My gut clenched at the thought of it ending, of him leaving. I needed this, his dominance, almost as much as I needed his love.
“Yes, sir,” I murmured, lowering my gaze respectfully.
His hands pulsed in my hair at my submissive gesture before he let go.
Without another word, I scrambled to my feet and headed into the kitchen. I quickly shucked my clothes, leaving them in a messy pile, and positioned myself before the doors with my head lowered and my hands lightly clasped, my bare back to the kitchen behind me. The sun was setting outside and I became absorbed in the soft colors melting like candle wax between the iron spikes of the city skyline. The contrast reminded me of Sinclair and me, the soft with the hard, the warm and the cold. So opposite but so perfectly matched.
I don’t know how long I was zoned out for, standing nearly pressed to the cool glass, but I startled when Sinclair’s hands skimmed down my arms.
“Trust me.”
He wasn’t asking but I had the power to say no and it was a heady realization.
“Always.”
“If you want me to stop, you need a safe word.”
I’d thought about that while I had been researching the ins and outs of submissive life. I wasn’t sure I liked the idea of a safe word. It seemed almost like a prenuptial agreement, it took the edge out of the scene and created a different sort of tension. Would he go far enough for me to have to use it? Would I break his trust by uttering it in a moment of knee-jerk panic before I could adjust to the boundaries he pushed me past? But I knew the serious necessity of it and I was ready with an answer I hoped would please him.
“Heartbeat.”
There was a question in the way he stilled behind me.
“Because even if I need you to stop, you’ll still own me. When we’re like this, you own every beat of my heart.”
“My siren,” he breathed, planting a delicate kiss on my neck to express his pleasure with me. “You are a constant delight to me but,” he shifted behind me, firm and tall once again, “I am in the mood to punish you.”
I shivered as he rais
ed my arms in front of me and stepped flush against my back, reaching around with a long red scarf to competently bind my hands together. Once I was secured, he looped the end of the fabric over the curtain rod above the doors, jerking it twice to check its stability, before securing it once more to my tied hands. He stepped back, giving me room to test the bonds. I found that even though I couldn’t lower my arms, I could move side to side.
“Legs apart,” he said even as his knee slipped between my thighs and forced them open.
I sighed when his hands came around to cup my breasts, pressing the nipples firmly between his fingers until they burned. Too quickly, he moved on, smoothing his palms over my soft belly, around to the firm flare of my hips and to the inside of my thighs. His chin rested on my shoulder, his lips against my pulse.
“You’ve tortured me. Having this body so close but unable to touch you,” his lips parted and his tongue swept over my skin, “has been torture.”
He pushed on the inside of my thighs until I spread them even wider, my muscles burning with the effort. I could feel my arousal trickle down one thigh and shivered.
“Did you mean to do that to me, siren? Did you wear those short skirts and lick your pouty mouth knowing how hard it would make me?”
He trailed his fingers in my wetness, running them back and forth like laps in a swimming pool. I throbbed for him, greedily sucking at his finger as he dipped one inside of me. He circled my opening and then entered me to his first knuckle, repeating the movement over and over again until I was a panting mess, writhing in my bonds.
“Hush,” he demanded. “Stay completely still and do not make a sound.”
One hand continued its excruciating rhythm on my sex while the other disappeared beyond my vision. Two seconds later both hands were on my breasts, smearing my wetness across my nipples and rolling them brutally between his fingers.
“You have gorgeous breasts,” he said. “So responsive to the simplest touch.”
He flicked one nipple and then the other, making me gasp despite my vow of silence. His dark chuckle stirred my hair. “Don’t make a sound.”
My body screamed when he snapped two clothespins over my already aching nipples. I wanted to buck and moan wildly at the intense sensation but I wanted to please Sinclair even more. I bit my lip until it pulsed with pain. I needed to be in control of myself just as much as Sinclair was if I wanted to be his sub. This was my audition; this was what I had been planning for since the gala. There was no way in hell I was going to be anything less than perfect.
“Good girl,” he murmured. “Do you like being displayed like this for me and for anyone with the good fortune to look out the window across from us?”
I focused on the buildings across the way, on the thin line of sunlight that was fading slowly over the horizon and I shivered. The idea of someone watching us made me flush with pleasure.
“You have to be punished for being such a tease and there are so many sweet ways I can make your body sing.” His hand lifted and came slapping down over my core, the other arm already wrapped around my belly to hold me up when my knees wobbled.