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by Shandi Boyes

  “Then have me,” I reply, my high tone exposing my glee at his inability to control his desires around me. It's also nice knowing I’m not the only one harboring heedless thoughts.

  “No,” Marcus responds, his tone direct and stern. “You make me reckless; I can’t trust myself around you. It was hard enough holding back the desire to dominate last weekend; I don’t know if I can do it again after having you in my playroom.”

  I swear, my heart and panties combust at the same time. “I want you to dominate me. I need you to dominate me. I also trust that you will never hurt me. Dominance is who you are, Marcus, but you’ve said it yourself, you're not a sadist. You would never hurt me intentionally.”

  As silence encroaches us, lust rages heavily between us. It isn’t the only emotion thickening the air, but considering it is too early in our relationship to express the sensation bristling every hair on my body, I’ll keep my focus on the less frightening one. My need for climax.

  I’m not the only one aroused. The heat of Marcus’s cock gets thicker and more full with every second that ticks by. His excited response deprives the air of life-necessitating oxygen and mists my skin with a fine layer of sweat. When the silence becomes too much for me to bear, another shameful plea sits on the tip of my tongue, ready for imminent release. I only just manage to hold it in when Marcus draws back, leaving enough room between us for me to roll over.

  I fall onto my back and suck in some deep breaths, feeling like it might be my last chance to secure an entire breath. Once my lungs are replenished with oxygen, I crank my head to the side. The prompts of my body are spot on when my eyes lock with Marcus's alluring gaze. Although the room is shrouded in darkness, there is enough light beaming under the crack of my door that I can see his stunning green irises. His eyes steal my ability to breathe, causing a wild yearning to engulf me.

  “Please touch me,” I shamefully beg, my desire to have him dominate me incapable of being harnessed.

  Marcus’s nostrils flare as he contemplates my response. His jaw muscle is ticking, and his lips are hard-lined, but they aren’t potent enough to snuff the wavering constraint his eyes are exhibiting. Usually, I find his self-control impressive, but today it's downright frustrating. His playful striptease already had my orgasm hanging on by a thin thread, and that was before he touched me.

  Recalling the only instance when his usually strict decorum slipped, I childishly snicker, “I bet Preston wouldn’t make me beg.” I know my response is immature, but Marcus isn’t the only one thrust into idiocy when we are together. I’m as careless as him.

  More quickly than I can blink, the substantial sentiment in the air shifts from teasing to tense. The anger bouncing off Marcus is undeniable. It's so loud it crackles and hisses in the air, activating every nerve in my body. As my breathing levels out, I scissor my legs together, doing anything to weaken the manic throb between them.

  Any chance of controlling my excitement sails out the window when Marcus affirmatively mutters, “Remove your clothing, Cleo.”

  17

  I slide my yoga pants down my quaking thighs; my enthusiasm to follow his demand cannot be overlooked. Once I have my pants bunched around my ankles, my hands shoot to the hem of my shirt to pull it over my head. Within a matter of seconds, I am naked, panting, and on the verge of climax.

  Dying to feel the heat of Marcus’s skin on mine, I reach out to touch him. A grunt of frustration parts my lips when he snaps my hands away.

  “No,” he mutters, his response direct.

  Smirking at the annoyed huff I couldn’t stifle, Marcus adjusts my position until I am lying in the middle of the bed. Although his change in position shrouds half his face with darkness, I can’t miss the dominance beaming from his lust-filled gaze. Something as tangible as that's unmissable.

  “Lift your head,” Marcus requests, his deep tone dangerously low.

  My eyelashes flutter against the softness of cotton when he drapes my shirt I just removed over my eyes. I thought the room was dark before; it's even more so now with the rich red coloring of the material blocking the hallway light.

  Careful not to touch my marked cheek, Marcus ties the sleeves of my shirt into a knot at the back of my skull before lowering my head back onto the pillow. With one of my senses shut down, the rest become more prominent. I prick my ears and pay careful attention to every sound Marcus makes. From the scuffling of bedsheets and the loss of his body heat, I can easily derive he has moved off the bed, but my shirt inhibits me from knowing which direction he went.

