by Eden Bradley
“What do you think, Allie?” he asked her, moving in close and wrapping his fist in her hair. “I’m going to lay you out on that table. I’m going to tie you down and do some wonderful and terrible things to you.”
All she could say was, “Yes, please.”
CHAPTER
Six
SHE DIDN’T DARE to look at him. Not because he was the Dom, but because she was afraid if she did her legs would shake too hard to hold her up.
He leaned into her and whispered in her ear, “I can sense you, you know. Feel what you’re feeling right now. That trembling under your skin. Your pulse racing. I can see it at the base of your throat. I can feel it.”
He pressed two gentle fingers to her neck, and she sighed.
“Ah, there it is. That honesty. You can’t hide it, can you? But I don’t mean that as any sort of judgment. I want to hear it. Your sighs, your moans. I want to know your pleasure. Don’t hide it from me. Don’t try to hide anything from me. You’re familiar with this process—you know what we have to do in order for this to work. So tell me now, what are the nerves all about? This hard set to your jaw, your shoulders? Because I feel like if I put my arm around you right now you might break in some way.”
“I might,” she murmured, having to bite back tears for some reason she didn’t understand.
“Allie, I don’t want to hurt you. Not in that way.”
She swallowed. “I know. But you might, Mick.”
She heard him exhale on a long breath. “I’ll do my damnedest not to.”
She nodded, glanced away, letting her eyes lose focus in the dim, colored light.
“Look at me,” he demanded.
She swallowed again, the lump in her throat thickening. She couldn’t seem to force herself to do as he said.
“Allie,” he said more gently. When she didn’t answer he said, “Okay, if this is how you want it.”
The next thing she knew, he’d picked her up and placed her sitting on the edge of the hanging bed, parted her thighs and stood between them. A tear plopped onto her cheek.
When he took her chin in his hand, she tried to shake him off, but he held on firmly, forcing her to face him.
“Mick, please.”
His brows were drawn over his beautiful gray eyes. Eyes like granite and quartz.
“I don’t mind if you cry,” he said. “But you will talk to me.”
She started to shake her head, but he wouldn’t let her do it.
“Talk, Allie.”
“This just . . . isn’t what I expected. I don’t know what I did expect. Except I suppose I figured that with all my years of experience to draw on, this would be familiar ground—just you and me getting to know each other again through kink, once we got past you being mad about me dragging you here.”
“I’m past that—I don’t hold a grudge. Well, I do, which I guess we both know. But I’m not mad at you. And this is us getting to know each other through kink. Tell me why it’s hard for you.”
“Isn’t it hard for you, Mick? Jesus, don’t tell me I’m the only one who’s having a rough time with this.”
“Yes, it’s hard for me. Remembering what we used to be. Figuring out where the hell we are now. Because this part—the kink—has changed . . . maybe everything. But my job right now is to hold it together. To hold you together.”
The look in his eyes told her he meant it. That he would hold her together.
“Okay. Okay. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be. Just take a breath and find that place in your head again.” He dropped her chin and stroked a hand over her shoulder. “I’ll help you find it. Come on, now, stand for me.”
He helped her from the table and pulled her dress over her head, paused to smooth her hair from her face.
“The red’s a nice touch. Too nice to cut off you.”
She watched him as his gaze roved over her body, followed by his hands. He stroked her arms, her stomach, making her draw in a sharp breath. She shivered when he stroked the sides of her thighs, the curve of her hips, the small of her back. He pulled her into his body, and she felt the heat of his skin, the hard muscle beneath her cheek pressed against his chest.
His hands moved over her back in featherlight strokes.
“Breathe with me, Allie.”
She knew what he meant to do—take her through the slow yogalike breathing methods meant to relax her. Following his lead, she inhaled deeply, blew it out slowly.
“Again,” he ordered.
She closed her eyes and drew in another breath, careful to keep time with him, exhaled. Inhaled once more, and exhaled, let her body fall into the slow cadence, let her weight lean into his strong frame.
She didn’t know how much time had passed when he said, “Let’s begin.”
He lifted her, setting her back on the hanging table. He stroked one shoulder, bringing down her bra strap with his fingers. Her nipples went hard immediately. He caressed her other shoulder, drawing that strap down, ran both hands over her breasts, filling his palms with her silk-covered flesh. She arched into his touch.
“Ah, that’s it. Good girl.”
That phrase could always make her shiver. Coming from him it was like a small orgasm shuddering across her skin.
He undid the front clasp, and the bra fell off and into his hands. He set it down, then bent to remove her shoes, pausing to caress her calves, her thighs. He dropped her shoes on the floor and laid his hands on her shoulders once more.
“Lie back now,” he told her, his voice soft, yet no less commanding.
She did as he asked, lying down on the cool vinyl. He stood over her, dwarfing her more than ever, somehow. Perhaps it was his command, or the sense of vulnerability that was always present when she was submitting, magnified now because it was him. Not that she minded. She gloried in it.
“I want you to stay there, to stay still,” he told her.
