Matchless

by Brynley Bush

  “This has been the most amazing day,” I say contentedly, snuggling against his chest. “Are we going to stay and watch the fireworks?” Sea World, which is just across the bay, puts on a spectacular fireworks show during the summer that you can see from the beach, and tonight is the last night they’ll set them off for the season.

  “That’s the plan,” Griffin says. “We’ll go back to my place afterwards.”

  My heart thuds as I remember our plans for the evening. Not that I’ve really forgotten. The promise of the evening ahead has hovered at the peripheral of my conscience all day—every touch of his hand on my skin and every kiss taking me one step closer to the dark desire he has promised. Unless he’s changed his mind about that….

  “So did I pass the test this morning?” I ask nonchalantly.

  He cocks one eyebrow at me quizzically. “What test?”

  “I don’t know,” I say evasively, occupying myself with adding unnecessary wood to the already blazing fire. “I thought maybe you were making sure I really wanted what I said I wanted tonight and wouldn’t go screaming from the room.”

  He regards me seriously. “I had no intention of reneging on my promise to you. But it did help me learn some things about you that will come in handy tonight.”

  “Like what?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.

  “Well,” he says, his fingers lightly tracing circles in my palm, “I know from the way that you handled yourself that you weren’t afraid, and that you’re enough of a thrill junkie like me to get off on the unknown, on pushing your limits. You want to be taken and surprised and blown away by my imagination and maybe even by my ruthlessness. A little pain mixed in with the pleasure is exciting for you because it makes you feel alive.”

  His voice drops an octave as he imprisons both of my wrists in his firm grasp. “You want someone who can make you lose yourself, someone who you can get lost in. You want someone who can push your boundaries and see how much you can take, how much your body can take. You want to fall. And I want to be the one to push you, and the one to catch you at the bottom. We’re perfect for each other, Mila.”

  I look up at him, speechless. Never has a man read my needs and desires as accurately as Griffin just has. I try to find my voice and fail. Suddenly, I could care less about the fireworks. Seeing the hunger in my eyes, Griffin leans forward and kisses me hard.

  “Soon, Mila,” he promises, his voice husky. “Soon I’ll take you to the places you want to go.”

  As if on cue, the fireworks start and we watch in silent wonder, although my pulse is racing too fast to truly appreciate their grandeur. As soon as the last burst of color fades from the night sky, we get to our feet silently and walk the short distance to Griffin’s car. Within minutes, we’re pulling up in front of his beachfront condo.

  Once we’re inside, he leads me up the spiral staircase to his bedroom, but this time he doesn’t open the skylight. Instead, he sits on the bed and says softly but firmly, “Strip for me, Mila.”

  Suddenly shy, I stall. “Right now?”

  His gaze is unwavering, although his lips curve into a faint smile. “Yes, right now.”

  I turn my back to him but he is having none of that. “Mila,” he says sharply. “Turn around so I can watch you. You are stripping for my pleasure.”

  Ah, and so it begins. With suddenly shaking fingers, I cross my arms and grasp the hem of my shirt, slowly shimmying it up my torso and over the curve of my breasts. I pull it over my head and let it fall from my fingertips to the floor, tossing my hair back in an instinctive gesture as old as time. The glint in his eyes gives me confidence, and I hold his gaze as I unbutton my shorts and slowly slide the zipper down before easing the denim provocatively over my hips, letting them pool on the floor next to my shirt. He whistles appreciatively and I reach back and unclasp my bra, gazing up at him through lowered lashes as I hold the cups to my breasts with my hand.

  He motions to my chest and then the floor with a stern glance and I move my hand, letting my bra drop to the floor. It’s hard to say who is enjoying this game more, him or me. I run my hands over my bared breasts as I lick my lips and he murmurs his approval. I move my hands down the sides of my body, caressing my hips and stomach before slipping my thumbs into my panties. He is watching me with dark eyes.

