That’s possible to do because the seats aren’t placed tightly together. There are consoles and arm rests between them.
“What are you going to do exactly?”
“Have fun.”
I lift my brows at his cocky tone as something touches my wrists, winding around them. When he’s finished, black vinyl bondage tape wraps around my wrists and they are connected by a length of the tape behind my seat so I can’t move them. I’m completely at Jonathon’s mercy.
I wanted this, but am I really ready?
“Trust, remember?” he says softly.
To fly, I wore jeans, a t-shirt, and a zippered hoodie. I took off the hoodie already. Jonathon pushes my shirt up over my bra, which is brand new, like the panties. It’s a push-up bra designed to add a cup size to my breasts, and it squeezes them together to improve my cleavage.
I haven’t gained weight in college. Right now, if anything, I’m too thin. The stalker incident kept me too freaked out to eat, as did the pressures of the fall term. Instead of seeking solace in food, I kept forgetting to eat. My breasts are smaller than when I started school.
Ryan didn’t seem to mind, but I wonder what Jonathon will think.
Jonathon takes the cups and draws them down until my breasts pop out and are sitting on top of the bra. My hard nipples point at him.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Perfect nipples.”
Actually, I am proud of my nipples. They are very large and puffy and guys tend to like them. They’ve gone hard much faster than usual. Proof of how aroused I am.
Jonathon pulls a length of silver chain from his carry-on. He pinches one end and as the cool metal brushes my nipple I moan and whimper. There are clamps at the end of the chain.
“Oh no. My nipples are way too sensitive.”
“Perfect.” First he gently closes a clamp on my right nipple, then on my left nipple while my heart pounds like wild. The pressure is intense, but not as painful as I thought it would be. The sensitivity makes me focus completely on my breasts. They look so erotic, shoved up by the bra, with clamps hanging off of my nipples.
I guess he likes my breasts.
I take a deep breath, bracing myself for what he will do next. I promised him I would try anything, but now I’m warring between my vow to change and be good, and my desire to explore my sexuality.
The clamps make my breasts jiggle, which stimulates my nipples like crazy.
Jonathon takes something else out of his carry-on bag. A pink jelly dildo that sparkles. I know I’m blushing. I may have a past, but I am actually very shy. Last year, a high-end adult store opened in Milltown. I went in with a bunch of girls from my school, where they giggled and I went beet red over the wall of dildos, which had everything from a realistic twelve inch monster with anatomically correct coloring to a cute five inch thing made of sparkly see-through purple rubber.
Jonathon holds the squishy dildo against my clit and strokes.
“Oh God,” I moan. I close my eyes, suddenly feeling exposed.
He starts sliding the fake cock into my pussy. When it’s all the way in, he bends and flicks his tongue over my clit. His mouth torments me with such skill, I come instantly. His tongue strums me while I thrash and writhe on the seat. I’ve never had such an explosion from oral sex. Of course, I’ve never been primed for one quite like this.
He draws back, grinning with a flash of white teeth, with lines that bracket his sensual mouth.
His jeans cling to his lean hips, sweep along his long legs. His charcoal shirt sets off the green of his eyes. How can he not want to get naked right now?
He has other plans, I guess. He removes the clamp from my left nipple. When I see its squished shape, I wince, though it doesn’t hurt. It just feels intense and erotic. Jonathon presses his mouth to my nipple. At the exact moment he sucks, he thrusts the pink jelly cock in and out of me.
Whenever I have one orgasm, I usually have the successive ones almost instantaneously. Three thrusts and I soar with ecstasy, then giggle helplessly with it, too boneless and weak to move.
“You’re beautiful,” he says.
“Untie me,” I beg. “Make love with me.”
He leans over me and tears the tape away, freeing my wrists. But then he sits on the seat, watching me. He’s making no move to undress.
“Don’t you want to join me in another orgasm?”
“This is foreplay, fantasy girl,” he answers. “I enjoy foreplay when it lasts a long time.”
“Then what do you plan to do?”
