Against the Ropes

by Sarah Castille

  “Are you talking about me?”

  Max chuckles. “Yes, baby. I’m talking about you.”

  “I don’t think you know me at all. The guys I went out with were

  all nice guys, but boring and dull. I gave up a chance to go to medical

  school, and now I’m stuck in a dead-end job. Does that sound like

  someone who is living life?”

  “It sounds like someone who doesn’t know what they want. But

  when you do know what you want, you take no prisoners and along the

  way, you enjoy the ride.”

  The fact he has spent any time thinking about me, analyzing me,

  makes my toes curl.

  “Why aren’t you angry I left yesterday morning?”

  He pulls away and cups my jaw with his palm. “I told you I could

  never be angry with you. I was frustrated, and disappointed with myself

  that I had pushed you so far that you felt you had to leave. I’ve never had

  a woman walk out on me, and you walking out felt like being stabbed

  in the gut. If Colton had not come home when he did, I might have de-

  stroyed a good portion of the house. He convinced me you just needed

  some time, and by the end of the day I thought he might be right. I

  pushed you too hard. I didn’t consider your level of…inexperience.”

  I bristle. “I’m not that inexperienced.”

  Max chuckles. “Trust me, you are. But I’m not complaining.”

  Apparently not, since his hands have somehow found their way to

  my breasts and he is kneading them so gently I want to scream.

  “You have beautiful breasts,” he murmurs. “But they are only for

  me to see. If anyone had touched you, I can assure you I wouldn’t have

  been pulling any punches.”

  “Men are hardwired to like any and all breasts.”

  Max leans over and draws my nipple into his mouth. “Not true. I

  have no interest in doing this to any breasts but yours.” He nips gently

  and I gasp.

  “I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.”

  Max chuckles. “What girls?”

  “All the girls you’ve dated. Sandy told me you had been with over

  almost thirty women in the last three years. She says you like a taste, but

  you don’t want the main course.”

  “If I had been with thirty women in three years, I doubt I would

  have had time to run two businesses, much less leave my bed.” He teases

  my other nipple into a tight, hard peak with his finger and thumb. My

  knees shake.

  “I don’t just want to be an amuse bouche,” I whisper.

  Max hugs my face in his warm hands. “You are my amuse bouche,

  my appetizer, my main course, and my dessert.” He backs me up to the

  couch and presses me down to sit. With easy grace he kneels between

  my legs and slides his hands up the insides of my thighs, easing my legs

  apart. “Open for me, baby.”

  My panties dampen and I widen my legs. God, the things he says

  make me almost crazy with lust.

  “You are my cheese sandwiches, pizza, and mashed potatoes

  with lots of butter,” he whispers, brushing his lips softly over my ear.

  “You are my salmon mousseline, oysters in sea foam, frilled cod, and

  flying beets.”

  “Don’t mention the beets,” I giggle. “I still have nightmares.”

  Max nibbles my earlobe, and traces lazy circles up the insides of my

  thighs. “You are the richest chocolate, the most decadent dessert, the

  smoothest coffee, and the most intoxicating wine.” He kisses his way

  down my throat and circles each of my nipples with his tongue. My

  body melts and I arch my back, offering more.

  “You, Makayla Delaney, are a buffet of sensual delights. A feast for

  my eyes, my ears, my hands, my nose, and my tongue.” He slides his

  finger over my panties and brushes it gently over my sweet spot. I suck

  in a breath and my thighs clamp onto his hips.

  “So responsive,” he murmurs.

  “You forgot ice cream,” I point out. “If anything, I want to be your

  ice cream.”

  A wicked smile curls his lips. He points to a small bar fridge in the

  corner. “I have ice cream in the freezer. I bought it for you.”

  I lick my lips. “What are we waiting for?”

  “We’re waiting for you to get your ass off the couch and bring it to

  me.” He pushes himself to his feet and pulls me up with him. Spinning

  me around, he smacks my bottom. Hard. “Go.”

  “Max!”

  “Now I know you like it, baby, there will be no holding back.” He

  tugs off his T-shirt and tosses it to the floor. I pause midstep to ogle

  the rippling muscles and the brush of dark hair running across his chest

  and down below his belt. He is a perfect canvas for the beautiful tattoos

  scoring his skin—not failures but works of art.

  His eyes narrow. “Now.”

  “Woof.” I grunt, feigning annoyance with a frown and a hand on

  my hip.

  Max undoes his belt and shoves his jeans over his lean thighs to

  reveal the massive erection straining against his boxer shorts. Everything

  inside me turns liquid with arousal.

  “If you’re fast enough, I’ll give you a bone.”

  “MAX!” My cheeks burn and I race for the fridge. Behind me, Max

  roars with laughter.

  A minute later, I return with the tub of Chunky Monkey. “Do you

  have a spoon?”

  “We won’t need a spoon. I want my Makayla à la mode.”

  My breath catches in my throat. “Which part of Makayla do you

  want à la mode?”

  Max scoops me into his arms. “All of her.”

