Tempting Him: An Obsessed Novella

by Jeanne St. James

  He curves over my back so that the fingertips of my bound hands can brush against his belly, feel his hot skin.

  Suddenly, I don’t want to be bound, tied up, trussed for his use. I want to touch him. Everywhere. I want to explore his body, his mind. Discover his secrets, his thoughts.

  I want to touch him inside and out.

  “Cade,” I cry out.

  “Yeah, baby?”

  Baby. I love that. “Fuck me.”

  “In a second.” His voice sounds strained.

  “Fuck me, please.”

  “In a moment, Sky.” At this point, he’s probably wishing he gagged me.

  “Now, Cade.”

  This time he only grunts as he drapes farther over my back and presses his mouth to my ear. “I’ll fuck you when I’m ready.”

  I shiver as his words fill me up like his cock. Like the dildo.

  “I’m ready,” I press.

  “Sky,” he says in warning.

  “Now, Cade.”

  “You’re pushing me.”

  “Yes,” I hiss. And I am. I’m pushing him to get a reaction. I don’t want it slow. Not right now. Now, I need it fast and hard and I need to come.

  I know what he’s doing. He likes the anticipation, the tease, the thrill of holding out.

  “I saw you have a flogger.”

  My breath catches and then it escapes on a whimper. “I do.” Many use the flogger as punishment. I prefer it used as a reward.

  I won’t reveal that just yet.

  “Keep pushing then,” he warns.

  I press my face into the mattress to hide my smile. Once I get it under control, I twist my head toward him. “Cade,” I begin again.

  “Sky.”

  “Fuck me,” I demand.

  “If it was in reach, I’d flog your ass right now.”

  I suck in a breath, then blow it out. Blood rushes through me, every nerve stands on end. My nipples are now so tight that they cause a pull all the way into my belly.

  “Make me come.”

  “When I’m ready,” he says firmly, pulling away from me, going back to his knees.

  I miss the weight of him across my back. I miss his voice directly in my ear. He now seems so far away.

  “Please,” I urge.

  Finally, he moves, thrusting deep inside me while his hand remains on the dildo to control the movement.

  Ah, fuck.

  He’s driving me out of my mind. He’s going to make me come before he’s really even began.

  Again, he slams into me, doing the same with the toy. I cry out at the exquisite pleasure.

  “Lift your ass higher.”

  Without hesitation, I rise to my knees causing my face to press harder now into the bed. But I see what he wants. He wants more of me.

  Leaving the dildo deep inside me, he wraps one arm around my hip, his fingers finding my clit. The other snakes around my ribs, his hand cupping my breast. He tweaks one nipple then the other, before tracing the ropes that frame them.

  A noise escapes him which makes me wish I could see his face. It’s easy to figure out the ropes turn him on. There’s no doubt that he’s experienced with bindings. He knows how to tie the correct knots. He knew the correct tension and tightness so I wouldn’t be injured. It’s safe to say I’m impressed with his knowledge.

  It’s also encouraging. If this continues after today, we might be able to explore many, many options.

  Not just ropes, but other things. Those possibilities make me tingle from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.

  My excitement ratchets up by the thought of him using the flogger on me in the very near future. Like today. In fact, I won’t let him leave until he uses it.

  My smile disappears as his thrusts get faster, harder, and I have to struggle to keep to my knees, to keep from sliding up the bed. Though, that’s difficult since I don’t have the use of my hands.

  My shoulders are starting to ache, but when he pinches one nipple hard and then the next, I quickly push that ache aside.

  “More, Cade.”

  He pulls my nipple as far as it will stretch then twists until I don’t think my skin will give anymore. It’s exactly what I meant when I demanded more.

  “Yes,” I hiss. “Yes.”

  Two fingers circle my clit, press, tweak and even pinch. Every tease is felt deep within my core. I clench down around him and the dildo, and I hear another moan escape him. It’s low and long, that sound alone drives me to the brink.

