My Tye

by Kristin Daniels

  “That’s not good enough,” he said. “You have to say it.”

  God…

  “I do. I trust you.”

  He secured the tie over her eyes, then skimmed his fingers down her neck and chest when he finished. Moving lower, he traced her nipple through the dress with the tip of one finger. The tingle from the tightening bud shot through the rest of her breast, making her crazy desperate for more.

  “You’re with me?”

  She nodded again, too caught up in her own needs to remember he wanted the words.

  “Say it.”

  “All the way,” she whispered.

  “Good,” he said, shifting underneath her.

  The tie over her eyes brought about the loss of one sense, and with that deprivation came the heightening of others. Her breaths sounded louder, but so did his. The scent of his cologne drifted stronger under her nose. The fruity sweetness of the wine they’d had at the gallery lingered on their lips and tongues. She tasted a hint of it again as he took her in another maddening kiss.

  He quickly had her writhing over him, grinding against him, aching to be skin to skin on top of him. Just when she thought she might go insane, he moved, lifting her leg and slipping out from underneath her.

  She couldn’t see where he went, but she could hear him. His loud breaths, his movement close by.

  “Tye?”

  “Shh,” he whispered. “Don’t move. Stay there, on your knees. Don’t let go of the headboard.”

  “I won’t.” She couldn’t. He had her frozen with anticipation.

  Clothes rustled nearby. He was taking his jacket off and tossing it on the chair across from the bed, she was sure of it. She followed each sound he made, heard his hand skim down the front of his shirt as he popped each button free. She dropped her head between her raised arms and fought back a moan at the rustle when he peeled it off.

  She thought he might continue to remove his clothes, but he stopped there. She envisioned him in her mind’s eye, standing next to the bed, all yummy and shirtless, yet still wearing those form-fitting dress pants. The image had her head spinning all over again. She was dying to feel him like that. God, she’d give just about anything to feel him like that.

  But he had other plans, it seemed. The next sound she heard was a drawer opening and closing from across the room. A moment later, a weight came to rest just below the small of her back. His palm, maybe? It had to be. Yet he didn’t move, he just held it there. He was still. So damn still.

  Her heart pounded. Her mouth went dry. She arched her back and dropped her hips, because, God, she couldn’t not do something.

  “I told you not to move.”

  On the outside, she turned to stone. But on the inside, her body went ballistic. Her blood shot through her veins faster than it ever had before. Her pussy throbbed in sync with every quick and erratic breath she forced herself to take.

  His hand was so close to where she wanted it to be. Inches, really. God, fricking millimeters. But he didn’t move. He held himself so still.

  If he didn’t do something soon…

  The second the thought fired through her brain, he slid his other hand up the back of her thigh. He latched on to the hem of her dress and raised it, pulling it higher and higher until he’d exposed her ass.

  From the random assortment of lingerie she’d shoved into the duffel bag at her house four days ago, her selection for tonight had been pretty dismal. She’d chosen a simple black bikini. Practical yet sexy. Utilitarian, yet incredibly silky, too.

  What seemed odd was when he finally moved the hand from the small of her back down the curve over her rear, the bikini’s material started to snag and pull. His touch was light, like his fingers barely hovered over her, but his stroke also felt somewhat…prickly?

  And why was there no heat, no warmth coming from his hand? It was as if there were something other than her panties in between them. A barrier of some sort. A heavy fabric covering his…

  Oh God, he was wearing gloves.

  Gloves like the ones she’d seen in the shadowbox frame in Jack’s office at Club Euphoria. The leather gloves with the tiny, razor-like spikes poking out along the fingers.

  Panic set in. Or was that excitement? The two ran so closely together, she wasn’t sure which rush she felt more. She told him she didn’t want the pain. She confessed her trepidation, in no uncertain terms. She trusted him to listen to her.

  Her fingers flexed over the top of the headboard, but she didn’t let go. She wanted to believe he took her confession to heart. That he wouldn’t force her beyond where she wanted to go.

