by Lynne, Donya
He held her gaze without answering.
Ah, yes, he enjoyed the unwrapping process, didn’t he? And tonight, she was his gift. He had carefully selected her wrapping paper, and now he would just as carefully remove it.
In one smooth motion, he closed the distance between them, gently took the clutch from her hands, then placed it on the bureau next to her mask.
When he returned, only inches separated them as he brushed her hair off her shoulders.
“Are you wearing a bra?” he asked.
She nodded. After debating whether she should or shouldn’t, she had decided to wear a strapless one.
A small, crooked grin turned up one corner of his mouth as if her answer pleased him. And why wouldn’t it? A bra gave him one more bit of wrapping paper to peel her out of.
The tip of his tongue peeked out to wet his lips as he eased closer and trailed his fingers up her arms.
“Will you allow me to undress you?” he said softly.
Butterflies fluttered to life inside her belly as her breath quietly hitched.
She nodded, trying not to appear too eager.
“Would you like that?” he whispered, sliding his index finger under one of the spaghetti straps and running it forward and back, teasing her as he drew it off the curve of her shoulder.
She licked her lips and willed her willowy knees not to give out.
“Would you?” he asked again, his mouth hovering barely an inch from her ear.
Her palms found the backs of his arms as she nodded. “Yes . . . please.”
Everything stopped but their breathing. He didn’t move closer and didn’t step back. His finger froze under the strap. But she could feel the heavy rise and fall of his chest even if she couldn’t see it.
A moment later, he said, “You know what will happen if I undress you.” It wasn’t a question, but a promise of how the rest of the night would unfold.
“Yes.”
“Is that what you want?”
God, yes, it was what she wanted. It was what she’d wanted since that first phone call.
Her grip on his triceps intensified. “Yes.”
He slipped his finger out from beneath the strap and took a measured step back. “Then lift your arms over your head.”
His request took her by surprise, because she had thought he was going to slide the straps off her shoulders and remove her dress that way.
“Raise them,” he said, using his Dom voice.
She snapped to attention, shooting her arms into the air like he had just pulled a gun on her.
He started to smile, then pressed his lips together, erasing his amusement.
“Relax,” he said, stepping forward. “No one will hurt you here, least of all me.” He lifted his own arms, pressing his palms to hers, then dragged them down her wrists, her forearms, over her elbows, then down her triceps before sweeping them under her arms to her breasts.
She stood a little taller as his palms hesitated for only a moment to appreciate her modest C cups before traveling lower.
As his fingers glided down the skirt of her dress, he knelt in front of her. His dark gaze watched for her reaction as he lifted the hem, and his hands disappeared underneath.
When his fingers skimmed the lightest caress up the insides of her thighs, tiny detonations exploded throughout her body, making her suck in her breath. As soft as a feather, his fiery touch made her skin come alive as his hands swept to the outside of her thighs, over her hips, and along the sides of her torso as he slowly rose to his feet.
The dress bunched and crept higher, and as he ran his hands up her arms, he simultaneously lifted the dress over her head.
And just that smoothly, he took the Oscar de la Renta masterpiece off, then laid it gently over the back of one of the leather chairs.
He took a moment to admire her body, his gaze studying every line and curve before he trailed the tips of his fingers down the line in the center of her abdomen, making her stomach muscles quiver.
She had eaten a lot of salads and done about a million planks to develop that line separating the two halves of her tummy. The sacrifices and hard work had been worth it to have this one moment of watching him carefully inspect her with eyes that said he liked what he saw.
His sensual scrutiny continued as he circled her body again, stroking here, fondling there, squeezing one cheek of her ass.
Then, with the one-handed skill of a seasoned expert, he deftly unhooked her bra and let it fall to the floor. Her whole body went rigid from surprise. She couldn’t even unhook her bra with one hand, but Warren had done it like he’d been born to.
The move had been so totally unexpected that Jenna gasped and instinctively began to cover herself.
“No.” He touched her arm and gently pushed it down as he came back around to the front. “Let me see you.”
Said the man with a Christmas present fetish. Who knew that was even a thing?
Lowering her arms to her sides, she felt her nipples tighten as he surveyed her breasts, first one, then the other. But he didn’t touch them. Just stared, as if he could feel them with his eyes.
Jenna perused his masked face, trying to imagine what he looked like beneath the matte black fabric, then dropped her gaze to his crotch. He was seriously aroused, impressively tenting his slacks.
But she only had a couple of seconds to gawk before he pushed forward, snaked one arm around her back, and used his other hand to shove her panties off one hip.
She gripped the sides of his abdomen to keep from falling as her legs shuddered.
“You almost ripped the wrapping paper,” she teased, grinning to herself that she was able to elicit such a passionate, almost reckless reaction from him after he’d made that speech earlier about taking his time.
He chuckled and pressed closer, using both hands now to thrust her panties even lower. “I am going to enjoy marking your body.” His voice was a low, sensuous roll.
“Marking?”