  I gyrate my hips a little and turn so that my back is to him. Very slowly, I work the lace panties down until my bottom is bared, stopping for a moment to let him enjoy the view as I bend at the waist and pull them all the way off. Completely naked now, I cup my hands over my mound to shield my sex and turn around slowly, my lips slightly parted as I meet his hungry gaze.

  He slowly rises to his feet and crosses to where I’m standing with a predatory stealth. Moving behind me, he reaches around me and grasps my hands, exposing me as he stretches my arms out horizontally from my sides. Leaving my arms outstretched, he trails his fingers ever so slowly across the tender undersides of arms to my shoulders and down my side. My skin pebbles beneath his touch, the nerve endings hypersensitive.

  “Are you afraid?” he whispers, his lips near my ear.

  “Not afraid. Maybe apprehensive,” I confess as a little shiver dances across my spine.

  “Apprehensive is good. We’ll take it slow,” he murmurs, his tongue tracing the curve of my ear. “Only pleasure, Mila. I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

  But I know he will. One day this will be over and he’ll be gone. He’ll return to his life and I’ll return to mine, and this wild passion will be nothing but a memory that keeps me awake at night.

  Not that it matters. I’m past the point of no return, willing to accept the inevitable pain of heartbreak in exchange for the exquisite passion that only he can give me, for the way I feel in his arms.

  His fingertips caress across my belly, tracing the lines of the henna tattoo before traveling back up my sides to trail delicately back across the insides of my outstretched arms to my fingertips. This time he catches my hands in his, our fingers intertwining as he wraps his arms around my waist, bringing our clasped hands around the front of my body to rest on my stomach. For a long moment he stands still, enveloping me in his arms, his face buried in my hair.

  That’s when I notice the rose petals. They’re everywhere—scattered across the floor and strewn across the luxurious white linens of the bed. My eyes widen as I see a coiled length of braided nylon rope, a blindfold, and a long leather covered stick with a thin leather tongue at the end laid out across the rose petal covered bed. I’ve read enough to know the latter is a riding crop, although I’ve never actually seen one before.

  I inhale sharply. Following my gaze, Griffin says with a wicked smile, “I told you I had some things to pick up this morning.”

  His hands leave mine and he steps over to the bed and retrieves the rope, immediately returning back to my side. I stand still as he expertly twines the soft rope back and forth across my body, over and under my breasts and around my torso again until he’s created a harness of sorts that slightly binds my breasts, pushing them forward. He takes the long length of rope that’s left and makes a figure eight knot about a foot and a half from where it’s knotted at my chest. I watch, mesmerized, wondering what he’s going to do next.

  He takes the length of rope with the knot and passes it between my legs so that it fits gently between the slit of my vagina, the knot pressing lightly against my clitoris. He gently pulls my arms behind me and expertly wraps the remaining rope around my wrists and upper arms until they are tightly secured, causing my bound breasts to thrust forward even more and the knot to press harder against my clit. I wriggle against the teasing pressure.

  “Is that too tight?” he asks softly, slipping his fingers between the rope and my wrists to check for himself, despite my mute head shake. I want to make a joke about his Navy SEAL training and knot tying, but I can’t seem to string the words together. My heart is in my mouth, and I can feel the wetness between my legs. I never knew I would find it so damned hot to be
bound and helpless, completely at his mercy, my body available for whatever he decides to do.

  My breath is coming in short pants as he crosses back to the bed and picks up the blindfold. I am helpless to stop him as his finger circumvents the rope to delve into my folds, dipping into my wetness. When he removes it, his finger is glistening with the evidence of my desire for him, and his gaze locks with mine as he deliberately licks the juices from his finger. I exhale slowly. Damn, that’s hot. He takes a step closer and places the blindfold over my eyes, throwing me into darkness. There is no question now that I am completely at his mercy, unable to see or move.

  “Are you scared? Do you trust me?” he asks softly, his voice intimately close.

  “Yes,” I say, my voice thready with need.

  “If you want me stop, all you have to do is say so,” he says. “Okay?”

  I nod.

  “Say it,” he commands.

  “Okay,” I agree.

  “Just let go and surrender to the pleasure,” he whispers.