He turned away and she heard him unzip his toy bag, heard some shuffling around as he unpacked what he needed. She kept doing the deep breathing, trying her best to still herself even as desire poured through her system like a rush of heat.
The other rush was a keen need to be perfect for him. Even as her mind began to float, she was acutely aware of it. It was a part of submission for her—to be floating off into subspace, yet feeling the need to please, to be good for her partner. And now it was nearly overwhelming. But the lump in her throat was fading away, being replaced by this familiar role she knew she was capable of fulfilling. She knew that wanting it to this degree would only make her better for him.
She felt him approach, watched as he lifted her arm, used his brushing fingertips to spread her palm open, bent and placed a soft kiss on the inside of her wrist before gently drawing it up over her head and sliding a length of rope around it.
She sighed at the tenderness of his touch, at the pure sensuality of the way he was handling her as he looped and knotted the rope, making a cuff around her wrist, leaving a line of rope dangling. He moved around the table and once more he lifted her arm, used his fingertips to stroke her palm open, kissed her wrist, then her palm, sending a shiver of desire through her body. He wrapped the other wrist in the same way, a few loops and knots, leaving a long length of rope trailing.
She felt the tug on one wrist as he slung the rope through a chain link somewhere above her, and her arm drew up and outward. He pulled it a bit tighter before he secured it. She relaxed into the lovely, familiar safety of the rope as he did the same to her other arm. She loved this sensation of calmness mixed with the near frenzy of pleasure and need coursing through her.
Mick.
The rope.
Mick . . .
He moved toward the end of the table and wove more rope around first one ankle, then the other, before he
secured them to the chains at the bottom of the hanging table, pulled it tight so that her legs were spread wide.
“So damn beautiful,” he said. “And so gorgeously helpless.”
She smiled. She couldn’t help it. It was exactly what she loved about being bound.
“What shall I do with you now, I wonder?” he mused.
She knew he didn’t require an answer—that the remark was designed to get her mind spinning.
What would he do?
He trailed a finger up the center of her stomach, over her ribs, between her breasts, and her nipples tightened.
“Ah, here’s a good place to start.”
He stroked his fingertips over one nipple, and her sex went damp immediately. When he pinched the hardened flesh between his strong fingers, she groaned.
“Good, Allie? But you don’t have to answer. Your body answers for you.” He kept her nipple pinched firmly between his fingers, making her have to breathe through the pain, eyes closed, as he reached for the other and caressed the tip. Pleasure and pain were a sweet cocktail in her system. Yet the ropes held her safely, giving her something to hold on to.
When he tweaked both nipples hard, she arched up off the table with a gasp, pain lancing into her. But he let go almost right away, stroking and teasing the tender flesh, letting her breath out the pain, take in the pleasure. It was too good. Her pussy was swelling with need.
He pinched again, and she hissed out a breath.
“Inhale,” he instructed her.
She did, and he squeezed harder.
“Oh, God,” she muttered.
“Shh. You can take it, Allie. Look at me.”
She blinked, clearing her vision, and focused on his face, his gaze locking onto hers.
He pinched, twisting cruelly, and she gasped, but his gaze held hers as firmly as his strong fingers held her aching flesh. Pain radiated, brought burning desire in its wake.
“Yeah, there it is,” he said, his tone low. “Your cheeks are going pink, and the same flush is on your beautiful breasts. Your eyes are glittering, the pupils wide. I can feel your need in the heat coming off your body. And your nipples are so damn hard.”
He eased his grip, and she felt the hot rush of blood there as circulation returned. Still watching her carefully, he caressed her nipples again, and pleasure was even more acute, rippling over her skin, deeper, into her belly, her sex.
“Oh . . .”
“Quiet now, Allie girl. Be good for me.” She bit her lip, making him smile. “You know I’ve always loved to see you do that. As if you’re considering your pleasure. Well, I’m considering it, too. Oh, yeah, I am.”
He smoothed a hand over her tight stomach, right down under the silk and between her thighs.
She moaned as his fingers slid in her wet heat. Her thighs trembled when he teased her clit, then slid down and slipped inside her.
“Oh, yes . . .”
His other hand clamped hard over her mouth. “Quiet, my girl.”
She loved the command in his tone, in his hand across her lips, in the way he suddenly pumped his fingers harder inside her. Faster and faster, his fingers curving to hit her G-spot until she couldn’t hold still. She writhed against her bonds, her hips arching into his hand, arms and legs pulling against the rope—she couldn’t help it as pleasure poured through her system, hot and iron-hard. Her sex clenched at his thrusting fingers as he worked her roughly, mercilessly, his thumb pressing down on her clit.
“Don’t do it,” he ordered. “Don’t you come until I say you can, princess.”
She groaned, flexed her toes, her breath hot against his hand still over her mouth.
He kept at it, his fingers surging into her aching pussy, and she was soaking wet, gushing even though she hadn’t come yet. But she was so close she could barely stand it.
“Hold it back. That’s it.”
He kept fucking her with his fingers, stroking her G-spot hard and fast, his thumb causing an almost unbearable pressure on her clitoris. Pleasure crested, and her body arched again.
