by Skye Jordan
The lusty music mixing with the sounds of sex beyond the curtain made her body ache, made her sex full and wet, made her shift on her feet. And as he fastened the buckles on the collar, her vision faded at the edges, her neck muscles strained, and her breaths came quicker.
This was definitely not some crazy necklace.
She lifted her hand, sliding her fingers between the leather and her skin.
“Claustrophobic?” he asked.
Shallow wisps of air made the tension in her body ratchet higher. “Yes.”
“Good,” he said, his voice rough and knowing. He let the heavy mass of her hair tumble down again and stroked all ten fingers through the strands, his gaze following the motion. “It will get worse before it gets better.”
A sharp strike of panic cut through her, lightening her head and making her sway. He slipped one arm around her waist from behind, steadying her. He had the strangest way of reading her. Of knowing what she needed when she needed it. Of knowing when to push her and when to ease off.
And when she'd steadied, his hands slid slowly up her body, feeling all the curves in her waist, all the ridges in her abdomen before cupping her breasts. He didn't rush into sex, as she'd expected. He lingered, touching her as if they had all night. The way he so expertly squeezed and pinched and brushed her breasts and nipples until she had to rub her thighs together to ease the desire building between her legs made her wonder if there were some men in the world who were so experienced they knew every hot button on a woman.
Giselle had never imagined being attracted to a man like that, a man to whom she was nothing but another lay, but tonight, that wasn't even on her problem radar. She had all kinds of time for regret later.
Once the panic eased, she grew used to the pressure around her throat-as used to such a thing as she could-and her breaths came easier. But the angst burning in her belly persisted, and the heat from that fire sank deep between her legs, making her desperate for counterpressure.
He turned her toward him, hooked a finger through the ring at the front of the collar, and slowly drew her to him until her lips pressed his. He stroked his tongue over her lips, then pulled back, leaving her hungry.
Her whimper of disappointment made heat spark in his eyes. “This”-he tugged on the collar-“means I own you. For the time we're in this room, you're mine to do with as I choose, with the exception of 'no' or 'stop.'”
A fury of emotions whipped up in her belly. She was shaky, her anxiety like a cliff edge where she balanced on one foot in high wind. For the tenth time since she'd solicited him, she wondered if she'd made a big mistake.
Huge mistake.
Monumental.
Life changing.
Yet her body quaked with the need for sexual release. Wild sexual release. The kind that would relieve the anxiety and build her confidence. And she was certain he could give that to her.
He used the ring to pull her toward the lounge. There, he stepped behind her again and gently turned her head to the left, showing her a different mirror reflecting their image now, one that displayed their full bodies in profile.
“This is the best kind of voyeurism,” he murmured in her ear, his gaze on hers in the mirror. “The kind where you get to watch and experience at the same time.”
His big, warm hand stroked down her spine. The other joined in as he cupped and squeezed her ass. Want curled between her legs, hot and wet. Then he lifted one hand, fisted her hair, and pulled her head back. Giselle drew a sharp breath and met his gaze in the mirror directly ahead as he licked her shoulder, then rasped, “You are so beautiful.”
A fine tremble had built in her body, one she couldn't control.
“I love the way you shiver,” he said against her neck. The dark thrill in his rough voice made her sex clench. “I want to make you shiver hard. Do you want that?”
“Yes.” She focused, pushed all her fear and anxiety into the thought of feeling him, of that intense, luscious release that was so very different with a man than by her own means. “I want that.”
“Good girl.” The satisfaction in his voice washed dark desire through her body. He pressed a hand to the small of her back, guiding her toward the lounge until her lower body was pressed against the cool leatherlike material. “Bend over.” He pressed the front of his body to the back of hers and circled her waist with one strong arm. Pressing a kiss to her shoulder, he patted the chair's highest curve. “Belly here.” He pointed to the lowest curve. “Head there.”