He cocks his head. “I’m thinking.” A reminder he is in control. He will do to me what he wants, when he wants to do it. He reaches over and begins to slowly thrust the fake cock in and out. I touch my clit, and when he doesn’t complain, I rub it surreptitiously, feeling the tension build. I’m on a luxurious seat in a private jet, being gloriously fucked. Then he gives the dildo one last thrust and I come. This time I’m sobbing with sheer, melting, intense delight.
He strokes my tangled hair. “I’ve never seen a woman come as much as you.”
Breathing hard, I whisper. “I’m not done yet.” After all, now that I’ve had so many orgasms—this is the best flight ever—I want to do the same for him.
I ask him sweetly to sit in his seat and I kneel in front of him. I undo the button of his jeans. They have a traditional zippered fly. I catch the zipper between my teeth and draw it down.
It’s a struggle but I get his jeans and his silk boxers pulled down, baring his cock. Jonathon’s is gorgeous. Thick. Long. With a sweeping curve that points up to the sky.
Sticking out my tongue, I lavishly lick him. I open my lips, make a tight ‘o’, and slide my mouth down over his cock. Then I suck him hard.
Jonathon leans over. From behind, he grabs the toy that is still deep in my pussy and begins pumping it in long, slow strokes.
I want to focus on sucking him, but it’s hard since the sensations in my pussy are so intense. I’ve climaxed so much I don’t need anymore. I want to make Jonathon come, but it’s like a battle between us. He wants to bring me there first.
I think surprise is my key to delighting Jonathon, to making him explode.
I suck his cock sloppily, making oodles of saliva, soaking him, and I let some of it wet my index finger. I have his trousers and briefs at his knees. With him bending forward, it’s awkward, but I attack from below his balls, wiggling my finger between his ass and the seat. A trick I’ve read about, one that shocks some guys and thrills others. Jonathon shifts, startled, and that gives me the space I need.
I press my finger to his tight, puckered anus. Wriggling it, I ease it in just a little.
“Mia, not that,” he says.
But I don’t listen. I never agreed to be a submissive. Sex is a partnership. With Jonathon, I can have a true and honest partnership. He knows some of my darkest secrets, my deepest pain.
I think that gives me the right to use my finger to stimulate his snug, sensitive butt.
His body responds. His muscles open for my finger, letting me push it deep inside. I feel the softness of his walls, hot and like velvet, as his ass grips my finger tightly.
I slide my finger in and out, pleasuring him. I’m tempted to go for two fingers when his ass starts to move with my thrusts. He’s moaning. I love hearing that sound of pleasure and vulnerability.
“Fuck it,” he says. “This is so good.”
I love making him feel good.
We rock together, my lips sucking his cock as hard as I can, my finger gliding into him, while he’s driving the sex toy deep into me. With my other hand I play with my clit.
I can’t hold on. His cock in my mouth keeps me from moaning or yelling, but my body goes wild with orgasm. Every nerve ending explodes.
Then I feel Jonathon’s cock growing in my mouth. My tongue senses a sudden pulsing.
“God, Mia,” he growls. His hips jerk up and I take advantage to push my finger deep inside him, and his come shoots thick and fast into my mouth.
As he falls back against the seat, he groans, “That was amazing. You are even more incredible than I dreamed you would be. This is going to be a fantastic week.”
***
After Jonathon removes the toys, he leads me to the lavatory so we can clean up and fix our clothing. The washroom is four times the size of one in a regular airplane. He leaves first while I finish, and when I return to the seat, champagne awaits me. Jonathon hands me a flute. We clink glasses, then a lunch of grilled chicken and salad is served.
At one point I poke my thumb lightly with my fork just to make sure I’m not dreaming.
One thing about relationships in college, I’ve discovered: sex is so new and cool and you have so many pent up fantasies all you want to do is make love.
After we eat, Jonathon explains that he was up late catching up on work. I realize that for all he deliberately tries not to succeed at school, he is diligent and dedicated to the work involved in his investments.
“You should nap,” I assure him. “I don’t mind. I can read.”
