Bound to be Dirty

by Savanna Fox

  She cried out again, and tugged against the scarves that restrained her.

  “Don’t,” he grated out. “Stay still.”

  Her eyes squeezed shut as if to disavow knowledge of what they were doing. Bright pink patches blazed on her chest and cheeks. Her short blond hair, normally so neat and stylish, stuck up every which way as her head thrashed on the pillow.

  Normally, she’d wrap her arms and legs around him and cling as their bodies took up a familiar rhythm. It felt strange to have her spread wide and open, unable to touch him, but she wasn’t motionless. She lifted her pelvis as far as she could, pressing up against him as he plunged in and out of her.

  She gave panting gasps, a counterpoint to Dax’s guttural, animal-like sounds.

  Fuck, she was hot. Lily hadn’t been this hot in . . . he couldn’t remember when. Nor had he.

  Torturing her and delaying her release had been torture for him too, and he couldn’t hold out much longer. His balls were tight; the desperate need to come burned at the base of his spine. Knowing how sensitive her clit would be now, he reached down to press it. Her body convulsed, then release crashed through Dax in a wave of pleasure so extreme it almost hurt. Dimly, he was aware of Lily crying out again, of her body’s spasms matching his jerky thrusts.

  His heart pounded so frantically it might burst out of his chest as he struggled to draw air into his lungs.

  Gradually, his breathing slowed. Clumsily, his legs and arms rubbery, he lifted himself off Lily’s body and headed to the bathroom to deal with the condom. The mirror showed a wild man: cheeks with a hectic flush, hair even messier than Lily’s, beard glistening with her juices.

  When he returned to the bedroom, she slanted him a quick glance through lowered lashes. She didn’t say a word, but tugged gently at one of the scarves.

  His wife, the strongest, most tough-minded woman he knew, was tied to the bed. She’d opted in. Dax felt powerful and macho like that wild man in the bathroom mirror, but also, he realized, vulnerable. Being in control meant he was solely responsible for her pleasure. He risked failure if he didn’t read her signals correctly.

  In the book, Neville thought he understood Cassandra’s deepest desires better than she did herself. How the hell did a man do that?

  Five

  Dax was—almost—a bad-boy stranger again, this sexy, powerful naked man with his disheveled hair and dark beard who stood watching her. Without her contact lenses, his face was slightly out of focus, but she had the sense of a hawk studying its prey. How appropriate that Kim had chosen a stylized hawk for his shirt.

  Tonight reminded Lily of that first summer. Dax had been sexually experienced and confident, while she was a nervous, inhibited virgin. The way he’d made her feel, the things she’d learned from him . . . It had been a whole new world. And now, again, he’d taught her things she’d never suspected about herself. She’d always found the idea of dominance and submission repellent, yet this sex play turned her on. A lot.

  He’d bossed her around, spanked her, tied her up, teased and toyed with her—and given her mind-blowing orgasms that left her weak and quivering. It had been almost surreal to not be able to move or speak. To put her pleasure in his hands. To know she could stop him with one word, yet to choose not to.

  When Dax had asked her to provide a safe word, her memories of their first meeting were so fresh that “Skookumchuck” had leaped to her lips. She’d seen the flash of surprise on his face.

  Now, as he stared down at her, she was grateful he’d told her not to speak. What would she say? Though what she most craved from her husband was an intimate connection, she’d opted into something very different. But at least, for once, he was seeing her; all his attention and passion focused on her. Though she had to wonder about this change in him. Had he always craved this kind of sex, or had a new lover show him this side of himself?

  If only he’d untie her, she could roll over and feign sleep. She gave a second tug at the silk scarves that bound her wrists. The knots had tightened when she’d wriggled and thrashed. Surely now he’d take the hint and untie her.

  “Yeah, I know you’re tied up,” he told her. “And you’ll stay that way.”

  What? Her eyes flicked open wide and she frowned.

  “I’m not done with you yet.”

  Her breath hitched with anxiety—and, yes, curiosity.