  “Cade, I want to come.”

  “Tell me what you need.”

  “You. Just you.” And, surprisingly, that’s true. We have some uncanny connection. Something I can’t explain. Him being inside me suddenly makes me feel complete. It’s never been like that with anyone else.

  Maybe I’m just making up these strange thoughts in my head.

  I swore I wasn’t desperate, but maybe I am.

  For attention.

  For contact.

  For intimate interaction.

  “You have me,” he finally says, his hips now pumping hard, his breath ragged.

  Yes, I have you, but for how long?

  For just today? Tomorrow? This weekend? Until we get bored of each other? Until you find out who I am?

  I push that thought away. Why ruin a good thing, even if it’s only temporary?

  “Sky, I’m going to come... I need you to be there with me.”

  I agree, I need to be there with him, too. I close my eyes, shut out the outside world, and bask in the incredible sensations he’s pulling from me, from my body. He releases my nipple and with two fingers still on my clit, he slowly works the glass dildo in and out of me, but at a much slower pace than he’s moving.

  “I want you to come when I tell you.”

  “Yes.” Yes. I want that.

  I do.

  I do.

  I...

  My breath catches when he says, “Come for me, Sky.”

  And just like that, it’s so easy. He pulls a climax from me and I explode around him, my eyes squeeze shut to hyper focus on where we’re connected. He has become still, so deep inside me, while his cock pulsates as he achieves his release. He doesn’t move for a moment. His heated breath beats against my skin, making me shiver.

  I groan when he slowly removes the dildo, then slips away from me so we’re no longer as one. Now we’re separate and distant. And I feel the loss of our closeness.

  But we’re not done.

  Clearly not done.

  We have so much more to give each other today.

  He lays a kiss on each of my ass cheeks and one on each shoulder blade, then he curls over me again, his lips to my ear. “I’m going to start with your wrists.”

  The tip of his tongue traces the outer shell of my ear before he pulls away. Seconds later my wrists are released and he pulls me up on my knees, an arm circles under my breasts as he brings me against him. My back to his front. Both hands cup my breasts and he softly caresses them before, once again, tracing the rope that binds them.

  “It’s amazing how beautiful a woman bound in rope is.”

  “Why is that?”

  He doesn’t answer right away. He takes his time. Formulates his thoughts. “By making you helpless, the balance of power shifts my way. But that’s not what the rush is for me. It’s that you trusted me enough to do it. To put that power in my hands. Especially when you hardly know me... No. Hardly isn’t even correct. You don’t know me. I could have abused that power.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “No, I didn’t. I wouldn’t. But how would you know that?”

  “I wouldn’t know that. But I went with my gut.” Again, I think about this uncanny but natural connection we have.

  “That could be dangerous.”

  True. Because my gut instinct has been wrong before. Very wrong.

  I don’t think it is in this case.

  “It must be your trusting face,” I say softly, reaching behind me to cup his
cheek. He grabs my hands, circles my body with his arms to hold out my wrists in front of me, inspecting for rope burn.

  There’s none. He was careful, which I appreciate. I also didn’t struggle so there was no reason for the skin to break or get irritated. His thumbs rub the undersides of my wrists to help with circulation, but even that’s not needed.

  I’m amazed how those small movements, this caring of me, is erotic in itself.

  I lean my head back to settle it along his collar bone and he presses his cheek against mine. “Hungry?”

  “I think I could eat.”

  His thumbs move higher and he’s now running his fingertips up and down my forearms. “I could run home and—”

  “No,” I interrupt him. I don’t want him to leave, even for something as simple as takeout, even if it comes with the promise of him returning. Not now. Not yet. “I’m sure I have something I can put together in the kitchen.”

  “You don’t need to do that.”

  “No, but I’d like to.”

  He skims his palms up my arms and over my shoulders, rubbing away any soreness from holding my arms behind me. I can’t stop the small moan that escapes my lips.