The seats are designed to recline completely. Jonathon stretches out, crossing his long legs at his ankles. The champagne tingles on my tongue. I pull my book out of my carry-on, but I don’t look at it. By the time I’ve finished my drink, Jonathon is sleeping. Looking boyish and gorgeous, relaxed in slumber with his long lashes brushing his cheeks.
I pour more champagne, needing to do something while I think.
Ryan would never have tied my hands and put clamps on my nipples. I would never have asked him to do it. I basically let him think I was a virgin.
Maybe I do belong with Jonathon. I was scared to tell Ryan anything that might hint at my past. With Jonathon, I don’t care what he knows.
After Jonathon saved me from the stalker on campus, I was completely shaken and freaked out. I kept giving into waterfalls of tears, and I desperately needed someone to talk to. Jonathon was so sympathetic and he revealed that he had abuse in his past too. A different kind of abuse than I experienced. Mine was sexual, his was physical.
He didn’t tell me who did it, but I assumed it happened at his father’s hands. Jonathon understood what I’d been through. He explained how he didn’t trust people; how he had built walls around his heart.
I thought the abuse in his past explained his desire for bondage and domination, but he insists it is not the reason. That is a misconception, he explained. Brains are programmed differently for pleasure, and his just happened to be made this way. But his past has hurt him. It’s made it impossible for him to trust. He claims I’m the first person he feels he can trust because I open up to him so much.
If you can talk to me, maybe that means we should be together.
Jonathon said that to me just before Winter Break, when I told him I loved Ryan. Maybe he was right?
After what I had just experienced, I know I could love Jonathon. Very intensely. What I don’t know is if he can love me.
What happens if I fall hard for him, and he never breaks down his walls enough to love me in return?
Chapter Three
From the windows of the plane, I see stretches of white sand beaches. Sunlight glints on the aquamarine water of the ocean surrounding a long, tree-dotted island—one of the British Virgin Islands. Smaller islands surround it. From above, I can see many tall hotels, but I don’t know which one is the Azure resort.
Jonathon suggested I take a window seat for the view and he was right. It’s spectacular. I have my nose pressed to the glass so I can see everything.
We land and walk down a stair from the plane onto the tarmac, where we stand in brilliant sunshine. A mellow breeze tosses my long hair around my face. I walk beside Jonathon to the airport terminal, feeling like a movie star from the past, arriving glamorously by private jet.
After we have the bags and have cleared customs, we head out to meet our waiting car.
“I can’t wait to get into a bathing suit,” I say.
Jonathon winks. “I can wait to get you tied to our bed.”
I shiver which could be attributed to the air conditioning but that’s not the reason. I agreed to try...anything. Having my hands tied with bondage tape was both exciting and unnerving.
On the plane, I focused only on the sex, on the scenario we were playing, on thrilling Jonathon. But now memories are biting at me. Things from my past that I’ve really tried to forget.
If I were blindfolded, after all, I wouldn’t have to think about what was happening. If my hands were tied, playfully, I could pretend that I couldn’t stop anything. That nothing was my fault.
I thought I could look at this week as a fun sexual adventure.
I still believe it. I just have to keep my memories under control. But maybe I should warn him.
“Jonathon—” I begin, but a man in uniform steps forward, holding a sign by his chest. He’s young, good-looking, blond, with skin that’s a blend of honey and copper. He wears a welcoming smile. “Mr. Powell?” His voice is deep and melodic.
Jonathon nods.
I can’t broach the subject of bondage in front of a stranger. I’ll have to tackle that later.
“Your car is right outside,” the driver continues. “The blue one by the curb. Let me take your bags.”
The young man opens the car door for me, tips his cap. I slide into the blessed coolness of an air-conditioned, beige leather interior. Jonathon joins me. He catches my eye and gives me a dazzling, wicked grin.
The car purrs along the highway from the airport. Soon we’ve reached the waterfront. “This is incredible,” I breathe. The water really is pure turquoise, and I glimpse stretches of blinding white beach. Most of the buildings are white stucco, though the towering hotels are like ribbons of glass that curve along the shoreline. The mirrored facades are every color of the rainbow—exotic turquoise, cool blue, dazzling gold, elegant rose-pink.