  When a noticeable click sounds through my ears, the darkness covering my eyes illuminates to a bright red coloring. He must have turned on my bedside lamp. I hear his bare feet padding across my room before a second set of clicking noises sounds through my ears. This one is harder for me to decipher. It has a similar noise to the light being switched on, but it isn’t as loud.

  My brows meet in the middle of my forehead when I hear a scratching sound. It mimics the sound of wood scraping against cardboard? Or perhaps even chalk running down a chalkboard? My confusion clears when the smell of rosewood hits my senses. He must have lit the scented candle on my dresser.

  My breathing quickens when the mattress dips at my side. I inhale deeply, savoring the smell of his skin mingled with the aroma of rosewood. Although I am blindfolded, I don’t need to see Marcus to know every expression crossing his face. I studied him in great depth last weekend; I can imagine them by simply listening to the prompts of his body.

  The way his breath hitches when he removes the cover of my duvet to expose my naked form tells me his dark brows are furrowed. When his finger slices the air as he trails it over my budded nipple, I know his bottom lip is tugged into the corner of his mouth. And when he inhales deeply, sucking in the scent of my arousal floating in the air, I know his penis is thick and jutted.

  My nipples tighten when he roughly mutters, “Beautiful,” while brushing his hand down my glistening sex.

  I throw my head back and grunt a hungry moan when he inflicts a backhanded slap to my pussy, arousing my clit with his perfectly placed hit. Memories of the riding crop inflicting a similar type of response rushes to the forefront of my mind. I squirm as more wetness pools between my legs.

  I’m so immersed in calming the throb his tap instilled that I don’t realize he has moved off the bed until he says, “Fondle your breasts, Cleo. Play with your nipples. Show me how much you want me. How badly you need me."

  I hesitate, delayed by a dash of vulnerability coursing through me. Although I have no problems pleasing myself, I don’t generally do it while I have company. Why would I want to? Isn’t the whole idea of having a bed companion so you don't have to please yourself?

  “Now, Cleo.” Marcus’s commanding voice sends a shiver of anticipation down my spine.

  Unable to stand the idea of him stopping our exchange due to disobedience, I cup my breasts in my hands and squeeze. A zap of energy surges from my nipples to my pussy when a rough groan tears from Marcus’s mouth. Its quake is felt all the way through my body, spurring on my desire to please him.

  I tweak and roll my nipples, using the sounds of Marcus’s provocative grunts to guide my endeavor to unravel him. I want him as unhinged as me. To be so mindless, not a single thought passes through his astute mind when he is with me.

  Excitement overtakes every nerve in my body when the sound of cotton being pulled over skin plays through my ears. My breathing quickens, and my fidgeting becomes more apparent. Just the thought of Marcus being naked has me pinching my nipples harder. I moan and tweak on repeat as my need to come surpasses any embarrassment left lingering in the back of my mind.

  In a shameful amount of time, my coil is wound so tight, it's on the verge of snapping. I gasp in a surprised breath, astounded I'm on the edge of ecstasy by doing something as simple as toying with my breasts. Typically, more stimulation is required to make me come—a lot more.

  My body quivers with anticipation when Marcus
says, “Play with your pussy, Cleo. Give it the same amount of dedication you gave your nipples.”

  I slither my hand down the planes of my stomach, the pounding of my clit too intense for me to show any inhibition. A soft purr parts my dehydrated lips when the wetness of my pussy graces my fingertips. The low groan simpering through Marcus’s mouth ensures no modesty can be found.

  Knowing I relinquished my power to Marcus the instant I begged him to touch me, I wait for him to give me permission before slipping two fingers into my throbbing core. When he does, I thrust my fingers in hard, spurred on by the raspy roughness of his usually smooth voice. The suspense in the air is titillating, fired by the intoxicating aroma of lust and heat.

  "Start slow, so the sensation doesn't overwhelm you," Marcus suggests, his deep timbre strained with arousal. "Enjoy your muscles working in sync to please you, but don't get carried away by it."

  Nodding, I pump my fingers in and out of my pussy. My speed is fast enough an upwelling of desire awakens within me, but not fast enough I’ll be swept away by the current of ecstasy.