He firmly palmed her bare ass cheeks. “With welts.” Bending his knees, he lowered himself in front of her, dragging her panties down her thighs, stopping with his face over one breast. He lightly bit the swell of flesh. “Right here.” He moved lower and scraped his teeth over her ribs, sending a thrilling chill through her. “And here.” Still lower, he bit her hip as her panties dropped to her ankles. “And here.” His fingertips played over the backs of her calves. “Your whole body will be covered with welts.”
She shivered from head to toe, feeling her fantasies come even more into focus. She was really here. She was really doing this. Warren was going to be her Dom. He already was. And everything she’d ever wanted was finally within her grasp. All she had to do was hold on to it.
“Lift your foot,” he said, tapping her right ankle.
Unable to trust herself not to topple over in her high heels, especially with her legs as shaky as they were, she braced her arms on his shoulders and lifted one foot, then the other so he could remove her panties and toss them aside.
Then he stood and pointed behind her. “Go to the bed.”
She did as commanded, then turned back around to see him fetch a blindfold from the bureau.
“Sit.”
She lowered herself to the edge of the bed, gazing up at him as he loomed over her. A moment later, he slid the blindfold over her eyes.
“Is that comfortable?” he asked.
She nodded, adjusting the blindfold so that it nestled more naturally into the contours of her face.
When she’d finished, he took her hands, pulled them forward, and placed them on his body.
“Touch me,” he said.
Gladly.
“Where?”
“Wherever you want. Just . . . feel me. Let me watch you explore my body.” He dragged her hands higher, to the unbuttoned collar of his shirt, which forced her to stand again. He placed her fingers on the first closed button below his collar. “I’ll help you.”
He unbuttoned the button, then
guided her fingers to continue with the next one.
Sliding it through the buttonhole, she felt her way down to the next, then the next, until she pushed open his shirt.
Pressing her lips together, she placed her palms on his warm, firm stomach, then glided them up the ridges of his abdomen to the solid mounds of his pecs. Sparse silky hair greeted her fingertips, and she took a moment to comb her fingers over it, smoothing it from his sternum outward in either direction.
He breathed heavily as she continued feeling her way up to his shoulders and then down his arms, pushing off his shirt.
The sleeves bunched below his elbows as if his cuffs were still buttoned. She began to feel for his cufflinks, so she could take them off, but he beat her to it, maneuvering his arms and releasing them himself. A moment later, she heard a pair of metallic clinks as he placed his cufflinks on what she assumed was the nightstand, then the soft thwump of his shirt hitting the floor.
“Am I what you imagined?” he asked, his voice quiet.
She nibbled her bottom lip, trying not to smile but failing as she slid her palms back up his striated arms, pausing to lightly squeeze his biceps, which flexed into rocklike bulges under her hands.
“I don’t know yet.” She bit her lip, continuing her tactile exploration. “I only just started.” Her palms glided over his taut nipples. “And until I see you, I’m not sure I can make an accurate assessment.”
She was teasing him, of course, because he felt delicious. If her hands could eat, they would have been feasting right now.
But, honestly, she had always expected him to feel this good, especially after that night at the Met. Even though he’d been behind her, and all she’d seen was his hand, it had been enough for her to know he had a body to match his voice. Desirable, delectable, and made for sin. And given what she’d seen of him tonight, as well as the coiled power and carved muscles she was reading like braille beneath her palms, he was even more dedicated to his fitness regimen than she was.
He took her hands and lifted them to his face. He had removed his mask.
It took all her restraint not to snatch her hands away and pull down her blindfold, but she managed to hold back.
Sucking in her breath, she settled her fingertips on his lightly stubbled cheeks. His skin was smooth and warm, his whiskers prickly, his cheekbones high and round, as if he were grinning at her careful inspection of him. Reaching higher, her fingers brushed over his lashes as he blinked and closed his eyes, then she smoothed her fingertips over his thick, full eyebrows.
“Do I at least pass inspection?” he asked quietly as she lightly dug her fingers into his hair.
“I still haven’t seen your face.”
“Do you need to, to know whether I can give you what you want? What you need?”
Dragging her fingers down his trimmed beard, she shook her head. “I’m not sure I know what I need.”
Tonight had been a bit overwhelming. So much of what she’d seen had enticed and excited her, but she wasn’t sure if that was because she enjoyed watching others engage in those acts or because she wanted to. The thing was, she would never know if she didn’t sample a little of everything. Even acts she wasn’t sure she would enjoy.
He took her hands and manacled them in front of her with one of his, making her heart skip a beat. “Then I’ll help you figure it out.”
She clung to his voice, inching closer, teetering in her stilettos. “Yes. Please.” Then as an afterthought, “Sir.”
This was why she was here, to figure out what she wanted, how she wanted it, and to what degree.
He released her wrists and eased her back down onto the bed. She reached for him, seeking his chest. She found only empty air. Searching the space in front of her, she lowered her arms. Her right hand brushed against the side of his head. Ah, there he was. He was kneeling in front of her.
“Then let’s begin,” he said, plucking off her pricey footwear, one shoe at a time.
She felt like Cinderella with Prince Charming taking off her glass slippers on their wedding night.