  When the spikes on the glove hooked deeper into the fabric of her panties, a quiet whimper blew past her lips.

  “Easy,” he soothed.

  The low timber of his voice reassured her enough to tamp down a bit of her apprehension. And when he dragged her panties over her ass with the glove, down just far enough that they slipped on their own to pool around her knees, the whimper she let out somehow morphed into a throaty mewl.

  She expected him to touch her then, to swirl that prickly gloved hand around and over her bare ass. When the gentle scratch came to her thigh opposite of where he stood instead, she flinched. Even as he again soothed her with a quiet, “Shhh,” there was no denying she was closing in on the point where it might become impossible for her remain either still or silent.

  For now though, she’d try her best. She drew her lips between her teeth and bit down, concentrating on the tingling sensation he massaged higher up her thigh. So much like the innocuous zaps of pins and needles when her foot or hand fell asleep, but so erotically different, too. He caressed the right cheek of her ass, scratching lightly, tickling her almost. There was no pain, but she knew there could be. A little harder touch, a little faster movement. Hell yes, there could be pain. There could even be blood.

  But he wasn’t pushing her to go there. He knew, God, he knew just how far to take her.

  He climbed on the bed and knelt behind her, sweeping his hand higher to brush over her lower back. With his other hand, he grabbed the zipper pull at the back of her dress and drew it down. The bodice fell away, and he moved quickly, telling her to lift first one knee then the other as he pulled the dress and her panties the rest of the way off. He then settled himself right back to where he’d been.

  Right back where she wanted him.

  She’d gone braless tonight, the bodice of the dress being enough to hold and lift her small breasts perfectly. He groaned in what she hoped was approval, continuing his path bit by bit up her naked back. Only this time, instead of lightly brushing his hand over her skin, he pressed gently, moving higher, like he was taking tiny barbed steps between her shoulder blades.

  It wasn’t until he leaned over her, until he moved that hand and his other to her front, that she realized he’d put on the second glove. When he cupped her breasts, she hissed. Not so much from any sort of pain, since the sensation didn’t hurt. Not exactly. It was more…overwhelming. Sensory overload. Too much to think about all at once. Too much to feel.

  The urge to move, to rear back against him, stormed over her again. But if she gave in, the thorny tingles zipping through her breasts would pierce her deeper, turning the odd pleasure she was experiencing now into stabs of pain, all from her own doing. She had to be patient. She had to do what he said and stay still. She had to hold on to that trust she’d given him.

  He held her like that for what had to be only a matter of seconds, even though it felt like forever in her mind. Then he spoke, and upped the ante even more.

  “Let go of the headboard. Hold your hands behind you.”

  Despite telling her exactly what to do, he let go of her breasts, gripped her forearms and pulled her hands from the headboard. When the barbs from the gloves dug into her skin, she let out a throaty cry, but he didn’t ease up.

  And God, she didn’t want to think too hard on the possibility that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t want him to.

  S
he straightened, still on her knees, as he led her hands to her lower back. She laced her fingers together, gripping hard. Breathing hard. Holding her body tense and tight.

  And then he let go. He came around to the front of her, his knees touching hers, his thighs, hips and chest brushing hers. Her body was on fire and his closeness only added to that. She didn’t know what he was going to do, where he would touch her next. How he would touch her next. With the gloves, without them. Hard or easy. She couldn’t wrap her brain around which feeling she needed more.

  “You’re thinking too much again,” he whispered.

  There was no use in denying it. “I know.”

  “You’re wondering what’s coming next, am I right?”

  She shouldn’t be surprised that he’d read her mind. He knew. Somehow, he always knew. “Yes.”

  “You’re wondering whether I’ll do this…”

  He took her nipple between the thorny tips of his fingers, not roughly but not lightly either. A sizzle speared through her pussy and she gasped, tossing her head back as she hissed out the breath.

