Fox arranged a few pillows under her back and head, propping her up, likely so she could see what he was doing.
With fluid movements, and long strokes of his fingers along her skin, he tied her wrist to ankle on both sides, then secured each ankle to the feet of the bed. Between the fact that he’d placed her so close to the end of the bed, and that there was no footboard, when he was done, she was wide open and vulnerable to him. When he surveyed his handiwork, his brows lowered at the one thing he’d forgotten.
“Fuck.”
She didn’t laugh, but it was close. Maybe she should have mentioned he hadn’t removed her underwear earlier, but who was she to point out the obvious to a man so intent on tying her up?
“You think this is funny?”
The only safe answer was to press her lips together and close her eyes.
Something cold touched her leg, and when her eyes flew open, Fox was grinning down at her lazily. The bottom blade of a pair of very sharp-looking scissors felt like a streak of ice on her thigh. Her heart rate kicked up a notch, speeding far faster than was probably safe. It wasn’t like it was a knife, but it was still sexy and threatening.
“I’m going to cut these panties off of you,” he said, his voice husky. “Is there anything you’d like to say in their defense?”
“No, Fox. Other than the fact that I won’t have any to wear home.”
The evil leer that spread across his sexy face suggested he approved of that predicament.
“If you were mine, I’d need to open an account for you at Victoria’s Secret. The way the scissors make you shudder is . . . entertaining.”
He slid the metal up the crease of her leg to her belly, circling her navel before returning to the hollow inside her hip. The scissors opened far wider than necessary as he slid the string at one hip between the blades. Rather than making the cut immediately, he moved them back and forth, his gaze hooded. With painstaking slowness, he closed the scissors. Her breath quivered in her throat, the tension of waiting for it to happen feeling like the momentous buildup before a stellar orgasm. The dark lust in his gaze hinted at the violence that lurked beneath his usually flippant veneer. He apparently liked scaring her and had loved hurting her during the punishment, if his hard-on was any indication.
Playing with him was feeling decidedly less safe. She trusted him to stop if she safeworded, but how easy would it be for him to comply?
The snip, when it came, made her moan aloud. The quiet slicing sound was followed by the shred of fabric slipping aside, baring her. Rather than shove the remaining side down her leg, he moved the scissors to the other side, toying with her there awhile before cutting that side away.
For a long, heart-stopping moment, he gazed at her nakedness before he stood to lay the scissors aside. He retrieved a black case the size of his palm from the pile of stuff on the bed. When he approached her again, there was nothing friendly or humorous about his smile.
“Mmm . . . Will you look at this?” He grabbed her ankle, squeezed, then slid his hand up her calf and thigh, his touch getting progressively lighter the closer he got to her pussy. “You get so quiet and biddable when you’re trapped.” He popped the case open, and gave it a considering look.
The anticipation was killing her.
“What’s in there?” she whispered, a bit ashamed of herself for not just waiting like she should have.
He arched a brow. Shit. Was he the type of guy who’d get pissy at being questioned? Without a word, he turned the case toward her. It held a dastardly assortment of makeup brushes and feathers. Tickling? Crap, she’d never last. Her skin already felt shivery just looking at them.
“Do you want to tell me where you hid the tracking device now, or are you choosing to be tortured?”
Damn. The man made the word “tortured” sound exhilarating.
“How long are you going to torture me for?”
He shrugged. “No clock in here. I have to warn you, though. I love this game. I can play for hours, so if you think you’re going to outwait me, it’s not going to happen.”
Hours? She was so horny that two minutes might do her in.
“Go for it.” She tried for nonchalant but her shaky voice gave away her apprehension.
His eyes glittered, but he smoothed his expression. Leaning over her, he kissed her lips, a sweet, reassuring kiss that gradually stole her breath before he pulled away. When she strained after him, he smiled with mock regret then stroked back her hair.
Right. No fraternizing with the enemy.
The first thing he chose was a fat blush brush. He moved to the side of the bed then dragged the brush down the outside of her arm with a firmness that felt pleasant and didn’t tickle. Down her leg he went, then up the other until he completed the circuit at the other arm. He started over, the next stroke lighter. It made her try to jerk her arm away, but trussed up as she was there wasn’t much she could do.
The brush skated over her belly, up between her breasts, then circled each of them in turn, avoiding her aching nipples. Need that already burned flamed higher—fast—far too fast for her to control her reactions. Her body undulated under the shivery assault of the brush, trying to shy away from it, but failing. There were no breaks. He was relentless.
Each shudder and gasp he won from her brought a fresh wave of mortification. He was barely touching her—it shouldn’t be turning her on so bad, considering he hadn’t gone near anything particularly sensitive yet. She’d seen the feathers and envisioned doing a lot of giggling, but there was nothing funny about this.
He drew the brush down her belly to her thigh and tickled her there, then moved around to the foot of the bed and went to work on sensitizing her thighs. Every molecule in her body felt like it was straining toward him, begging for him to be kind and thoroughly fuck her.
