Tie Me (One Night with Sole Regret 5)

He pulled away, almost dragging her off the slick surface of the piano as he untangled himself from her limbs.

“I need to hurry up and tie you so I can feast on that pu**y for hours.”

“Why wait? I wasn’t stopping you.” Encouraging him. That’s what she’d been doing.

“It’s too easy for me to lose control of myself when you’re free.”

“If you don’t like me pulling at your hair and digging my feet into your back, I can stop.”

“That’s not the problem,” he said.

“Then why did you move away?”

“Because I do like it. I like it too much. It makes me want to do more than lick this.”

His fingers slid down her seam and slipped inside her.

“It makes me want to f**k it.”

It clenched around his fingers eagerly. Yes.

“I think I’ve changed my mind about being tied,” she said. If it was that easy to make him lose control, then she’d encourage the hell out of him.

“Then I’ll have to leave.”

Damn. That didn’t work. He really was in control here. But she trusted that he would give her what she needed and more. She was still worried that he wouldn’t get what he needed from the experience. Making love should be about give and take, not take and take and take, but if he was willing to give her that much, she supposed she shouldn’t complain.

“I don’t want you to leave,” she said. “I want you to feast on that pu**y for hours.”

He emitted a nervous laugh.

“I’d like you to f**k it too, but if you’re not willing to go that far, I’ll try to make do.”

She could hear him taking deep calming breaths through his nose and wondered if she should push him farther. She felt he was at a tipping point and that a little shove would send him falling in her direction. Or might send him away from her forever.

After a moment, he removed the rope from her ankle, pulled her panties free, and slipped the noose around her ankle again, drawing it tight. His hands slid up her leg—altering its angle slightly so that her back and butt were in a more comfortable position on the surface of the piano and her knee in a natural bend. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the sensation of the rope being run up the side of her calf, around the top of her knee and down the other side. The rope pressed into the sole of her foot, and her toes curled under. Why did that feel so good? She sighed in bliss. He leaned away slightly, working the rope—she could hear the fibers scraping against each other. A knot pressed into her instep. She sighed again. If she wriggled her toes slightly, that knot rubbed at a spot on the bottom of her foot that made her ni**les pebble with excitement. She had no idea if he’d intentionally put the knot in exactly the right spot, but she was grateful for the stimulation. She’d expected him to tie her spreadeagle to the piano legs, but apparently there was more to this Shibari stuff than simply rendering her helpless.

His secured the rope at her ankle and then ran his hands up the length of her body. He cupped both br**sts through her bra, his thumbs tracing the hardened tips.

“Perfect,” he whispered.

“Take it off.” She wanted to feel the pads of his thumbs against her bare ni**les.

“Is it pinching you somewhere?” he asked and shifted his hands to her bound leg, carefully running his fingers over the rope and knots he’d fashioned.

“No. I didn’t mean the rope. I meant my bra.”

“Oh.” He chuckled and a pulse of pleasure converged between her thighs. So now even his laugh turned her on? She was a goner.

“Let me bind your other leg first,” he said, “then I’ll have you sit up.”

He left the free end of the rope dangle from her ankle and picked up another piece of rope to bind her other leg. She had some experience with his motions now, so instead of concentrating on where he was putting the rope and tying it and knotting it, she allowed herself to feel how it affected her body. She most enjoyed the knots between her soles and the piano keys where her feet rested, but the tightness of the ropes on her thighs directed her attention to the open and exposed flesh between them. She hoped he’d do something about that soon; she couldn’t close her legs and squirm as she’d been doing since she’d sat beside him at the breakfast bar and then on the piano bench. Even though he’d taken the edge off with that sweet orgasm earlier, she was hopelessly excited again.

When he had her legs secured the way he wanted them, he ran his hands over the ropes as if checking for flaws in his design. “Does that feel okay?” he asked.

“Feels great,” she murmured.

His lips pressed gently against the inside of her thigh. “Your scent is driving me wild. Will you be able to keep your hands to yourself if I steal a small taste?”

“Yes.” She was lying. Even before his tongue slid sensually over her inner folds, her hands were reaching for his thick, glorious hair.

He moved away before she could latch onto his scalp. He slid a hand between her lower back and the piano and eased her into a sitting position.

“Why did you stop?” she asked, her pu**y still quivering from the brief feel of his tongue against her flesh.

“I know if I really get into it, I won’t be able to quit.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Do you trust me to make it good for you?”

“Yes.”

“Then let me do my thing. You still haven’t given up control yet.”

She was letting him tie her up on top of a piano. Just how much control did he expect her to relinquish?

He took the dangling rope ends from either knee and wrapped them around her waist, crossed them behind her back. When he pulled the ropes taut, the action pulled her thighs wide open.

“Ow.” She protested the pull on her muscles. She was stretched to her limit.

“Relax,” he said.

Easy for him to say. He wasn’t sitting on the edge of a hard surface with his legs spread wide in a split.

After a moment, her muscles adjusted and she sighed in relief. Forced yoga. That’s what she felt like she was doing. He tugged the ropes another inch, opening her wider still and then tied the two ropes together just under her navel to hold her in that position.

“I don’t stretch that far,” she protested.

“Yes, you do.”

He slid two fingers over her mound, against her clit and to the exposed, dripping-wet opening farther down. “I was going to put knots between your thighs so you could get your pleasure from the rope.” He massaged her entrance with two fingertips, and she tried to close her legs against the invasion, but her bonds prevented it. “I changed my mind,” he said.