  The thrilling promise of his words, of being helpless to the onslaught of sensation I have no control over, courses through me and stokes the fire that is burning in my core. The room falls silent and although all of my senses are heightened, I can’t tell where he is. I have never felt so vulnerable, yet so ready to jump off of the cliff and swim in the murky waters of my darkest desires.

  Then his hands are on my body, stroking me as he explores every inch of my flesh, his fingertips erotically tracing the intricate swirls of my henna tattoo. His mouth follows where his hands lead, kissing, biting, and tonguing my sensitive skin until I’m quivering. I’m quickly beginning to understand the diabolical placement of the knotted rope against my mound. Every movement of my upper torso, however slight, tugs at the rope between my legs so that the knot rubs ever so slightly against my engorged clit, urging me toward inevitable pleasure.

  His mouth and hands travel over my abdomen to my breasts, and he kneads and fondles them, brutally pinching and nipping the tender tips which have been made even more sensitive by the binding of the ropes. This is the steely edge, that carefully controlled power I noticed the night we first met, and it makes me wild with need. I don’t want sweetness and tenderness. I want to be handled roughly, to ride the waves of passion, to give in to all that he demands.

  His lips move up my neck and my mouth hungers for his. Anticipating my deepest needs, his hand closes over my throat as his mouth forcefully descends on mine, taking what he wants in a punishing kiss. I plunge my tongue into the velvet softness of his mouth, desperate for more. It’s wild and torrid and violent and wonderful. Coupled with the constant friction against my clit, I am already precariously close to orgasming.

  I can feel the pressure of his hand on my shoulder as he says harshly, “Kneel, Mila. Pleasure me.”

  I try to lower myself to my knees as gracefully as possible as Griffin holds me steady so that I don’t fall. He has removed his clothes at some point, and as the velvety head of his shaft touches my lips, I take him into my mouth eagerly, desperate to taste the essence of him. With my hands bound behind me, I can only use my mouth. My lips close around him and I move up and down over his hard shaft, sucking my cheeks in to take him deeper. Each movement rubs the rope erotically against my clit, once again driving me to the brink.

  He takes over, one hand on my shoulder holding me still, the other twisting into my hair as he thrusts in and out of my willing mouth. He continues—in and out, in and out—fucking my mouth as the rope slides back and forth, stirring me into a frenzy. The thickness of him filling my mouth and the constant friction between my legs is too much. Without warning, I spiral out of control in a burst of overpowering pleasure. I come, my body shuddering uncontrollably as his body tenses and then quivers as he spurts into my mouth. Although I’ve never been much of swallower, it’s different with Griffin, or maybe I’m just so turned on I don’t care. As the hot cum hits my tongue, I swallow once and then again, eager to drink in all of him.

  He stands there for several minutes, stroking his hands through my hair as I lick his cock with my tongue, capturing every last drop of his pleasure, the pleasure that I gave him. Then he gently pulls me back to my feet before releasing his grip on me.

  Then….nothing. No sound, no touch, just the hitch of my breath as I realize that the only thing I know about what is going to happen next is that there is nothing I can do about it but experience it and let it flow over me.

  Several agonizingly long minutes pass and then I feel his hand loosely around my throat again as he moves behind me. He pulls me roughly back against his chest until I am arched against him, my breasts thrust forward, my arms still helplessly bound behind me. I groan as I feel the soft, thin, frayed ends of the rope caress my chest. His teeth sink lightly into my neck as the soft fronds flick my overly sensitive nipples. I gasp and arch back more. He strokes the soft rope across my torso and down to my sex, chuckling when I wriggle and then cry out as the knot between my labia rubs against my clit, sending me up the hill of desire again. He lets go of my throat, and a moment later I feel the cold touch of leather trail lightly over my torso and across my sensitive breasts. The crop. Before I can brace myself, he flicks it against one hardened nipple and I cry out at the slight sting. However, it leaves a lovely burning sensation in its wake and I moan and wriggle, my hips begging for more. He flicks the crop against my other nipple and I jerk, almost coming as the knot rope between my legs does its diabolical job.