  “Oh. . .” I garble when the heat of Marcus’s breath cools my overheated core a few minutes later. He is sitting so close to me, every breath he exhales fans my pussy.

  “You look as ravishing as I imagined,” he groans before the lash of his tongue clears away some of the arousal glistening my fingers.

  My knees shake as I fight not the let the excitement of climax carry me away. It's a tortuous feat. I’ve always been a little eager to reach the finish line, but it's even more prominent when I’m being chased over the line by a man who holds the sexual stamina Marcus does.

  “Flushed. Wet. Ravishing,” Marcus growls, each word bringing him nearer to an area begging for his attention.

  The frantic pace of my fingers grinding into my pussy slows when Marcus sinks his teeth into the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. He marks my body with a succession of painful nips and strong sucks before his tongue exonerates the sting of his touch. I pant, moan, then pant again, adoring the intense tingle racing down my spine.

  When the signs of an impending orgasm arouse low in my belly, my pursuit to come turns relentless. I quicken the speed of my pumps, my need to climax so blinding, it overrides any astuteness I have left. My breathing becomes labored, and heat rushes to the surface of my skin.

  I can feel my orgasm teetering on the brink, dying to break free, but no matter how fast I sprint to the finish line, my climax doesn’t reach fruition.

  Suddenly, reality dawns: the rights over my body no longer belong to me.

  “Can I please come, Master Chains?” My quivering words showcase my heightened state. “Please.”

  The urge to cry overwhelms me when Marcus replies, “No.” The deepness of his tone ensures my lust-hazed mind can’t misread his short reply.

  I’m taken aback by his denial of my request, but it doesn’t deter my excitement in the slightest. Using the pad of my thumb, I stimulate my clit more, refusing to give up on my quest for climax. I grind my fingers back into my clenching core, my need to come so strong, I’m not above being disobedient.

  The harder my fingers pump into my soaked pussy, the quicker Marcus’s grunts become. “Is this where you did it? Is this where you came on your birthday while moaning my name?”

  The roughness of his voice doesn’t allow me to register the entirety of his statement. I’m too trapped in a lusty haze to have cognitive thoughts. My mind is entirely blank, clouded by the chase to climax.

  I roll my thumb over my clit, flicking the hardened bud over and over again. Nothing works. My orgasm stays stagnant.

  Adjusting my position, I angle my hips, so they face the direction from which Marcus's voice is projecting before speeding up my pursuit. Perhaps if he sees how desperate I am for him to touch me, he will loosen his tight reins?

  Disappointment scorches my veins when my silent pleas fall on deaf ears. Not only do I lose the contact of Marcus’s breath on my aching core, but the dip of his impressive frame in the mattress is also lost.

  “Please. . . Oh, god, please, Master Chains,” I shamefully plead, my climax so close I can taste it on the tip of my tongue. “I want to come, but I need you to make me come.”

  Before any more tactless confessions can seep from my parched lips, Marcus grips my hips and drags me to the edge of the bed. The sting of his fingers clutching the curve of my backside adds an exciting element to our already fire-sparking union.

  “Yes,” I hiss through clenched teeth when he drags his tongue up the seam of my drenched sex.

  I thrash against him when he rolls his tongue around the hood of my clit before suckling it into his mouth. I scream, overwhelmed by the strength of his suck. My mind shuts down as my chase to climax hits full fruition.

  The lashes of his tongue match the crazy rhythm of my heart, a frantic speed that ensures I could never mistake it as lovemaking. He is fucking me hard and fast with his mouth, using a mind-spiraling combination of speed and excitement.

  I fist the sheets in a white-knuckled hold when a tingling sensation spreads across my stomach, growing and strengthening with every lash of his tongue and graze of his teeth.

  When stars form in my eyes, I wistfully beg, “Can I please come, Master Chains?” My words are breathless and laced with arousal.

  I cry out in disappointment when Marcus replies, “Not yet. I want to be inside you when you come.”