“Where is it hidden, Addison?” His voice was so quiet that for a moment she thought she’d imagined it.
“Please fuck me, Fox.” The words were out of her mouth before she realized they were in there.
He smiled pleasantly, calmly, which made it all the more maddening. “Bad girls don’t get cock, sweetness.” She forced herself not to whimper in disappointment. “You tell me what I want to know, and I’ll give you what you want.”
Rather than waiting for an answer, or giving her a reprieve, he kept working on her. Closer, closer he got to her pussy. Teasing her with a few flicks of the soft bristles against the bareness of her labia. Why the hell had she waxed for this guy? It made this torture thing too easy.
She strained her legs wider apart, and dug her heels into the mattress to try to trick him into touching her harder, but he yanked his hand back.
“Bad girl,” he repeated, frowning at her. “Now look at what you made me do.” He reached into the black case and drew out a pristine white feather. “Such a naughty girl.”
Oh god, shut up before I burst into flames.
She squirmed in her bonds then held her breath as he brushed the tip of the feather over her pussy lips, careful not to let her get too much stimulation. It was at the point where she was too horny for anything to tickle. He traced the outside of them too, then the seam of her sex, and she moaned in frustration.
“Such a pretty little cunt you have, Addison.”
Fresh desire lanced through her. She was shocked at how a word that usually offended her was so hot out of his dirty fucking mouth.
“Your body is trying to protect you from the big, bad feather, but there’s an easy way to fix that.” He spread her labia further apart with his fingers. It was difficult not to die of arousal and embarrassment as he stared at her so intimately. Far too slowly, he brought the tip of the feather to her, brushing the very tip over the sensitive flesh above her clit hood, then tickling downward. She screamed, trying to backpedal at the overwhelming sensation of the breath-light touches, but the ropes held her ex
actly where he wanted her.
“It’s only going to get worse,” he warned, shaking his head sadly. “Maybe you should just tell me now, before I make you regret it.”
She frowned.
“Well, that wasn’t a very polite response to my offer.” He shrugged. “That’s what I get for trying to be nice. I’ll remember that.”
He was just fucking with her, right? For a moment her mind raced, trying to figure out how much worse he could possibly make it, but then the feather came down again, stroking gently over her aching clit, downward, to tickle her perineum, then her anus. She cried out again, desperate to get away, but that only seemed to make him pay that part of her more attention.
“No, no, no!” she squeaked, her voice high.
He stopped. “‘No’ isn’t the safeword you chose, Addison. Is your ass off limits?”
Oh god. Well . . . She swallowed hard. It wasn’t necessarily off limits, but it did embarrass the hell out of her. The full body blush that claimed her must have given him a clue.
“I . . . uh . . . haven’t . . .”
Damn him and his wicked smile. “That’s not what I asked you.”
Did she want him to explore her that way? She had a love/hate relationship with the idea of anal—it was hot in porn, but no matter how much fun those girls seemed to be having, it looked . . . uncomfortable.
“You have a safeword,” he reminded her. “And I won’t go too far tonight.”
True. She could safeword at any time. She’d almost forgotten that.
Remembering the feel of the feather touching her there made her squirm, but did she really have to tell him that? Ugh. Why did there have to be so many traitorous nerve endings there?
“I have a safeword,” she repeated, wondering if it was possible to die of humiliation. She really didn’t want to have to verbally agree to being touched there.
The way he watched her suggested he was waiting for her to say more, but no other words wanted to come out. She wasn’t about to make conversation with him about it.
Finally, he gave a nod.
He spread her pussy open again, and just the sensation of the air hitting her aching clit made her whine.
“Your poor little clit is all hard,” he gently mocked, leaning forward to blow warm air over it. She gasped and shuddered—his breath and thinking about his tongue almost tipped her over the edge.
She had to tell him what he wanted to know now, before she started screaming and couldn’t stop. She had to come so bad she could cry.
Let him win?
Determined, she took hold of her self-control. There was no damn way she could let him win this—and not just because she hated to lose, but because she had a sneaking suspicion that when he found out he was going to throttle her.
He took a long moment to select a fresh feather from the black case, apparently in no rush. Fuck. If he’d just pinch her where he was holding her open, she’d come so hard. Just a small amount of pressure on her clit and she’d go off like a Fourth of July fireworks display.
If she’d thought she’d had a handle on her arousal, though, the first touch of the new feather showed her she was deluding herself. Slowly, he followed the patterns he’d already drawn on her, until she could feel the trails it had made, every speck of skin he went over burning and throbbing with desperation. Inner thigh, labia, clit, down to her ass.
He set about teasing her ass, pushing her legs back further until he must have had a pornographic zoom shot of everything she owned. Here and there, he let his fingers stray to touch her, making her buck and whine for him to let her come.
The pervert loved that. Alternating, he moved back and forth between her clit and her ass. Her eyes couldn’t focus, and she began to scream profanity at him, not sure what exactly she wanted him to do. Her mouth was dry from panting, and her throat raw.