  She could say “Skookumchuck” and he’d stop. Despite his out-of-character behavior, she knew he wouldn’t force himself on her. Yet he seemed determined to push her out of her comfort zone. And damn it, her body responded. Her mind wasn’t convinced, but the ripple of heat pulsing through her was undeniable.

  Dax caught her left ankle. His hand was strong and warm, his grip firm, even possessive. Oh God, was he going to inflict the same erotic torture on her left leg too?

  Yes, he was. When he sucked her toe and his teeth scraped her skin, her body, which hadn’t stopped trembling from that first bone-rattling orgasm, shuddered. Heat flashed up her leg, drenched her pussy anew, had her biting her lip to hold back a moan of pleasure.

  And that was just her toe.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to see the familiar bedroom, longing only to lose herself in this utterly sensual experience. People talked about “out-of-body” experiences. Well, she wanted an “out-of-mind” one. She didn’t want to think, to worry, about what this meant.

  He worked his slow, tortuous way to her inner thigh, the calluses on his fingers and the curls of his beard making each kiss, lick, and nip even more erotic. Her body twisted with need. When his tongue explored her labia and clit, tightening the coil of arousal yet not pressing firmly enough to offer release, she held back her protest. If she complained or demanded, he’d stop touching her, keep her hovering on the brink even longer.

  Although there was something to be said for the hovering. That first orgasm was one of the most powerful she’d ever experienced. Mind you, the second one, coming fast and hard, was spectacular too.

  She wasn’t sure she could withstand a third. And yet Dax left her no choice as his tongue, lips, and fingers played her skillfully. Shuddering, she exploded against his face.

  He moved up her body, trailing kisses across her belly, her ribs. Finally, he reached her breasts. Her nipples were so tight and hard, they ached when his thumbs brushed across them and when he pinched them gently. But it was a good ache, the kind that resonated deep in her sex.

  Her skin was hyperalert to every brush of his body: his lightly haired leg against her knee, the hard thrust of his cock—yes, he was erect again—against her thigh. Her sex was swollen, achy, needy. Despite three orgasms, she wanted him inside her.

  The boldness of the way he’d commanded her contrasted so dramatically with the subtle way he treated her body. Now, exploring her chest, he didn’t just suck on her nipples, one of her most sensitive erogenous zones. He moved on to kiss her collarbone, her exposed armpits, the place where her shoulders met her neck. They weren’t the standard erogenous zones, yet he brought them to humming, tingling life.

  He returned to her breasts and took a pebble-hard nipple gently between his teeth, and sensation echoed in her vagina. He sucked, licked, then moved to her other breast and did the same thing.

  She whimpered, her hips twisting against the rumpled sheet. Her core clenched, shuddered, and a rippling wave of orgasm made her gasp with pleasure. Oh my, she’d never come that way before.

  Dax moved quickly down the bed, then his mouth was on her clit, his fingers buried deep inside her, catching the fading spasms of that orgasm and building the tension again. Taking her higher until, whimpering helplessly, she broke again and came hard.

  He rose above her, so handsome, so powerful. She squinted to see him more clearly. His glossy black hair was tousled, his strong cheekbones burned with color, his eyes blazed silvery-gray. His cock rose full and hard up against his belly. So swollen, so big.

  When he reached for a condom and sheathed himself, she coul
dn’t imagine her exhausted body surviving intercourse. A whimper of protest escaped her lips.

  Dax stopped, one hand at the base of his shaft where he’d rolled the ring of the condom down. “Too much? Say the word and I’ll stop.”

  He would. She believed him.

  She might be tied to the bed, but she could control this strong, aroused man with a single word. Knowing that, she realized she didn’t want to stop him. She wanted her husband inside her.

  For the first time tonight she saw, simply, the man she’d fallen in love with and married. Her doubts about their marriage, her fear that he’d been unfaithful, her confusion over his odd behavior and her strange response—they all dropped away. She smiled at him.

  His intense expression lightened and warmed. “Lily.”

