Hottest Mess (SIN 2)

Right now, I'm not scared. I meant it about the hedge. No one is going to come back here. Hell, none of the guests know this secluded section of the yard even exists.

We're safe to do what we want. And what I want is Dallas.

I lean forward to kiss him, then straighten before arching my back and cupping my own breasts. I watch his face, the expression of intense longing as I tease my nipples. Then I keep my eyes firmly on his as I lower one hand from my breasts and start to finger my clit as little frissons of pleasure shoot through me.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs as I succumb to pleasure and close my eyes, letting the sensations grow. "Get yourself off. Take what you want. Do it while you can."

It takes a moment for his words to sink in, and when they do, I open my eyes and peer at him. "While I can?"

"Do you think you're running this show, baby? You're getting off because I say you can get off. You're mine, remember? Every touch. Every orgasm. Your pleasure is my prerogative, and there will come a day when I'll take it away and make you beg for it."

"The hell you will," I retort, but it's a bullshit response. Maybe if I wasn't naked, I could pull it off. But it's only too easy for him to see how his words have made my nipples tighten. And it's too damn obvious that I'm soaked now, his jeans probably ruined from how incredibly wet his words have made me.

"I own you," he says, reaching out and capturing my clit between his thumb and forefinger. The wild, unexpected pressure makes me gasp, and when I jerk back a little, his hold tightens and I cry out from the sweet pleasure of an unexpected jolt of pain. "I've always owned you. Say it, Jane. Lift your hands up above your head and tell me that you're mine."

"You know I am." My voice is breathy. I'm so fucking turned on I can barely get the words out.

"Say it," he growls, pinching my clit again. "Say it and lift your hands."

"I'm yours," I say as I thrust my hands toward the stars. "I've always been yours."

I see the impact of my words on his face, the harshness melting into passion. I expect a kiss, but one doesn't come. Instead, he unfastens my bra.

"Arms behind your back," he says. "Wrists crossed."

I start to ask what he's doing, but I hold my tongue. I've told him repeatedly I'll go as far as he needs me to. And I want to see where tonight is leading.

Where it leads is to my hands bound behind my back with my very own bra. I'm still straddling his legs, my knees on the bench and my pussy over his crotch. My crossed wrists are against my tailbone, and my hands are pretty much useless for keeping my balance.

He's only bound me in that one place, but even so I'm antsy. This is Dallas, of course, and I trust him. For that matter, I've offered to let him tie me up before. We never got there, but he knows I was willing. More than that, he understands what a big step that offer was for me. I'd been bound and left alone during our kidnapping, and as a result, bondage isn't exactly my kink of choice.

Dallas knows that--and yet he's tied my wrists anyway. He did it boldly. Taking what he wanted. Taking charge. And not asking for permission at all.

I'm surprised to realize that the thought of being bound doesn't scare me. On the contrary, it makes me more excited. My body burning with desire. My sex clenching with need. He may not have asked, but that's because he knows. He knows my limits. More than that, he knows I trust him.

He meets my eyes, and for a moment his are soft with understanding. He waits, and I tilt my head in the tiniest of nods. He says nothing to acknowledge my assent, but I know that he has seen it when the corner of his mouth lifts. "Is this what you want?" he asks as he slowly strokes my sex, sliding his index finger in and out of me, and brushing over my clit with each and every stroke.

"Yes." My voice is barely a breath, and I arch back, supported by his other hand held firm against my spine. "Oh, god, yes."

"Then take it." He gently pulls his finger away, and I open my eyes, surprised at the sudden cessation of his incredible touch.

"I--what?"

"You want to come." His grin is hot. Wicked. "Do it."

I start to protest, but realize at once that it would do no good. He knows perfectly well that I can't possibly touch myself with my hands tied behind my back. He probably expects me to protest--to beg.

No way.

I have a much better plan.

I lean back so that am using his hand at my back for support and balance, gaining leverage as if I had the use of my hands. It's dicey, of course--if he moves his hand, I'll tumble backward. But I trust him not to let that happen. Because the truth is, he wants the same thing I do.

I want to get off.

And he really, really wants to watch.

Right then, I'm ready to satisfy us both.