  Before she had a chance to absorb the stinging at her nipple or the startling pleasure flying through her body because of it, he spoke again.

  “Or if I’ll do this.”

  This time, his touch came between her legs. And just as before, he didn’t mess around with any sort of pretense. He’d taken the glove off his other hand and was slicking a warm finger through her folds, brushing over her clit before sliding inside her, all while keeping the spiked tip of his other finger pressed against her nipple.

  “Oh… God…”

  Her legs threatened to give out at how good it felt. She couldn’t help it, she started to sit back on her heels. She needed the support. She needed—

  “No. Stay up here. Stay with me.”

  The tone of his voice swirled through her, battling the heat his hands created, fighting for supremacy. She didn’t know which sensation to give in to first—the sting at her nipple or the satiny warmth of his finger inside her. The only thing she did know was she had to do as he demanded. She remained upright, fighting the ache in her thighs. The trembles running up the muscles there meshed with chaos he stirred within her pussy.

  She’d never thought much about their height difference before, but as she balanced herself with her forehead against his chest, she couldn’t help but be thankful for it now. She caressed her lips over his pecs, kissing him gently at first. But the deeper he went, the more uncontrolled-while-being-controlled she felt. She grazed his pecs with her teeth, scraping fiercely before biting into him.

  When he growled, her cunt flooded.

  “Jesus,” he muttered.

  She didn’t know how much more she could take. She twisted her hands together behind her so tightly they hurt. She barely breathed—each inhale was becoming more difficult and shallower than the last. Every exhale rushed out of her lungs faster than the one before it. His kept his hand and arm between them, so she could only envision how hard his cock was. How uncomfortable he had to be, too.

  She was moving with him now, rolling her hips with each stroke inside her, trying to get that much closer to him. Trying, despite his arm being in the way, to rub against him.

  “Please.” She wasn’t above begging at that point. He had her dying, and before she did she wanted his cock inside her. She wanted him to take her, to fuck her until the white light appeared behind her blindfolded eyes and sucked her into nothingness.

  He moved off the bed then, and she let out a harsh moan. More of his clothes rustled. Cardboard ripped. Foil tore. Her head pounded, but not from any lingering effects of her concussion. Her chest tightened with wild expectation. And when he came back to her seconds later, the heat coming off him soared a few more degrees, even as his motions became more coolly calculated. More unhurried. The atmosphere surrounding him oozed with control. Every bit of it penetrated her as he drew her into his arms and pressed the length his gloriously naked body against hers.

  She’d been right. Heaven above, he was hard. Amazingly so. He trapped his sheathed cock between their bodies as he roamed his hands down her shoulders and over her back. The hot thickness of him against her belly… It took everything she had not to unclench her hands and reach for him.

  But she couldn’t move. Not until he told her to.

  He didn’t. Instead, he massaged his way lower, stopping to unclasp her hands for her once he came to them. Every one of her knuckles ached, but she didn’t care. The only thing she cared about was the way he took her mouth as if he was famished and she, his only sustenance. The way he held her hands in his and lifted them to wrap around his neck. The way he suddenly swayed them to the side, and the commanding way he settled himself between her thighs when he got her on her back.

  She’d anticipated him doing all that. She’d waited—minutes, hours, days, even months—for him to be with her like this. What she didn’t expect at that moment was him pulling the tie away from her eyes. He took it off, tossed it to the side and cupped her cheek. He devoured her with his eyes—that was the only way she could describe the stark power in his stare. He looked deeper into her than she’d ever allowed anyone to go before.

  Her name slipped from his lips on a whisper the instant he thrust inside her. He did it just as he did everything else—swiftly and with no affectation.

  And God, she loved it.

  A groan burst from deep within her throat as he plunged deep and then stilled. He took her hands into his and swept her arms above her head. He held her there, then withdrew his cock. Slowly. Torturously. He never broke his stare with her as he slid out. He didn’t so much as blink.