  I don’t have the chance to respond to the first disappointing blow when I’m hit with another. An embarrassing whine ripples through my lips when Marcus moves away from my dripping core. He moves far enough away, I no longer feel the heat of his body, but not far enough that my body’s heightened response to his closeness is snuffed.

  My disappointment doesn’t linger for long when Marcus says, “Put your arms above your head and intertwine your fingers.”

  Fighting through the upwelling of desire his commanding tone instigated, I follow his orders. A thin, satin-like material binds my hands above my head. Although the restraints are tight, my body pulls taut in anticipation at being at Marcus’s complete mercy.

  My arms fully extend when Marcus adjusts my position so he can tether my hands to something above my head. From the angle I am at on my bed, I can only assume it's my bedpost. My breathing turns labored when Marcus glides his naked body down mine. Although he isn’t technically touching me, I can feel every inch of his heated skin hovering just above mine.

  “What's your safe word, Cleo?” The assertiveness in his tone triggers stupid butterflies to take flight in my stomach. They aren’t nervous flutters; they’re ones filled with anticipation.

  “Pineapple,” I mumble groggily, drunk on lust.

  “Say it again.”

  I swallow to soothe my dry throat before muttering, “Pineapple.”

  I yelp in surprise when something unexpectedly clamps around my puckered right nipple. The sensation is painful, but oddly arousing, increasing the thrumming of my pulse. At first, my hazed mind believes it's Marcus’s mouth, but my theory is soon proven unfounded when his teeth graze my opposite nipple.

  “What's that?” I ask, my words breathy as I relish in the glorious tugging sensation of the clamp stimulating my nipple.

  Marcus remains quiet as he nips, sucks and caresses my left nipple. His attention never diverts until it's standing as firm as its clamped counterpart. The shudders wreaking havoc with my body intensify when my left nipple is secured with the same tight hold my right nipple is aroused by. When my chest expands to secure a much-needed breath, a weird pulling sensation sends jolts of both pleasure and pain down my body. It's oddly ironic that something painful can also be pleasurable.

  I call out when Marcus unexpectedly twists the restraint compressing my nipples. Blissful pain surges through my body, thrusting my race to climax to within an inch of the finish line. One more tweak like that, and I’ll be freefalling over the edge.

  “Oh. . . God. . . Don’t stop,” I garble wh
en Marcus loosens his twists. My words are nearly incoherent since they were grunted, not spoken.

  Obeying my request, Marcus twists my nipples again. I arch my back and erotically scream, savoring the feeling shredding through my body. Pleas for more sit on the tip of my tongue, but I shut them down when the crest of his cock braces on my aching-with-desire pussy.

  With my attention devoted on his thickened shaft, it takes me a few moments to register the removal of my blindfold. I blink several times in a row, adjusting my poor eyesight to the dimly lit room. My pulse races when my vision clears enough I can see the instruments clamped on my nipples. They are clothespin. Standard clothespins I use to hang out my laundry.

  My pupils dilate. “What the hell?” How can clothespins have me sitting on the edge of a climatic cliff?

  The effort to suppress my orgasm is nearly lost when my eyes lock with Marcus’s. His lips are curled in a smug smirk, and lust is raging in his eyes. He looks cocky, self-assured, and totally fuckable. If my hands weren’t bound above my head, I’d be tempted to kiss the smug look right off his face. Although I don't know how much good it would do. His eyes are dominant and strong like nothing will deter him.

  Marcus watches me intensively, his utmost dedication on ensuring not a smidge of pain crosses my face when he releases one of my nipples from the firm clutch of the clothespin. As blood rushes back into the numb bud, an intense wave of pleasure follows its path. I moan, overwhelmed by the heavenly sensation.

  Smirking a grin that sets my pulse racing, Marcus snaps off the second clothespin more roughly than the first. I throw my head back and call out, fascinated by the enthralling feeling of both pleasure and pain rocketing through my body. My nipples have always been highly sensitive, but the sensation blindsiding me now is unexplainable. It hurts, but it's also driving me wild with desire.

  “Remember your safe word, Cleo. If you want me to stop, say your safe word,” Marcus affirms, reminding me I have the power to end our exchange at any time.