“Please, please, Fox. Stop,” she gasped out, trying to shut off her brain so she wouldn’t have to feel the way the feather flitted and slid and circled over her painfully erect clit. It didn’t work.
Lust hazed her vision, but she was painfully aware of every touch. Her body danced for him, squirming and rolling as far as the ropes would allow. The feel of the rope keeping her trapped just as he wanted her, biting into her skin as she struggled—the helplessness and desperation as she fought knots that kept getting tighter—the fact that he ignored her pleas for mercy, all of it tapped deeper into her submission and arousal. It grew, altered. She watched his pretty, rapt face, the artistic movement of his hands, felt the firmness of his touch as he held her open for his pleasure.
All of it was like magic. Like a twisted fairy tale where Prince Charming was an evil, sadistic bastard, with a feather instead of a sword.
And he was killing her with pleasure.
The feather swirled as if it had a mind of its own, tormenting her sensitized skin. She hovered so close to orgasm that she could almost taste it, but then he’d slow down or stop, letting her regroup for a moment before starting again. Higher her arousal spiked, but he kept her there, balanced on the very edge, crooning to calm her in the face of his cruelty. She faded into a fog of suffering, aware her body kept trying to reach him, to get closer to the feather. He didn’t allow it.
“Oh god, please!”
“Tell me what you want, little girl.” His voice was low and rumbly, and she madly wondered if the vibrations in the air could make her come.
“I want . . . I want . . .” Fuck. Where was that sentence going? Her thoughts vanished with a flick of his wrist.
“You really want to tell me where you hid the tracking device,” he prompted, “don’t you, Addison?”
A monster orgasm was cresting. Every muscle in her body thrust toward him, trying to get that faint whisper more. The hint of increased pressure that would finally allow her to go over, would give her release—it was right there. So close. So fucking close.
The feather moved away at the last moment and she screamed, fighting the ropes so hard that he held her down. She tried to rub against him, begging with her body and with incoherent grunts. If she could just get him down between her legs she could squirm against him and come. His zipper would hurt like hell and it would be heaven. She needed something, anything. A slap between the legs, a cruel pinch.
She gasped for air, trying to remember how to breathe.
“Shh, baby. Shh. You’re okay.”
No! She was not okay! She shook her head like a madwoman, her hair tangling in her eyes.
“Shh,” he crooned. His voice was soothing, seriously evil, and so damned sexy. “Just answer my little question, Addison, and then I’ll let you come. You want to be a good girl for me, don’t you? I know you do. Your pussy is aching and I can make it all better.”
Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. She was so overwhelmed that everything he said sounded like it came from the other side of a door. So reasonable. She just wanted to give in. Every nerve ending in her clit and ass were screaming at her to answer the stupid question. Nothing was worth this impossible ache. Sweat stung her eyes, and she could feel tendrils of hair sticking to her neck.
He grabbed a new feather from the case.
Oh god, no.
She screamed at him, but the first few words she tried weren’t actual words. Finally she managed to scream, “I h-hate you!”
She did? That was news to her. She’d never wanted to fuck someone she hated, but she wanted Fox to fuck her in every way she’d seen in every porno ever. He only chuckled.
“You’ll hate me more in a minute.” His half-lidded dark eyes were frightening and full of lust.
No, no! Not more. Please . . .
He spread her pussy lips open again, and she sobbed. Everything was too sensitive, like nails on a chalk board. She couldn’t take any more of this. Every bit of her pussy and ass tickled and itched and ached. Even thoug
h he’d barely gone near them, her nipples were distended and painfully erect. Her eyes refused to focus. All of her muscles were tired of the strain, and her legs were starting to shake from exhaustion. How long had he been at this? Hours and hours. Maybe most of her life.
As the feather swept over her again, she sobbed, broken.
“Please, no,” she whimpered. “I can’t. I promise I’ll be good. I’ll do anything you want. You can do anything else to me, just please no more.”
“You’ll tell me?”
When she hesitated, trying to make her mouth move the right way, he attacked her clit again, the edge of the feather running back and forth over every bit of her exposed and painfully sensitive nub. She screamed again, the sound pulled out of her chest, burning its way up her throat to escape her open mouth.
Her hips jerked up off the bed, her impending orgasm twisting every muscle in her body, tightening it until she was sure something would snap like an overtaxed rubber band. So close . . . so fucking close . . .
It stopped. She lay, staring blankly at the ceiling. Shadows of thoughts scuttled around her mind, but pulling them together wasn’t working. The world had gone quiet, except for her thundering heart, and the sound of her and her tormentor’s shaking breaths.
“Come on, Addison. If you’re a good girl this all stops, but if you’re bad . . .” He made a sound of regret as he trailed off, like he was sorry he had no other choice. “I just want to lick that pretty clit and suck it into my mouth—to make you scream with pleasure when you come for me, but I can’t do that unless you answer the question.”
Her entire body shook, feeling like it was going to shake itself to pieces. Tears dripped from the corners of her eyes, dribbled down her temples, pooled in her ears.
Stealing His Thunder (Masters of Adrenaline) Page 8