When she glanced over her shoulder at him, he kissed her in that all-consuming way that made her forget everything but him. He added pressure to her back, bending her forward. Crowding her. Easing her into a position where her ass was high, her head low.
She drove her anxiety into the kiss, into lusciously stroking his tongue and biting his lip. He growled with approval but drew away when she was bent completely over the chair, her upper body against the downward curve. He slid his hands down her arms, closing his fingers at her wrists. The cuffs there clicked closed before she realized they were even on her arms.
Reflexively, she pulled back and met resistance. Panic struck at the center of her heart. Suddenly, all she could focus on was the chair holding her in position, the collar tight on her throat, her hands immobile.
Trapped. She was trapped.
Her breath quickened. Blood rushed to her head. She gripped the chair for support.
“Perfect,” he said at her shoulder. “You're perfect.”
No. She wasn't perfect. Not even close to perfect. Every part of her throbbed. Her mind pinged in a hundred different directions.
He must have seen or sensed her panic, because he paused, looked directly into her eyes, and said, “Do you want to tell me something?”
No.
Stop.
The words rang in her head. But her body needed his touch.
Breathe. Breathe.
“Nothing,” she whispered.
“Very good.” He eased away, his hands stroking her ass. His thumbs hooked into her thong and dragged it down her thighs.
Oh God.
She squeezed her eyes closed, turned her wrists in the cuffs. She felt the same way she had when she'd first walked into Indulgence, like she couldn't do this. But she thought of the alternative-leaving unfulfilled-and couldn't make herself tell him to stop. She was just…in a whole different place than she ever believed she could be. And wasn't that what this whole escapade was about?
When she tried to look at him over her shoulder, she caught the movement in the side mirror. God, the mirror. Her dim reflection shocked her. She saw herself naked, bent over the lounge with her ass in the air, wrists cuffed, throat ringed in black leather, light hair spilling across the dark curves of the lounge. And he stood behind her, his gaze devouring her, his hands stroking.
For a split second, she had another one of those bizarre out-of-body experiences, as if she were looking at someone else. Someone wickedly hot and wildly abandoned. Someone so secure with her sexuality, she could release all control. But Giselle knew better. She knew what was on the inside. Someone so completely opposite from the woman in the mirror. Another burst of panic exploded in her belly, and a whimper of alarm ebbed from her throat.
“No one knows what's happening on the inside but you,” he said, as if he knew what she was thinking. His warm hand stroked her back, following her spine in a slow, tantalizing sweep, dropping kisses along the same path. “All anyone else sees is the gorgeous, strong woman in the mirror. Performance is about letting go of what you know. About getting into a character's skin. It's about relaxing and enjoying the experience of being someone else or, in this case, being the best version of yourself. It's about learning you can let go without fear.”
He kissed his way down her spine, his mouth warm on her body. Giselle memorized his words. Soaked them in. Made them her own. And her muscles loosened. Her mind quieted.
Then his tongue touched the tail of her spine and continued between her ch
eeks, and everything fired to life again. His hands gripped her cheeks and parted them so his tongue could continue along the crevice, and circle the pucker hidden there.
Giselle gasped and stiffened, her hands digging into the chair. “Oh God.”
But as quickly as he'd sought out that erotic spot, he moved away. In the mirror, Giselle watched him kneel behind her. Felt his hand behind one knee, pushing it to a padded ledge alongside the lounge. Then the other. Opening her. Exposing her completely. The air licked at her wet skin, shooting sensation all through her pussy.
And as quickly as cuffs clasped around her wrists, they closed around her ankles. Cuffs she hadn't seen. She lifted her head, testing her restraints. And found she had very little room to move.
She was trapped. Spread. Vulnerable. Exposed.
“Hold on, hold on.” Giselle's eyes squeezed closed. Panic invaded her brain, cell by cell. “Give me a second.”
“I only understand 'no' or 'stop.' Beyond that, how fast or slow we go is up to me.” The warmth of his tongue slipped along her inner thigh, stopping just before he reached the spot where she needed his mouth most. “Your shivering is the hottest thing I've ever seen. Are you letting go? Giving me control?”