“Not yet. Hold it back. Hold it,” he commanded.
She groaned, a purely animal sound low in her throat, but she held on to that razor-sharp edge, her body poised. She was panting, her breath burning in her lungs.
“Are you ready, Allie?”
He plunged in hard, drew his fingers out slowly. Pure torture.
She watched his face as he watched her. His gray eyes were glossy. The idea that he was probably hard as stone for her right now passed through her mind, and a new shiver of need coursed through her, making her pussy convulse around his fingers.
“Yeah, you are. Come on then, baby. Come for me.”
He thrust into her and she bucked into his hand. She started to come, and he paused, making her feel as if her entire body were suspended in midair. Then he started again, his gaze hard on hers as he fucked her in quick, pummeling strokes, his fingers burying to the hilt, pulling roughly out, plunging once more.
Her orgasm was like a flood of heat and need, her hips jerking. She cried out against his hand, her throat going raw as her cries turned into a scream. And still he thrust into her, his fingers milking her for every last drop of pleasure.
She was soaking wet, gasping for air, shivering all over. And she was lost in the intensity on his face, the way he looked at her, at the pleasure she saw there.
For you, Mick . . . always for you.
His hand slid away from her mouth, and she drew in a deep breath. His fingers still moved inside her in a slow, circular motion, and pleasure built once more, hot and unbelievably fast, yet they moved so slowly it kept her suspended again, moment by moment, hanging on the edge.
“Do you need to come again? You can answer me.”
“Yes. Please, yes.”
A smile crooked one corner of his lush mouth as he pulled his fingers from her pussy and dragged them up over her belly, leaving a trail of her own juices. “I know you do, baby. But we’ll save that one for later.”
She almost cried out in frustration, but she bit it back just in time.
For him.
Her body was buzzing, a mind-blowing combination of pleasure spent, need unmet, and that sense of being taken over completely. She watched as he turned his back to her, one hand on her stomach so that he never lost contact with her as he picked something up from a chair he’d pulled close to the hanging bed. When he turned back, she saw he held a small, wiry canelike instrument in his hand.
“Have you seen one of these before, Allie? You can answer by nodding if you have.”
She shook her head.
“Good girl. This is called an evil stick, or misery stick. I’ll leave you to guess why. It’s made from a very narrow rod of carbon fiber, making it strong and flexible. The handle is woven leather, just to make it easy for me to hang on to. This one is only about six inches long, but it can cause some sensation, I promise you that. It stings like hell, and it’ll mark you faster than almost anything. But then, I’m guessing you’re a girl who loves her marks, am I right?”
She nodded, trying to keep her gaze on his and not on what she was sure would be a wicked little toy. One she couldn’t wait to feel the bite of.
“Then let’s give you a taste, baby girl.”
Baby girl.
Oh, she loved those southern endearments, had missed it so much. No man she’d ever been with could make her melt with a few words the way Mick could.
He stood over her, held the tiny rod by the handle over her stomach, used his other hand to bend the tip up—then let it go. It slapped down onto her skin, the sudden, sharp pain making her yelp.
Mick laughed. “I told you it was evil, baby.”
He did it again, and again and again in such rapid succession she didn’t have a chance t
o catch her breath. But she loved the overload as pain spread through her body, from the skin on her stomach to her limbs, leaving a wake of pleasure behind. Endorphins, those lovely natural opiates the brain produced in response to pain, built just as quickly as his merciless onslaught of sensation, until it all became a blur. Pain and pleasure as she struggled against her bonds, not really wanting to escape, but simply unable to hold still.
Her throat was tight and growing sore from holding back the yell that needed to escape. Her breath was a sharp pant, like fire in her lungs. Just when she thought she couldn’t take any more without screaming, he stopped and smoothed his palm over the hurting welts on her stomach. She almost purred, it felt so good. Felt proud that she managed to hold it back, that she’d managed the pain without screaming.
“You mark beautifully,” he said, studying her stomach, his gaze focused, his brows drawn. “Lovely little welts on your skin. They almost look like scratches.” He scraped his nails over her flesh, and she gasped. He went back to caressing her, murmuring, “Skin like a baby. Just as soft as ever. I always did love the feel of your skin.”
He went quiet for several long moments and she lay still, enjoying his lingering touch, the power of his attention being so acutely focused on her.
He was more present than any man she’d ever met, any Dom she’d ever played with. She didn’t know if it was their dynamic or if that was simply him. But she understood how powerful an aphrodisiac it was for her. She was wet and ready for more already. Still.
Always.
He bent over her until his cheek was right next to hers and whispered, “Time for some more rope, baby girl,” and kissed her cheek softly.
She turned her face, wanting him to kiss her, needing him to, but he straightened up and began to untie her ankles. She almost wanted to cry. She bit her lip instead, holding the emotion back.
Just be in the moment.
She waited while he got more rope, taking a few cleansing breaths, trying to calm herself.
He pulled her red silk panties down, slipping them off, then took her right leg and bent it at the knee, brought it up to her chest.