“I knew during our first phone call that you were special,” he said, caressing one of her calves with both hands. “I knew one day we would find ourselves here.”
She licked her lips, holding on to his shoulders. “I did too,” she whispered. “I always knew.”
Without being able to explain how, she knew she had made him smile. It was like she could feel it in the way his touch softened, or maybe in the way the energy around them shifted and warmed.
“Must be fate,” he said, lightly dragging his nails down the tops of her thighs before easing them open.
His fingers brushed her center, making her gasp and open her legs wider.
“Are you going to make love to me now?” she said, barely able to speak above a whisper as he pushed her onto her back.
“No.” His voice came from above her as the bed shifted beneath his weight. “But I might fuck you.”
Chapter Ten
Still blindfolded, Jenna lay naked on the bed as Warren finished tying her arms and legs to the head- and footboards. She was completely bound. She couldn’t touch herself to relieve the pressure, couldn’t touch him, and couldn’t push him away if she’d had too much. This was the ultimate trust.
“I wouldn’t have had to tie you up if I could trust you not to make yourself come before I’ve given you permission,” he said, his voice traveling around the foot of the bed.
Of course he had used her phone sex disobedience against her. Then again, if she had learned nothing else tonight, she had learned that a Dominant would use whatever reason a submissive gave him to justify his or her special brand of punishment, even if it meant creating rules that went against the norms of society.
A drawer opened and closed, followed by the sound of soft metallic clinking, like he’d picked up a pair of necklaces, and the pendants were swinging and hitting each other.
The bed dipped beside her, and a moment later his tongue lashed her nipple. She gasped and jerked harshly at the unexpected invasion of her personal space.
She had never felt so completely vulnerable . . . and yet so incredibly alive. Being robbed of her sense of sight had heightened her other senses in ways she hadn’t expected, creating a hyperaware state that kept her on edge from one second to the next.
It was like watching a scary movie and knowing that the killer was going to jump out from his dark, secret hideaway and claim another victim at any second. You know it’s going to happen. You know that the young, hapless couple having sex in the loft of a barn or in the boathouse is about to be slaughtered, and you want to scream at them to leave, run, flee while they still had a chance. But despite knowing what’s coming—despite every promise you’ve made to yourself that you won’t jump when the murderous fiend leaps out from behind a bale of hay, a boat, or even out of the water—you jump anyway. Maybe even scream.
That was the mental state Jenna found herself in now. That was where Warren had taken her. She couldn’t anticipate what he was going to do to her next, couldn’t see where he was going to touch her, couldn’t read his face to know what he was thinking, couldn’t see what he’d brought back to the bed with him. Was she even allowed to ask? She couldn’t remember if that was one of the rules or not.
He blew cool air over her breast. Her whole body jerked. She couldn’t help it.
“Mmm . . . you’re so keyed up,” he murmured. “That’s good. That’ll make it better.”
Make what better? she wanted to ask him. But before she could, he took her taut nipple into his mouth and swirled his tongue in slow, sweeping circles, obliterating any chance she had of forming a rational thought.
Moaning, she rolled her head back, pulling in vain against the ropes that bound her to the headboard. She wanted to hold his face against her breast, dig her fingers into his hair, and urge him closer. But all she could do was lie there and let him do as he pleased. The nervous frustration alone was enough to ramp up her excitement
even more.
As he continued laving her breast and teasing her nipple into a hardened peak, his hand stroked slowly up her inner thigh, his fingers stopping to squeeze her flesh inches from her core before loosening again and creeping higher. When his fingers stroked with featherlight ease through her slickness, her whole body stiffened.
The ropes binding her creaked as she strained against them.
“I think you’re ready,” he said, with a smile in his voice.
“Ready?” she asked, breathing hard. “For what?”
The bed shifted as he pulled away. She wanted to yell for him not to stop. To stay. To keep touching her. To make her come.
The pressure between her legs was already close to unbearable. She had endured two hours of watching naked men and women living out her fantasies, fucking, flogging, licking, sucking, and being tied down. Now she herself was tied down, with God only knew what about to happen to her. She’d been in a state of arousal all night and didn’t want to wait another moment for the tension that had been building inside her since she had arrived—feeling like Cinderella showing up at the naughty ball, no less—to be released.
“I thought we would get right to testing your limits.” His tone was slightly sinister. “I’m going to show you what genital clamps can do.”
She sucked in her breath, not sure she wanted to test her limits with those during her inauguration into the lifestyle.
“Don’t those hurt?” She tried to close her legs, only for them to stay exactly how he’d bound them: wide open and offering her no protection.
“Yes, but I’ll be gentle.”
He had given her a safeword, but she didn’t want to use it before things even got started. That would make her look like a poser. Like she didn’t belong here and didn’t have what it took to be a submissive. She would never be able to show her face in the club again if she stopped him now.
“I don’t want it to hurt,” she said.
He chuckled. “Then you’ve come to the wrong place, Jenna. Pain is what we do here. It’s part of the experience.” He wrapped a strap of what felt like leather around the top of her thigh. “If you want me to stop, use your safeword.”