  He nuzzles my ear with his nose and then sucks on my earlobe for a second, playing with it with his tongue. “Sky,” he murmurs against the skin of my neck.

  “Hmm?”

  “Do you want me to remove the rest of the binding before I go clean up and get rid of this condom?”

  “No. Not yet.”

  The kisses he’s peppering along my neck and shoulders stop and he lifts his head. “Very good. I’ll go clean up and meet you in the kitchen.”

  He sounds pleased with my decision. I reach my hand back to wrap it around his head, pulling him forward as I lean back and twist to meet his lips in a brief kiss.

  “Clean up and I’ll get you fed.”

  He’s fed my soul today, so it’s the least I can do.

  Cade:

  Black silk or satin on a woman can be very sensuous. With a robe, a blouse or even a skirt, it clings to curves like a lover’s hand. As undergarments, it emphasizes the simple beauty of a breast, an ass cheek, the angle of a woman’s hip. And to watch Sky move around her kitchen in nothing but a black satin robe, hugging her generous curves, makes me hungry for more than just food.

  It’s not only the robe, though. It’s what she’s wearing underneath it. Not panties. No. I know she never pulled them on; it was hard to miss when she bent over to dig through a lower cabinet. The flash of ass cheek and peek of pink flesh made it obvious.

  It’s the outline of the rope she still wears that binds her breasts. Her nipples are hard like diamonds under the thin, slippery fabric, and just that knowledge of what awaits me when I get to unwrap that robe from her later makes me heady.

  I blow the steam off my coffee as I watch her move around the kitchen from over the brim of my mug. Occasionally, she gives me a little glance over her shoulder and I feel that right down to my toes (not to mention, elsewhere).

  Her blonde hair hangs loosely down her back and sways almost as much as her hips. The unmistakable sounds of classic rock surround us from an unseen stereo. Suddenly it hits me as I lounge in one of the chairs at the kitchen tables.

  This could be us on any Saturday or Sunday morning. Her making breakfast, me drinking coffee, music softly playing in the background.

  I’m just missing a Sunday paper, a pair of slippers and a Golden Retriever laying at my feet.

  A strange feeling makes me shake myself mentally and I look up at the clock on the wall. Six o’clock. I began my run a little after four this afternoon. I tripped just a few minutes after that.

  This little scene of domesticity before me suddenly sends a chill through me. I’ve never even lived with another woman. I’ve always liked my independence. And, of course, with my job, it would have taken the right woman to put up with my schedule. I wasn’t willing to deal with sorting through them until I found the right one.

  Suddenly, I feel like I should skip the meal she’s preparing and go hungry. Play with her a little while longer, make sure I get to use the flogger and then get the hell out soon after.

  Something soft weaves around my bare ankles and I tilt my head to see her cat Meowsers winding back and forth, rubbing his (or her) soft fur against my skin, head butting my calf, rubbing its whiskers along my toes.

  Weird.

  I’ve never had a pet. But, if I did it wouldn’t be a cat. I love pussy, just not the four-legged kind.

  Skylar’s throaty laugh pulls my gaze up to her. She’s watching her cat do its thing. “Brat,” she calls. “I bet you’re ready for dinner.”

  The cat’s tail stands straight up and it lets out a loud meow. Sky disappears into the utility room off the kitchen for a few minutes then reappears with a small bowl in her hand.

  Funny how the cat loses interest in me quickly and struts across the room to where Sky places the bowl. And once again, when she bends over, I get a perfect view of succulent, tempting flesh.

  I try to picture those tan ass cheeks marked from my machinations, from my use of the flogger and my cock starts to stir in my shorts.

  Food before fun.

  Whatever she has on the stove starts sizzling in the pan and she hurries back to give it a stir.

  “Smells good.” And that’s true. Whatever she’s throwing together does smell very good.

  If this woman can cook...

  I might be a goner.

  “Chicken stir-fry. I hope you like vegetables.”

  “Definitely, since I’m a vegetarian.”