  He carries me and the ice cream to his big oak desk. With one

  sweep, he knocks everything to the floor—papers, files, pens, even a

  coffee cup. He seats me at the edge of the desk and grabs a pair of scis-

  sors from one of the drawers.

  I scramble back on the cold, wood surface. I’ve had enough of sharp

  objects near my intimate areas. “What are you going to do with those?”

  He slides the scissors along my skin, first one hip and then the

  other, cutting my panties in half.

  “Nice,” I huff. “You owe me so many pairs of panties it’s not

  even funny.”

  Silence.

  I look up. Max is looking…down there. He isn’t breathing. I follow

  his gaze and remember my Friday afternoon activity.

  “Surprise,” I whisper.

  “Makayla, baby, what did you do?” Max drops into his desk chair

  and continues to stare. I shiver and ease my legs together.

  “Don’t close your legs when you’re with me,” he murmurs absently.

  My legs jerk open. Moisture floods my sex. Does he have a script of

  things to say that arouse Makayla beyond belief?

  “You don’t like it? Amanda thought it would be a good experience.”

  “Fuck.”He rakes his hand through his hair. “I liked you the way

  you were before, but this…” he exhales, “…has certain advantages.”

  Not really the enthusiastic reaction I had hoped for. I haven’t really

  checked out the situation below in any detail since yesterday. Maybe I

  didn’t wait long enough. Maybe I’ve still got the plucked chicken look

  going on. I slide my fingers down and have a little feel.

  Ma
x inhales sharply. His hands grip the arms of the chair so tight

  his knuckles are white. “What are you doing?” His voice is a low,

  husky whisper.

  “Touching myself.”

  The sound that erupts from his throat is a cross between a moan

  and a growl.

  Hmmm. He likes that.

  Keeping my eyes fixed on Max, I slick my fingers through my folds.

  My skin is so soft and smooth. I could touch myself for hours. Max had

  better get with the program or that’s what I’ll have to do. His body tenses

  and stills. He is either frozen into inactivity or he is about to pounce.

  He swallows hard. “Stop, baby.”

  “A little late for that now,” I groan. My finger slides over the little

  bundle of nerves already begging for attention. Watching Max watch-

  ing me is arousing beyond belief, and I am building so fast I have no

  desire to stop.

  “Aaaagh.” Max jumps up from his chair, grabs my wrists, and

  pushes me back on the desk. The cool wood soothes my burning skin,

  but the press of Max’s hardened length against my sensitive nub is

  almost unbearable. I rock my hips against him and moan.

  “I need you inside you me. Now.”

  “You are irresistible and uncontrollable.” Max scrapes his hand

  through his hair. “What are we going to do with you?”

  I grit my teeth and writhe on his desk. “I’ll give you three guesses.”

  He draws in a ragged breath and yanks open one of the desk drawers

  while still holding my wrists over my head. “I have a better idea.” He pulls

  out a coil of soft rope and leans over my body to tie my wrists together.

  “You always seem to have a coil of rope handy. I, myself, keep only

  pens and paper in my desk, but maybe I should throw in a coil of rope

  in case of emergency.”

  He snorts a laugh and runs his hand under the ropes to ensure they

  aren’t too tight. His erection is now pressed so firmly against my nub

  I’ll be able to get off with just a few strokes. I plant my heels on his desk

  and grind against him.

  “Christ, Makayla. Stop. I’m going to lose control.”

  “Join the club.”

  “No.” He pulls away and takes a few deep breaths. “I want ice

  cream.” He rips open the container and swirls his finger inside.

  “You don’t want ice cream,” I groan. “It’s full of sugars and un-

  necessary fats. You want sex. With me. Here. Now.”

  Max gives me a wicked grin and paints cold, sticky circles around

  my breasts and over my nipples.

  “Ahhh.” I arch my back and my nipples tighten into rock-hard

  peaks. Max leans over and draws one into his mouth, licking and

  sucking until I am writhing on the desk.

  “Stop. Stop. Stop. Please. I don’t want to wait anymore.”

  He stops his incessant licking and glances up at me. “Do you need

  to use your safe word?”

  I narrow my eyes at the hint of challenge in his voice. If he can hold

  out, so can I. “No. I’m fine. Just practicing for later.”

  He sucks. I wiggle. He bites. I writhe.

  “Hmmm.” Max finishes his ice cream with a final lick. “I can’t

  enjoy my ice cream when my dish is squirming underneath me.”

  “I’ll be still. I promise.”

  He gives me a cheeky grin. “Yes, you will.” He uncoils more rope

  and dangles it above me, and then his smile fades. “Are you okay with

  this, baby? I went too fast with you before. I don’t want to—”

  “If you don’t tie me up right now, I’m going to take care of things

  myself,” I snap. Seriously? What does a girl have to do around here to

  get a little loving?

  Ten minutes later I lie trussed on the desk like a Thanksgiving

  turkey. Soft ropes around my thighs, ankles, and waist are tied to hidden

  D-rings on the desk, which hold my legs up and open. Where does a

  person get a desk with D-rings embedded all over it? How many women

  has he trussed in his office while pretending to do the club accounts?