  “Again. Do it again,” she whispered.

  The edge of his lip quirked, and she thought for a moment that he might not simply because she all but begged him to. But if the sweat beading on his forehead and upper chest was any indication, he was as wound up in this as she was. Too wound up to stop. Too wound up to not give her what she asked for.

  “Please,” she begged once more.

  He clenched his jaw and drove into her again. And again. And yet again. She was losing her mind, losing herself in his eyes. In his body. In her own. In the maelstrom linking them all together.

  He wasn’t just pounding into her. He had a rhythm about him, a dip and surge to his hips and ass that drove her insane. There was a method to Tye’s madness, one she was sure she’d never get enough of. One she tried to match by lifting her hips to meet his. Over. And over. And…

  God.

  A frenzy grew inside her, elevating her higher with every stroke, with every breath. With every moan. That blessed spiral tightened low within her, tensing, straining. She wanted it to spring free, to let it claim her. But she couldn’t. Not yet. She was waiting for…

  He shifted then, holding on to her wrists above her head with only one hand while moving his other to slide under her left knee. He lifted, pushing her thigh up and outward, opening her to him even more. The new angle was perfect, exposing the tight bud her clit had become to the veined length of his cock. He slicked over the bundle of nerves with every long and wet thrust inside her.

  Just a little more. Oh please, just his voice. That was all she wanted. That was all she needed. Now, now. Damn it, now.

  He had to sense how close she was, simply because he had to be that close, too. She searched his eyes, crying out in little bursts, panting in between each one. His eyes drifted closed for a moment, opening a heartbeat later with a wicked strain blazing inside them.

  “Babe. Ah hell. Babe.”

  “Tye. Please.”

  They’d both been reduced to halted, one-syllable words. To begging in their own way. But then, yes, he rested his forehead against hers and whispered the words she’d been waiting to hear.

  “Laine. Fuuuuck. Now. God, baby. Now.”

  The coil her entire body had become unfurled at his command. A ferocious orgasm blasted through her, consuming her while bringing Tye right along with her. T
hey shouted their pleasure together, his rumbling low and deep in his chest, hers releasing in more breathy and uncontrolled gasps. But they were in sync, and to Laine, nothing else mattered.

  He didn’t slow his thrusts, he kept going, holding her there at the height of her orgasm. She struggled within his grasp, looking for something—anything—that her hands could grab on to. She found the sheet underneath and twisted it, wringing everything she could out of it, just as he was doing with her body. Arching her back into him, she broke away from his stare and closed her eyes. She couldn’t stay with him any longer, no more than she could think or breathe. All she could do was feel.

  Every cell in her body thrummed. Her nipples tightened against the pressure of his chest. Her pussy pulsated around his cock. No other feeling in the world compared to the erotic bliss bouncing around inside her. He brought her here, he gave her this. He held her pleasure in his hands, ignited it and stoked it until she all but exploded.

  And as he finally slowed his hips, as he gently dropped his head onto her shoulder and leveled them off together with the last of his easy, measured strokes, a realization hit her with the force of a gavel upside her head. He kept his promise. He gave her exactly what she needed.

  He gave her the chance to live her dreams.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Earl Harlan closed the driver’s side door to his POS van, crossed the street like the ninja he imagined himself to be and slithered up behind the slutty-looking brunette as she strolled along the other side toward that godforsaken sex club.

  Standing at six-three and hefting in at a good two-seventy-five, Earl had the clear advantage here. The rail-thin woman didn’t stand a chance against him.

  Huh, he thought. That’s what he figured the last time too.

  But this time was different. This time he tamped down the rush spiking up his spine and concentrated on the task at hand. This time he wouldn’t get distracted. No, this time around he had a better plan.

  He muffled the whore’s scream with a hand over her mouth and nose while lifting her with one arm around her waist. Her arms and legs flailed, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. She weighed practically nothing and he barely breathed an ounce harder as he carried his squirming prize back to the van.