“Yes.” Her answer was immediate. She needed relief. Needed his touch. Needed his mouth. Needed, needed, needed.
“Good girl.”
How could two simple words pump such a thrill through her body? She bit her lip to keep from asking him to get on with it. That wasn't letting go or giving him control.
“You have no idea how much pleasure it gives me just to look at you like this.”
She heaved a whimper.
“Oh, I like that sound.” His fingertips touched her shoulders, slid down her ribs, traced her waist, her hips, then disappeared. She groaned and shifted against the lounge.
His hot chuckle streaked over her skin like fire. “Angel, you are the wickedest temptation ever.”
In the mirror, she saw him lower his head and anticipated the touch of his lips on her skin. Instead, his tongue swept over her pussy in one hot, wet wave. Pressure, heat, and moisture seared through her sex, followed by the scrape of his beard.
She gasped and her spine bowed on a cry of surprise and pleasure. Her voice echoed off the walls, joined by the rattle of metal as she jerked against the cuffs. And, God, that was just…so…wrong. So…wickedly, decadently wrong.
“Mmm,” he hummed. “Delicious.”
In the mirror, she saw his head dip and braced for more. But when the wet warmth slid over her sex again, she still bucked against the restraints, electric currents arcing through her body.
“Oh my God.” She was dizzy. Couldn't think. Could only feel all the sensation coursing and pulsing across her skin, deep into her sex, clouding her brain. “Oh my-”
He licked her, again.
And again.
Full strokes with that wide, flat tongue, smoothing away the prickling scratch of his beard and making her cry out with pleasure. Waves and waves of electric heat and pressure massaging her clit, her opening, her ass. The sight of him dipping his head before each stroke, the way he licked his lips after and met her eyes in the mirror just before he went down on her again, heightened anticipation and peaked pleasure.
She was trembling violently by the time he settled his mouth over her with constant pressure. She pushed against the lounge with her knees, rocking her sex toward him. He hummed, acknowledging her efforts, but showed no sign of quickening the slow plunge and retreat of his tongue into her pussy or the swirl of his tongue across her entrance or the purposeful scrape of his beard over her folds.
He lifted his head and blew on her wet skin. Exquisite tingles of torture raced across her sex. Her folds opened like a flower, reaching for his mouth. She whimpered and finally begged, “Please.”
“Angel,” he said, his voice low and raspy, “I thought you'd never ask.”
Then he closed his mouth over her pussy again, but this time with purpose. He ate at her with his lips and tongue, scraping with his teeth and beard, holding her on the razor edge between release and insanity.
“Please,” she cried. “Please, please. Yes.”
With a soul-shattering orgasm spiraling straight at her, she rocked back and into his mouth. She needed more pressure, and she needed it faster. His fingers dug into her thighs, and he growled. But he didn't touch her clit, which kept the orgasm just out of reach. “Please let me come,” she whimpered. “I want to come.”
He pulled his mouth off her with a pop of suction. “Then come.”
He lifted a hand and smacked her ass. Hard.
She jerked and cried out, more in shock than pain, but the sting radiated across her ass, into her sex, and pushed her closer to the edge. She bit her lip against the absurd burst of emotion, but the laugh still broke through. He'd spanked her, and it had brought her pleasure. This was all so insane.
But her laughter died instantly when he dropped his mouth back to her pussy, and his flat hand back to her ass. The slap ricocheted against the walls. The combination of pleasure and pain shot her out of her skin with tangled sensations but didn't allow her to climax.
He switched hands and smacked her other cheek, and the sting sang through her body. God, that was good. So good. And so wrong on some level. A level she'd think about later.
She opened her mouth to scream for more when he finally, finally, finally stroked her clit with his tongue, then spanked her again. Stroked her clit, spanked. Stroked, spanked. Stroked, spanked…right into the stratosphere.