  With the soft rope in one hand and the crop in the other, Griffin expertly moves up and down my body, alternating the soft caresses of the rope with the biting blows of the crop across my breasts and sensitive nipples until I’m trembling. The dichotomy of sensation releases something primal and wild inside of me and I squirm against the ropes that bind me, increasing the almost unbearable torment of the rope between my slit.

  I moan as he works the rope and flogger over my aching breasts again and across the sensitive flesh of my stomach before he turns me and moves down to the tender insides of my thighs and my backside. I gasp at each bite of pain which quickly blooms into full-blown pleasure. He holds me still, his hand on my throat again, firmly enough to make me feel owned but not hard enough to restrict my airflow as the crop lightly strikes my pussy. I cry out at the sharp stab of need that sears through me. He lightly taps the crop against my swollen pussy again and again, and I thrust my hips up to meet it, each force grinding the knot against my sensitive nub in a tangle of hedonistic sensation. With a cry, I tumble headlong over the cliff. He has pushed me higher and higher, and it’s a long way to fall. My muscles clench and spasm as wave after wave rolls over me, stealing my breath and my soul. I let it flow through me like rain until I am empty, cleansed.

  Griffin pulls the blindfold off and grabs a pair of scissors from the nearby night table, quickly cutting through the rope. It slowly unravels from my body, falling to the floor as he holds me tightly against him as the last tremors of the orgasm shudder through me. How on earth I just had back to back orgasms is beyond me. He tilts my chin up and I look at him, stunned. His eyes are heated. His lips find mine and I am lost again, swimming in a dark milky way of desire studded with a thousand bright twinkling stars.

  I feel like I’m about to collapse when he hauls me into his arms, holding me against him like I am the most precious gift as he carries me over to the bed and deposits me gently onto the soft duvet covered in rose pedals.

  “Roll over,” he commands softly.

  Powerless to do anything but obey, I roll over onto my stomach.

  He is on top of me instantly, his cock rigid against the small of my back. He firmly works his fingers into the tight muscles of my shoulders, massaging away the stiffness caused by the rope. I sigh and sink further into the bed. The man has got magical hands.

  “Hang on,” he says, and I am dimly aware of the bed giving as he stands. “I can make this better.”

  “Impossible,” I murmur.


  I hear him chuckle as he moves away. He’s back almost immediately and I hear the sound of a bottle opening and the soft friction of his hands rubbing together. Then his hands, slick with oil, are on my back again, working over my flesh as I groan in pure ecstasy.

  “I lied,” I say blissfully. “That is better.”

  He laughs softly and continues to massage my shoulders, upper back, and arms, slowly making his way down to my lower back and buttocks, sensuously stroking the oil into my flesh until I can feel that familiar stirring between my legs again. This time, the explosive craving of earlier is replaced by a slow burn.

  His hands firmly part my legs, gently kneading the inside of my thighs as his fingers brush tantalizing lightly over my mound. Somehow, despite the two orgasms he’s already exacted from me, my hips thrust back into his touch, demanding more.

  He tilts my hips up slightly and then his thumb finds the center of my longing as he ever so gently massages my clit with the same languid motions he’s employed across the rest of my skin. I moan.

  As his thumb makes slow circles over my aching clit, his other hand parts my cheeks and presses against my tight opening. I stiffen slightly but he just says, “Shh, I’ve got you,” and I relax again, feeling safe in his hands. He slides one oil-slicked finger gently into me, slowly stretching me until I feel a slight burn. I gasp. It feels erotic and forbidden, with an edgy sensation of fullness that makes me ache for something more, although I can’t imagine what. He keeps his finger lodged there as his thumb continues to work its magic, and I can feel an orgasm slowly building again. I shamelessly grind my pelvis against the bed.

  He removes his thumb from my clit and I can hear the rip of the condom package opening, and then the feel of his shaft against my dripping pussy. I wiggle, trying to escape the finger in my ass that is holding me still, yet desperate to feel his thickness inside me.