaze meets mine, wide with want, and he grips the armrests. “Not very.”

“Hmm, I should probably help with that, then, shouldn’t I?”

He nods. His chest rises and falls with uneven breaths as I wrap the tape around his wrist. I have no idea what I’m doing, apart from reclaiming the power balance in this fucked-up relationship we seem to have. I tear a second strip free and secure his other wrist to the chair.

I wonder if duct-taping my future boyfriend to his computer chair so I can jill off on him without him putting his hands on me is going to be a thing for us. He seems into it.

Not that I don’t want them on me, but he needs to deal with Maverick, and I’m still pissed that he’s been a dick this year.

I lift my gaze to his. “Are you anxious?”

“Right now?”

“Yes, right now.”

He shrugs, as though he’s not entirely sure.

“Have I ever hurt you?”

His brow furrows. “No.”

“Have you ever hurt me?”

He closes his eyes, and his full, perfect lips press together. “Yes.”

“On purpose?”

His lids lift, and there’s pain swimming behind his eyes. “Only because I didn’t think there was any other way to keep you safe from me.”

“You were always trying to save me.” I give in and stroke his cheek, gently, exactly the way he used to do to me when we were young and loved each other in the simple, untainted way innocent soul mates do. His eyes slide closed, and his whole body shudders.

I drop my hand and rummage inside my bag. I’d say I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I can, because I did it yesterday.

Except I’m taking it to a whole different level of messed up this time around. I pull out the Aquaman-inspired pleasure toy and the lube.

“What is that?” He sounds appropriately confused.

“A gift from Gigi.”

“Oh fuck.” Realization dawns, and it’s laced with excitement.

I set it on his lap. If he’s aware I’m not nearly as confident as I’m pretending to be, he doesn’t let on. And regardless of how awful he’s been over the past couple of months, I know I’m safe with him.

And sometimes I hate him for that. Because it’s made loving anyone else impossible. Not that I’ve tried very hard.

Kodiak’s knees are parted, so I slide the Aqua-D, complete with balls—just like the one from last night, minus the suction base—between his legs. I tear a strip of duct tape free with my teeth and tap his thigh. “Knees together.”

He complies, no questions asked, probably because he knows where this is going and like me, he’s fucked up enough to want it.

I tear off a couple extra strips of tape and fix them on either side of Aqua-D’s base to hold it in place. This means I tape over Kodiak’s actual cock, which twitches and strains behind the gray fabric.

I caress his cheek again. “You okay? Do you need me to stop? Because I can.” And I mean it. I want to tease him, not maim him.

“No. I’m okay.” He shakes his head, his voice choked with excitement.

I step back and pull my shirt over my head. Reaching behind me, I unclasp my bra and let it fall to the floor.

“Oh shit.” Kodiak’s fists clench and release as if he wants to be able to reach out and touch me.

The power is heady, overwhelming and addicting.

I slide my pants and underwear over my hips and kick them off.

Kodiak’s gaze runs over my body, feral and needy. I grip his forearms and straddle his lap. It’s not particularly comfortable. He has hockey thighs, and they take up most of the chair, so my shins rest against the metal bars that attach the armrest to the seat. But I’m not stopping now.

Kodiak angles his head down and nuzzles into my neck, his groan plaintive and desperate. His lips part, and his warm, wet tongue swipes over my skin. He mutters oh my God, burrowing in, trying to bow forward enough so he can shove his face in my boobs.