I peer at them, taking mental notes of their architecture. One day I will design something like that. I don’t care what the professors in the School of Architecture say—the ones who have already advised me to switch majors because they don’t think I have the right sense of style. I’m willing to work hard and I can learn.
I’m carrying my hoodie, but I’m still really hot in my jeans and body-hugging t-shirt. What I desperately want is to strip into a bikini. We turn, and ahead I see an array of boats moored at an intricate network of docks, bobbing in a harbor.
“The hotel is near a marina?”
Jonathon leans close to me. He hasn’t touched me much since our session of sex on the plane. Maybe he’s giving me some space. Maybe he needs some. He points to the horizon. “The resort is on a smaller island. It’s a ten mile boat ride. It has all amenities but if we want to come back here for shopping or dinner, it’s a short trip.”
“We’re not going to your private island, are we?”
He laughs. “No, my father is vacationing on that island this Christmas, and I didn’t want to be near him.”
His family does have a private island.
I’ve ridden on ferries and that was the type of boat I pictured. Instead, we board a sleek speed boat. Our luggage is stowed in the back, the engine roars, and we shoot out of the harbor into open water. The boat bounces on the waves, throwing spray in our faces. Jonathon’s arm is around me. I hold my hair back out of my face, thrilled. This is...stunning. The glorious sunshine and the warmth, the vast beautiful ocean, the cooling spray that tastes salty. I’ve never experienced anything like this.
Laughing, I turn, intending to kiss Jonathon. He puts his finger to my lips, stopping me. Perhaps he doesn’t like public displays of affection, but given what he does in public at his clubs and what he did to me on the plane, I’m amazed.
Soon, I see the island, a small strip of lush greenery surrounded by water that fades from mysterious indigo to clear bright blue. “That white ring...isn’t that a reef?”
“Don’t worry,” Jonathon assures.
We speed toward the re
ef. My grip on the side of the boat tightens. Then suddenly we slow, sending a wash of water ahead of us, and our captain—pilot?—guides us in through a narrow channel. We disembark and board an open-air vehicle that looks like a fancy golf cart. Again we have a driver, this one in a white uniform consisting of a short-sleeve shirt, shorts, and a white cap.
He bids us a good-natured ‘Good Afternoon’ and winds his way around the people milling on the wooden dock. There’s lots of noise. Tourists chatter, golf cart horns honk, boat engines roar, seagulls caw.
“I really want to strip off my jeans,” I whisper to Jonathon, certain my words can’t be heard over all this sound.
“Mmm, good idea,” he murmurs. He leans over me, undoes the zipper of my fly with speed and consummate skill. His fingers slide down, moving inside my panties.
“Not here. Not yet,” I whisper. At his look of disappointment, I feel a spurt of guilt. To tease him, to keep enticing him, I ask softly, “What exactly do you do when you tie a woman up?”
“I like to be creative,” he says. “Sometimes I’ll tie you up when you’re spread-eagled on the bed so I can fuck your sweet pussy. Or have you lie on your stomach, which allows me to do naughty things to your lovely ass. I might tie your ankles and hands together, and arrange you in interesting positions to fuck you. Would you like to be bound hand and foot while you suck my cock, Mia?”
His voice is low, soft, so innately sexual it makes my pussy throb. Emotions swirl and crash in me like water over the reef. I have to be honest. “The idea of being tied up excites me. But—”
“But there’s more?” Jonathon’s voice is gentle, inquisitive.
I may be about to disappoint him, but I’m not afraid to be honest with him. “You know I’ve known abuse,” I say very softly. “I thought I could look at anything as a fun, hot game. A fantasy. But I’m afraid that being a submissive might be just too close to what I’ve been through in my past.”
“Don’t worry. This is completely different. You always have the power to say no, to stop the game, even when you’re tied up. The fantasy has nothing to do with what you’ve been through. You will always be in control. And you remember the rules of my clubs: safe, sane, consensual.”
Seduction in the Sun: Adult Romance Box Set (9 Sizzling Tales with BBW, Billionaires, Bad Boys, and Alpha Males) Page 9