  Most importantly, when do I get my stuffing? I could ask, but I don’t

  want to know if the answer isn’t NOW. I squeeze my eyes shut. I can’t

  bear to even imagine how I look. The position is definitely not forgiving

  of my love of desserts.

  “You don’t actually have to do this,” I whine. “I want sex. Right

  now. You don’t have to work for it.”

  Max chuckles and sits down in his big leather chair. “I can

  control you better this way. I can give you more pleasure than you

  ever thought possible.”

  “Modest, aren’t we?”

  He pulls his chair right up to the desk. “Do you know how hot you

  look? You have such a pretty pussy.” He slicks a finger through my folds

  and spreads my wetness along my inner thigh. “Your body is on board.

  Time to free your mind.”

  My eyes slit open just as he dips his finger in the ice cream. He

  paints a cold, sticky line down my throat, around each breast, and over

  my abdomen. A shiver races down my spine as the ice cream melts and

  trickles over my skin like the soft brush of feathers.

  Max tips the ice cream container and pours creamy liquid into

  my belly button and down over my mound. Cool, little rivers trickle

  through my folds with soft, gentle, sensual tickles.

  “This position is particularly good for eating ice cream.” Max

  peppers little kisses along the insides of my thighs. “Especially when

  there is nothing in the way.”

  “You’re not—”

  Max bends down and licks the ice cream from my throat. His

  tongue laves its way around my breasts, pausing only to suckle my

  nipples, before continuing its featherlight descent down my body. His

  soft lips brush over my abdomen and then press against my mound.

  Anticipation ratchets through me.

  “My favorite part is coming next,” he whispers. “Be very still.”

  As if a trussed turkey can move.

  He blows a warm breath over my mound and then his five o’clock

  shadow scrapes over my now ultrasensitive spot. I gasp and rock my hips

  against him.

  Max chuckles. “If you’re going to react like that before I even get

  where I want to go, I’ll have to restrain you further.”

  More restraint? My heart won’t be able to handle it. “This is good,”

  I pant. “I’ll be still.”

  He studies me and his eyes twinkle. “No you won’t.” He bends

  down and strokes his tongue through my folds and up over my throb-

  bing bundle of nerves in one long, wet sensuous, sticky lick.

  I shriek. My hips jerk, but are held fast by the restraints. Bolts of

  white lightning shoot through my veins.

  “Did you like that, baby?” He settles himself between my legs and

  brushes tiny kisses over my sex. I moan and pull myself closer to his

  tormenting tongue with my heels.

  “Behave,” he whispers. His breath is hot and moist, and I whimper

  my need.

  Max groans. “You know I can’t resist when you make those sounds.”

  I giggle and whimper again.

  “You do like to live dangerously,” Max rasps. His tongue slides over

  my folds and circles my sensitive nub. Before I ca
n jerk up, he grabs

  my hips and holds me down, his palms pressing against my hip bones

  and his fingers brushing lightly over my abdomen. “You are mine to

  pleasure now.”

  “Yours,” I breathe. My body melts under the gentle ministrations

  of his tongue.

  He slides a finger deep inside my entrance. All coherent thought

  flees from my brain. He teases and torments, his tongue circling my

  sweet spot with lazy little licks, but never on the one place I want him

  to go.

  I want to touch him. I tug on the restraints holding my wrists, but

  I can’t get free. Blood roars through my ears. My heart thunders in my

  chest. I squeeze my eyes shut and suck in a breath through frozen lungs

  as darkness claws at my brain.

  “You had your chance, Makayla. I’m coming for you now.”

  He is close. Just in the other room. My lungs burn from trying to keep

  quiet. He steps on Susie’s doll and it starts to cry. Where is Susie? Is she still hiding upstairs? Or did she get out of the house like Mama said we should?

  “Mama. Pleasepleaseplease wake up.”

  “There you are,” he barks. “Get away from her.”

  His big hand grabs me from behind, jerking me into the air. I scream

  and kick. My foot hits something soft. He grunts and drops me. I fall on

  Mama’s arm and she groans.

  Run. I should run. But I can’t leave Mama. She needs me.

  I crouch beside her facing him, and hold up my little hands. “Don’t

  hurt us. Please.”

  The sound he makes, something between a choke and a sob gives me

  the courage to look up, but I don’t know that face. Dark hair, dark eyes.

  Familiar.

  He grabs my shoulders and shakes me. “I would never have hurt

  you but…”

  “Let me go.”

  “You made the wrong choice.” He grabs me and throws me through the

  air. I am falling, falling…

  Someone far away is talking. His voice is smooth and soft.

  Comforting. He asks me something about a safe word. What is safe?

  Warm arms wrap around me. Hold me. Catch me. The scent of soap

  and spicy citrus cologne brings me back. Max.

  “You’re, okay, baby. I’ve got you.”

  When I open my eyes, Max is studying me. His eyes are tight; his

  brow creased with concern. The ropes are gone. I am free.

  “What happened?” he asks

  “I need you,” I whisper. “I need you now.”