  To her surprise, he untied the knots securing her feet to the bedposts, and then did the same with her hands. As she shook out her legs and arms, easing the strain from being bound, he turned off the lamp on the dresser and the room went dark.

  A moment later, he was on the bed again, between her legs. Enjoying her newfound freedom of movement, she bent her knees, the insides of her legs brushing the outsides of his.

  He slid a pillow under her, relieving a slight ache in her lower back, and then his fingers stroked between her legs. The head of his cock nudged her, but this time, rather than plunge inside, he eased in slowly.

  Slick and sensitive, she clung to him and pulsed around him, welcoming him, wanting all he could give her.

  Once he was fully seated, he leaned forward, his firm chest brushing her taut nipples. Resting one arm on the bed beside her shoulder to take his weight, he touched her face gently, smoothing damp, messy hair back from her flushed skin. His fingers bore the musky scent of sex.

  After being restrained, it felt odd to lift her arms and curl them around his broad shoulders. So familiar, this male body. So wonderful. If only she knew the man inside half as well.

  Was she allowed to speak now? It didn’t matter. She had no idea what to say. Words would only complicate things.

  He didn’t speak either. His cock was embedded deep in her channel, but he didn’t thrust. Instead, his lips brushed hers.

  She’d always loved kissing Dax. Now she kissed him back lazily, too worn out to be energetic. He’d never had a beard before, and she enjoyed the brush of springy curls against her chin.

  His lips caressed hers, his tongue teased their fullness, and then, after long minutes, he dipped inside.

  Her tongue met his, and only then did his hips pump. He thrust in and out in the tiniest movements. His penis was so swollen that it filled her completely, and each thrust created a delicious warm burn.

  Normally, she’d have wrapped her legs around him, taking him even deeper and speeding things up, but her leg muscles trembled and she couldn’t even keep her knees raised. Slowly, her legs collapsed down on the bed.

  Dax tugged the pillow out. His thrusts quickened, lengthened.

  Even though Lily was no longer tied up, the exhaustion in her muscles kept her from moving much.

  But she didn’t need to. Dax slowly, gently, but relentlessly drove her toward climax. A tight, trembling coil of arousal built, deep in her core.

  His back was so hot, rigid with tensile strength under her hands. How familiar it was to hold him like this as their bodies moved together. It was like the old days, when their love had been strong and sure.

  He’d stopped kissing her and his breath came in rasping pants. He reached down between their bodies, as he always did when he was close to climax and wanted to ensure she came with him.

  Her clit was so sensitive that, at the first brush of his fingers, she gave a soft gasp of pain.

  With a barely there touch, he spread the moisture of her arousal on her clit, circling that achy bud, making her whimper with pleasure.

  He pumped faster, his caution and control vanishing as he thrust vigorously, driving into her core.

  And now, exhausted or not, she had to move, to cling and meet his thrusts.

  He yelled, “Fuck, Lily,” and exploded in a series of violent jerks that shattered the tension inside her.

  Crying out, she broke in waves of orgasm so intense they were both pleasure and pain.

  Their bodies shuddered together, and he slowly collapsed on top of her. They lay together, damp and heaving. Neither said a word.

  After a few minutes, Dax rose and went to the bathroom.

  Lily didn’t have the strength to sit up and reach for the covers. She curled onto her side in her normal sleeping position. It was the only normal thing about this night.

  While they’d been having sex, she’d let herself be caught in the sensations and tried to turn off her mind. Now she was too exhausted to think straight. What did all of this mean? He’d massaged her, sucked her toes, given her incredible orgasms. He’d spanked her and tied her up; he’d untied her, kissed her, and it had felt like they were truly making love. Was tonight a step toward rediscovering intimacy? Or was it a sex game, maybe something Dax had learned from another woman?

  The bed shifted under his weight. He raised the covers, tucked them around her, lay down on his side of the bed.

  She lay still in the darkness in a warm nest of covers. Did he think she was asleep? She almost was, her body heavy and limp, her breathing slow, her mind craving oblivion.