  I keep my face as blank as possible as her mouth opens into an O. She quickly glances into the skillet then back at me.

  “Just kidding,” I say.

  The relief is instant on her face and she giggles, which makes me smile.

  After stirring the ingredients one more time, she leans back against the nearby counter, planting both palms on the edge. The robe separates just enough I can see a little cleavage and a bit of the rope.

  “Fuck, Sky,” I murmur, shaking my head. “If you’re not careful, dinner might burn.”

  She follows the direction of my gaze and pulls her robe around her tighter before giving me a sultry smile as her fingers trail over the satin along the outline of the binding.

  She asks me, “Are you sure you want to stick with coffee and not have a glass of wine?”

  “I need to keep my energy up, wine may make me sleepy.”

  “Mmm,” she murmurs as she snags her nearby wineglass and takes a sip of the red she poured herself earlier. “So...” she begins, tilting her head to study me. “When you said Secret Service, you meant agent, right?”

  I take a sip of my coffee which has finally cooled down enough so it doesn’t feel like I’m burning my tongue with the molten core of the earth. “Yes.”

  “Have you ever had to take someone out?”

  I stare at her over my mug. I want to make sure I’m clear on what she’s asking. Even though I know and I’m just delaying because this is usually a conversation I don’t like to have. But most people are curious. They ask innocently not realizing the impact of such a simple question. Simple, only in the knitting of words together, not simple when it comes to real life consequences. “Take someone out?”

  “Take down a threat, I mean.”

  “Do you mean hand-to-hand combat?”

  “No.”

  I study her and wonder how she’ll react to my answer. I carefully place my mug on the table. “Once.”

  The curiosity which was apparent in her face suddenly disappears, her face becoming a blank mask. “Did you think twice first?”

  “No. Can’t think about it. Lives could be lost.”

  “But... was a life lost?” The weight of her gaze on me feels heavy.

  Taking a life is never an easy decision, but sometimes it’s a necessary one. Having to take protective action is my job, but no matter what, someone will come out on the losing e
nd. Whether it’s the victim and everyone who loves and knows them. Or the person trying to take out the target. As well as everyone who knows and loves that person, criminal or not. It still affects them. That person has a family, has led a life.

  It also leaves an impact on the law enforcement official who must dispatch the subject. It’s something one never forgets. And shouldn’t. But even if it’s the right and legal thing to do, it leaves a mark.

  No matter what, it’s tragic all the way around. In that sliver of time, lives are changed forever.

  Including mine.

  Including the one and only person who was trying to assassinate a senator who was running for president. One who wasn’t very well liked by certain groups. But still...

  “Do you think about it still?”

  “Every damn day,” I mutter before grabbing my coffee and taking another sip.

  With a nod, she turns back to the stove, fork in hand.

  She spears something, then looks over her shoulder. “Come here,” she says softly.

  I move as if I’m on a string and she’s pulling the end. She calls and I come. When I get to her she turns and lifts the fork toward my mouth, cupping a hand under my chin.

  “Open,” she urges.

  Before she slides the fork full of stir-fry chicken between my parted lips, she puckers hers and blows. Then she does it again.

  Holy shit. That was so hot. (And I’m not talking the temperature of the food.)

  Before I can say a word, she shoves the fork into my mouth and I taste her “thrown together” stir fry.

  Yes, this woman can cook.

  I swallow, grab her hips and lean in close. “How are you still single?”

  The corners of her eyes crinkle. “How are you?”

  Touché.

  Chapter Seven

  Skylar:

  Cade must have been hungrier than he realized. After scarfing down one and a half plates of my stir-fry, he released a long, satisfied sigh. I plan on releasing one of my own soon, too. But for another reason.

  However, now it’s my turn to sit at the table while watching Cade stand at the kitchen sink only wearing those little red silky running shorts. I was surprised when he offered to clean up the dishes. Of course, I was going to jump on that offer. But he had a stipulation...