“And this?” He moves his hands to the front, cupping my breasts and lifting them a little.
I nod quickly as a tingling sensation runs from my breasts to my navel and below.
He brushes my nipples—already embarrassingly hard—with his thumbs and then runs his hands down my stomach to the hem of my jeans before taking his touch away. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the flick of a rope.
He gently lowers my arms, bringing my wrists together behind my back, just as he did the first time. Though I can’t see what he’s doing behind my back, I can feel the tug of the ropes against my wrists. I feel the rough texture as he lays it along my spine and then reaches around me to wrap the first strand around my shoulders.
The feeling is difficult to describe. Each rope feels like a deep, sensual hug. It feels as if he’s not just binding my body but binding the two of us together. I feel lightheaded, and I have to remember to breathe properly as he ties my shoulders and then moves to my breasts, running two strands of rope around the top and underneath them, lifting each as he moves.
This process is far more intimate than the first time.
With the full length of his body pressed to mine, he reaches around and trails the end of the rope over my nipples. I hear him inhale deeply as he runs his nose up the side of my neck, and a shudder runs through my body.
“Are you warm enough?” he asks, whispering into my ear.
“Yes.”
“Warm enough to take these off?” He runs his thumb over the waist of my jeans, stopping in the front and flicking the butto
n, allowing it to slip from the hole.
“Yes.” I shiver but not because I’m cold. His words are as warm as his chest pressed against my back.
I close my eyes as he lowers the zipper on my jeans and bite my lip as I anticipate his lowering them. He doesn’t though. Instead, he runs his hands around the inside of the waistband, then down my thighs. He crouches as he trails his fingers over my calves and all the way to my ankles. He slips my sandals off my feet, dragging his fingers up my legs as he stands again.
He presses himself against my back as he again circles my waist with his fingers inside the top of my jeans, so, so slowly. I hold my breath as he dips his hands further inside my jeans, waiting for him to touch me there, but he doesn’t. He keeps his hands to either side, just barely touching my thighs as he breathes hot breath against my neck. My clit throbs and my thighs clench, waiting and waiting for a touch that doesn’t come.
He pulls his hands back and then hooks his thumbs into my waistband to begin lowering my jeans. I let out a sharp breath of frustration, and I think I can feel his lips turn into a smile against my throat.
“So needy,” he whispers as he takes a step away.
I feel my face heat up as cool air hits my back. I clench my hands into fists, pulling slightly against the ropes. They tighten around my wrists, holding me in place. I try to reach out to touch him, but I can’t quite stretch my fingers far enough. I have to stop myself from squeezing my legs together, and I wonder if he realizes exactly what he’s doing to me.
“Do you want me to touch you more?” he asks softly and slowly. “Would you like me to get down on my knees and run my tongue over that throbbing clit of yours?”
“Yes.” The word comes out as barely more than a squeak.
“No.” He chuckles softly. “It’s far too much fun to watch you squirm in those ropes.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and grit my teeth to keep from moaning. I no longer wonder if he’s doing this on purpose. He clearly knows exactly what he’s doing to me, and he’s enjoying it.
He lowers my jeans a little more, leaving them just above my knees before he stops, running one hand back up my thigh and over my hip. He pauses a moment, sighing softly before he wraps his arm around my waist and brings me back against his body.
I gasp. He’s opened his own jeans, and I can feel his cock against my backside. He pulls me hard against him, extending his fingers until they are just above my clit but still not touching. He kicks off his shoes and pushes his jeans down, stepping out of them easily without ever letting me go.
“That’s better.” He pushes against me again, raising one foot off the floor and rubbing the side of my leg with his. “Your skin feels wonderful. So soft.”
I blush and shake my head slightly, not sure how to respond to the comment.
“Don’t you dare try to brush off my compliments.” He places his foot back on the floor and reaches his hand back up. He rubs his fingers deep into my hair, then grips me suddenly, pulling my head back sharply until I’m staring up into his face.
It’s unexpected but doesn’t actually hurt. I can’t move my head at all. All I can do is stare up at him.
“I’m going to give you a lot of compliments,” he says, “so you might as well get used to it, and just accept what I say. Got it?”
I try to nod, but I can’t move enough. He seems to get the idea anyway.
“You have beautiful breasts,” he whispers into my ear. “I love how they look all trussed up like that. Nipples hard, you breathing hard. You’re making me hard as a fucking rock.”