She let out a scream at the orgasm's first wave, but it crashed hard, cutting off her air and contorting her body with ecstasy. The excitement pushed through and crashed, pushed, crashed, pushed, crashed. Leaving her quaking, shivering, spasming, and limp.
Her chest heaved. Her muscles quivered. Her hands ached where her fingers were fisted so hard, her nails had left a pattern of half-moons in her palms.
The sound of Disclosure's “You & Me” drifted to her ears, along with more sounds of sex in the room beyond. Her head was spinning so hard, she couldn't lift it from the lounge. She opened her eyes and found her hair spilled across her face.
The heavy strands cleared in one swoop, and the devil's brown eyes smiled into hers. Before she could ask him to let her go, he kissed her, his mouth hungry and hot.
“Wild,” he rasped pulling out of the kiss. “You're incredible.”
“Up,” she said, voice rough. “Can I…get up? I feel…so dizzy.”
“That's the head-rush effect,” he said, releasing the cuffs on her ankles. “Makes the orgasm more intense.”
Probably had a little to do with how much she'd drunk too.
He released the cuffs on her hands and slipped a strong arm around her waist-thank God. If he hadn't, she'd have melted to the floor. That orgasm had left her too weak to stand.
He turned her to face him and kissed her long and deep and hot, sending a clear message that this was far from over.
Carrying her around the lounge, he straddled the chair and sank into the lowest curve and stretched her out in front of him. She rested her head on his thigh, her belly on the lounge, her legs stretched out on the floor. And just floated there until the clink of metal touched her ear. She lifted her head, searching for the source, and found him unfastening his belt.
With a surge of energy, she pushed his hands away and unfastened his pants, then stroked the thick erection beneath his cotton boxers. This. She'd missed this. A long, thick, hard cock to fill her.
He combed her hair off her face, gripped her upper arms, and dragged her into the vee of his thighs, positioning her perfectly to take him into her mouth.
“Show me how much you like to suck cock, angel.”
He waited, his eyes hyperfocused, as she took his cock from his slacks. He was as thick and long as he'd felt against her, veins snaking around the shaft, as wickedly thrilling as the man. His fingers curled beneath the edge of her collar and used it to d
rag her mouth to his cock.
Instead of taking him the way she knew he wanted-filling her mouth in one stroke-she licked the wide, wet tip, then pulled the thick head between her lips and sucked lightly before releasing him.
His growl was deep and hot and frustrated. And made Giselle smile.
“I knew it,” he said, his voice edgy with need. “You love having control.”
“I love savoring. There's a difference.” And she loved his cock a little more, stroking the shaft with her tongue, her hands, her lips. He was burning hot, musky, salty. So raw. So supremely male. Such a turn-on.
He slid his fingers toward the back of the collar. “Suck me the way I know you want to.”
She let him control her head so he pumped into her mouth the way he wanted. And she sucked him the way she loved to suck. And, oh, she had definitely stayed away from this too long.
“Fuck, yes,” he growled, pulling her down, quick and shallow, then deep and slow, then finally releasing the collar to slide his hands down her back and over her ass while she took him deep. “Feels sooooo good, angel.”
He let his hands roam up her back and held her head in place as he pumped his hips and plunged into her mouth. The guttural sounds of raw pleasure rolling from his throat lit Giselle on fire.
He abruptly dropped his ass deep into the curve of the lounge, and his cock pulled from her mouth. Giselle eased back, licking her lips, but made a sound of disappointment. One that was cut off when he reached out, gripped her waist and hauled her into his lap.
He pulled a condom from his pocket, ripped it open with his teeth, and covered himself in seconds. Then his head was stroking her entrance, then pushing inside…
“Oh God…” She bit out the words from behind clenched teeth before her throat closed, cutting off everything but the guttural sound of pleasure. He felt even bigger than he looked, and the sensation of him stretching her was mind-bending bliss.
