The Boss (The Boss 1)

With his back to me, I noticed the silver gleam of a pair of handcuffs tucked into the top of the towel at his waist, and a thrill shot through me. “You’re not in here to get clean, are you?”

He shook his head slowly, and reached for the cuffs. He turned to face me, and held them out. Obediently, I presented my wrists. Goose bumps popped up all over my wet skin, and the chill only heightened my anticipation. He locked one cuff around my left wrist, not too tight, then closed the second clasp around the other one. He positioned me in front of the gleaming steel fixtures and pushed my arms over my head, ducking beneath them so our bodies were pressed together, my hands helplessly bound behind his neck.

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t pull,” he warned me. “I don’t want my neck wrenched or your wrists bruised. So, do me a favor and try to keep from falling.”

“This sounds a bit intense,” I teased. Inside though, my libido was rioting.

“It’s going to be, I assure you.” He reached for the detachable faucet and deftly unscrewed the head from the hose, tossing it aside to clatter on the tile.

Oh, good lord.

Look, if there is one thing any reasonably horny woman knows, it’s the value of good water pressure and accessible plumbing. Apparently, at least one unreasonably horny man knew it, too, and he had just handcuffed me to himself in the shower. He grinned at me as he reached over my shoulder to turn the tap on. When he tested the water from the hose on the inside of his arm, I couldn’t help but notice how the stream dented his flesh. My thighs trembled.

He trailed the hose down the front of my body, splashing the warm water over both of us. Then he smiled maliciously and said, “And here we go.”

I rose up on the balls of my feet, my breath whooshing from my lungs as the spray hit my clit directly. He pressed the opening of the hose lightly against me, intensifying the pressure. I’m almost embarrassed to admit it, but I think it took me all of eight seconds to groan with an orgasm that set my skin tingling.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” he asked, wrapping his arm around my waist to hold me still as the water cascaded down my legs. “I missed that. You’ll have to do it again.”

“Oh, fuck!” I cursed, trying to twist away from the relentless sensation of the water on my post-orgasmic, over-sensitive clitoris. This was worse than the hair tie, because there was no change in intensity, no let-up. The muscles in my thighs were jumping and I called him every name in the book, hurled every swear word I knew at him as I sobbed and broke over the edge again.

The only word I didn’t say was “red.” I had a sick desire to see just how far I could go, how much I could endure, and when I realized that, it was enough to bring me over a third time. By the fourth I was screaming, writhing against his body as he held me captive over my instrument of torture. I tried to close my legs, and he forced his knee between my thighs. I could feel his hard cock against me through the wet towel. I wanted to hold on to him, wanted to collapse, but all I could do was stand there on the balls of my feet, my calves cramping as I came again and again, until they felt more like explosions of pain than pleasure, and with one final howl of desperation from my hoarse throat I shouted, “Red!”

He turned the water off with one hand and released the safety latch on one of the cuffs with the other. He was quick enough to catch me as I fell into his arms, as boneless and exhausted as if I had gone running after all. If the entire experience had taken a full ten minutes I would have been very surprised, but it had felt like hours.

He held me at his side and helped me stagger from the shower, wrapping me in the towel I’d gotten for myself and leaving his sodden one behind. He led me through the closet, into the bedroom, and very thoroughly dried me. Then he pulled back the still-mussed bedding and ordered, “Get in.”

“Are you going to fuck me?” I asked, wriggling under the covers.

To my surprise, he pulled the duvet over me, leaned down, kissed me briefly, and said, “No. I told you, I have to serve my time on the elliptical.”

“Oh.” I felt a little silly, being disappointed by that. After all, I’d just practically passed out from orgasms in the shower. I might not have survived intercourse.