  He shifted onto his side and moved closer. She smelled his familiar scent, a fresh, outdoorsy one that now mingled with her lavender and their sweaty, earthy sex.

  They always used to drift off to sleep spooned together.

  Without her consciously intending to do it, she inched back toward him.

  He moved forward until his front curved around her back. His arm came around her waist.

  Like the old days. The good days. Drifting to sleep like this had made her feel so secure. So loved.

  Now she didn’t know how she felt about Dax, or how he felt about her. Was this the last night they’d fall asleep like this? She had told herself she was prepared for their marriage to break up, but that was before he’d come home. Before he’d kissed her and made love to her as if he meant it. Now she was more confused than ever.

  Dax’s hand brushed hers.

  She didn’t move. Except for the tears that tracked silently down her cheeks.

  * * *

  Lily struggled slowly from sleep. She felt almost as if she’d been drugged, and every single muscle ached, like she’d—

  Lying on her side, she tensed, remembering, and bit her lip. What had she been thinking? What had they been doing? What did it mean for their marriage?

  From behind her came a rustle as Dax shifted position. Was he awake? Hardly breathing, she held still.

  It was Christmas morning. The alarm clock on her bedside table read seven o’clock, an hour and a half later than she usually got up. She and Dax were expected at her parents’ house at one.

  They needed to talk. But not until they got through Christmas dinner.

  He hadn’t moved again, so with any luck he was still asleep, as exhausted as she was. If only he’d stay asleep until it was time to shower and leave. But Dax was normally an early riser too.

  Defer and avoid. She’d choose that strategy for a few more hours. Cautiously, she inched out of bed, and he didn’t stir. Though she desperately craved a shower, best to do it at the clinic. The place would be deserted today. She could work, think. Maybe go for a run first.

  In the walk-in closet, she slipped into her running clothes and packed a change of clothes in her gym bag, then she tiptoed through the silent bedroom. She made a quick stop in the kitchen to write a note.

  Gone to the clinic. Back by twelve.

  She paused, gripping the pen tightly. Dax would go to her parents’ with her, wouldn’t he, rather than force her to make some awkward explanation? He hated those formal meals with her folks grilling both of them, but they always went. This year was different, though. Their marriage might be ending. Last night’s
sex only emphasized that things weren’t the same between them. After deliberation, she added:

  We’ll need to leave for my parents’ at 12:30.

  Six

  A sound woke Dax. He came to alertness quickly, as always, and took inventory. He was at the condo, alone in bed. It was Christmas morning. And Christmas Eve had been pretty damned wild.

  It had turned him on, being with Lily like that—less for the physical acts like slapping her ass and tying her up as for the fact that she’d given herself over to him. She’d let him take charge of her pleasure, and he’d brought her to climax again and again. The last time, with her untied, it had felt like real lovemaking, not just sex. They’d fallen asleep spooned together the way they used to.

  He crossed his arms over his chest and grinned smugly. His strategy was working. No, he wasn’t dumb enough to think that one night had solved their problems, but it was a step forward.

  Where was his sexy wife? Making coffee? He sure could use a cup. Then he intended to pull her back into bed. Whistling, he got up, put on a pair of boxer briefs, and headed for the kitchen.

  No Lily. No coffee. A note.

  His whistle died. “Crap.” Christmas morning, after great sex, and she’d blown him off for work? And still expected him to endure the torture of turkey dinner with her family? What the fuck was that all about?

  Had she ditched him to be with a lover on Christmas morning? Suspicion churned in his gut and he no longer craved coffee.

  Outside the window, the sky was gray and cloudy—rain clouds, not snow. Too bad for all the kids who hoped for snowmen and snowball fights on Christmas Day.

  He and Lily’d done that, one Christmas in Moose Jaw and another one in Vancouver when the city had, for once, delivered a white Christmas. Used to be, on Christmas morning, they’d make love, have a leisurely breakfast, exchange gifts. Go for a walk until their cheeks and noses were rosy, then come home and warm up in bed before they headed off for the stressful meal.