Sweet Little Lies (Dirty Little Lies Duet 2)

When he’s behind her, he drops the feather and pulls a handkerchief from his pocket. The color of the red material matches the deep-rooted fire stirring inside my belly. He reaches in front and wraps it around her eyes, taking away her sight. My heart starts to beat at an erratic pace. My eyes are transfixed on her hands, folded in her lap. That’s when he steps away and I catch sight of the next item he retrieves from a stool close by—a whip.

“What is he…?” my voice trails off as I follow his every move. Thin leather strips drag along her porcelain thighs, up her stomach, and over her small breasts. He moves behind her once again, and my throat constricts as he raises his hand. Slashes of leather lash along her pale flesh. I jolt in Gabriel’s lap with each sharp slap.

One, two, three…

“Why is he doing that? He’s hurting her.”

Four, five…

“Is he, though? Does she look like she’s in pain?”

How could she not be? Angry red lines form across her back, raising the skin to welts. Her eyes are hidden by the blindfold, only her parted lips revealed, and the rise and fall of her chest noticeable. Her subtle panting sounds like a sign of… of…

“Sometimes, pain is pleasure, little bird. Do you not wonder if she’s wet between her thighs? Should we ask to see?”

I grab his hand, stopping him from moving. “No. I’m okay.” The wetness between my own thighs revealed I’m far from okay. The woman receives another round of lashes and still doesn’t make a sound. As I lose myself in the way her lips stay parted with each breath she takes, I see it. I feel it. She is finding pleasure from it.

The gentleman leans forward to caress her butt cheek, then taps twice on her left cheek. On a silent command, she crawls on all fours, keeping her legs open wide. The man pulls an object out of his pocket, and I find myself leaning forward for a better look.

When he moves in front of her and kneels, I don’t dare blink. I follow his hand as it extends up to her mouth and finally realize the object he holds—a butt plug. A sharp intake of breath gives me away when he instructs her to open her mouth and lathers the item with her saliva. When he’s satisfied, he removes it and places his large frame behind her. His masculine hands massage her ass with such gentleness, I shamelessly wiggle in Gabriel’s lap. A part of me scolds myself to look away. This is too intimate and private. But I’m captivated by his movements. He spreads her cheeks wide, and my fingernails dig deep into Gabriel’s thigh as he inserts the plug inside her.

“Is she still in pain, little bird?” I hate him for asking a question we both know the answer to. Her face is now hidden behind the body of her lover, but there’s no hiding the glistening arousal coating the inside of her thighs. “Answer me,” Gabriel orders, but I shake my head. I can’t.

The man saves me by commanding her to stand. When she does, he captures her wrists, lifting them up to two chains hanging above her head. Once her hands are bound, he retrieves another toy. This time a vibrator. He whispers something to her, and her lips part in a pleasurable response, then he presses the vibrator to her core. Her head graciously tilts back as the man gives her pleasure from the toy. Gentle at first, then more aggressive, he works her harder until it disappears inside her. My pussy throbs as I lose myself in the moment and ride this strange wave of sensation with her, fantasizing about being in her place. My body tremors with hers, and I suck in my lower lip as the man thrusts the toy in and out of her. The woman is close to climaxing—and so am I. My thighs begin to shake at her pending orgasm, but it never comes. He pulls the toy out, dripping with her arousal, refusing her a release.

“Why—why did he do that?” My sex is throbbing and begging for my own release.

“Because her orgasm belongs to him—he chooses when she comes.”

I become fidgety in his lap, rubbing my ass back and forth against his thighs. “Doesn’t seem fair.”

His low chuckle is an added vibration to my already oversensitive body. “It’s about control, love. She’s accepted she belongs to him. Nothing is hers anymore, and control is what he craves. It’s his high. His release. Hers is giving him that. Do you not think they’re both enjoying this?”

His question has my eyes moving to the man, lingering on his hard chest and then moving lower until I see the large bulge in his slacks. “Don’t worry. He will gift her for being good.”