Tempting Him: An Obsessed Novella

by Jeanne St. James

  For me to sit at the table wearing nothing but the rope binding while watching. His gaze seared me when without a word I slipped the robe off my shoulders and let it drop onto the back of the chair.

  As soon as I did that, he wandered away only saying, “Stay seated until I tell you otherwise.”

  My brain starts spinning, wondering what he’s planning. The anticipation makes my nipples bead into hard points, makes my clit ache for his attention.

  “Can I touch myself?”

  Without turning, he says, “Yes. It’s expected.”

  Well now. Great minds...

  I spin in my chair to face him, even though his back is turned and he’s not paying any attention to me. He’s concentrating on scrubbing the dishes with a sponge.

  I want to call his name, but I resist.

  I think he wants to imagine what I’m doing. I slide a hand between my thighs, stroking my center as I thumb my sensitive clit. I brush a palm over the tight beads of my nipples, one then the other.

  As I stare at his back, willing him to turn around, I slip my middle finger inside of me causing a small sound to escape the back of my throat. I notice his hands still for only a moment before continuing with their chore.

  I bite my lip, trying to avoid making any more noise, but eventually I have to blow out a shaky breath. I know he hears that, too, when the muscles in his bare back tighten ever so slightly.

  Now it’s a challenge and I’m determined to test him, to see how long he can resist. Can I make him break before he’s finished with his task?

  A low moan slides from between my lips as I tweak my nipples and insert a second finger deep inside of me. Teasing my own clit, I fuck myself, my hips rising and falling slightly.

  “Yes,” I hiss.

  He grips the edge of the sink and his head bows forward, his back becomes tight, his biceps bulge.

  I’m oh-so-close to making him break.

  I’m also oh-so-close to making myself come. I twist my nipple between my forefinger and thumb, then pull it hard enough that I gasp.

  I plant my feet on the floor and my hips shoot straight up. The chair bucks underneath me, making a clatter as the orgasm washes over me, takes over every muscle in my body, makes me convulse and close my eyes.

  Because of that, I feel him before I see him.

  I did it. I made him break. I hear something hit the table, but before I can open my eyes, his hand is under my chin pulling my head back, bending my neck until it can’t arch anymore and I look up to see him standing over me. His face dark, his eyes flashing.

  I have no idea what he tossed onto the table, but I’m sure I will find out soon enough.

  Even so, it’s the ice cube he slides over my stretched throat that makes me gasp. It leaves a cool trail down my skin, beads of water pooling at the base of my throat. But he doesn’t stop there. He circles my nipples with it. One then the other, bringing them to painful peaks. His hot tongue follows the cube, first down my neck, then over my nipples as he flicks the pebbled ends with the tip of his tongue.

  “Cade...”

  “Quiet.”

  That low one-word demand makes me want to smile with satisfaction, but I can’t. I can’t. The ice between his long fingers is now traveling around my nipples once more before sliding down my belly to between my legs.

  “Part yourself.”

  I lose my breath and can’t answer him. So, I don’t even try. I just do what I’m told and separate my folds to give him the access he demands. When the cold hits my hot, swollen nub, I jerk forward, but he tightens his grip on my chin, not letting me move, keeping me at a disadvantage, unable to watch or even pull away. The ice turns me numb, but before I can complain, he takes my mouth, plundering his tongue inside, tangling it with mine. I groan and he catches it, swallowing it down.

  Then he releases me suddenly, and spins the chair around, the legs squealing along the floor. I almost squeal just as loudly because I wasn’t expecting that. He drops to his knees, puts the remaining piece of ice cube in his mouth, and shoves my thighs open even farther.

  He drops his head and this time I drop my head back on my own, my mouth gaping open as he takes me into his mouth, moving his tongue and the cube through my slit, over my clit, and back down again until only his mouth is left cold and wet, the ice cube long melted away.

  Actually, his mouth isn’t the only thing wet. I’m soaked. “I want you inside me.”

  He pulls away slightly. “Are you asking or telling?”

  “Telling.”

  “Then you will have to wait,” he answers and with a last lick to my pussy (even that quick lick makes me squirm), he stands up, grabs me under my arms and lifts me to my feet. “Over the table.”

  When I look over my shoulder at the kitchen table, I finally see what he threw there. A wooden spoon. Albeit the widest one I have, but still... a wooden spoon. My body quivers at the thought of it being used on me in what I can only assume is of a punishing nature.

  And, honestly, I’m not sure if the shiver that runs through me is from fear, excitement or a combination of both.

  Never having been struck with such an object, I try to imagine how much it will hurt. Or how good it will feel. It will depend on how hard Cade strikes me.

  I always have an out.

  Lollipop.

  If I say it he would have to stop immediately.

  Well, he wouldn’t have to, but I need to trust him enough to believe he would. I meet his eyes and try to get a read on him, but I can’t. His face is blank and I don’t know him well enough to see behind that mask.

  Finally, he says, “I’m heading into the bedroom for a minute. When I come back out, be in position.” Dropping his head, he gives me a quick, but deep kiss, then murmurs against my lips. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

  Oh yes. That sounds promising.

  My gaze follows him as his long legs take him quickly out of the kitchen and out of sight.

  I turn and stare at the table. Heavy oak, with four spindle chairs surrounding it. A location to eat. A spot to gather. And the place my next sexual adventure will he held.

  I blow out a breath as I get “into position.” Unfortunately, as I lay on the table the wooden spoon stares back at me.

  Cade:

  I glance around her bedroom, spot the lube that was tossed aside earlier and snag that along with another condom. But before rushing back out to Sky (and that sweet ass of hers which better be bent over the table) I stop and think. I’m not ready to break out the flogger yet, though I keep that in the plan. Instead, I look for something else.

  I dig through her “toy” box and pull out a black silky blindfold. I could use more rope, but I want to switch it up. My head turns toward the partially open closet where the box was kept.

  I’m wondering what else she has hidden.

  Sliding open one side, I take a quick glance inside. Women’s clothes are draped in an orderly fashion on the hangers, shoes stacked neatly on the floor on a shoe rack, and more boxes of various sizes are stacked on the shelf above the bar. I grab one that looks like a banker box, place it on the floor and remove the lid.

  It takes me a second for my mind to process what’s in the box. Papers, lots of papers haphazardly thrown into the box, mixed with newspaper clippings and photos. One catches my eye... a photo of Sky but with a man.

  Probably her ex-husband.

  I slide it out from under a document to see it more clearly, then I squint, blink and look closer.

  Sky looks very young, maybe early twenties, staring up at the man who has his arm wrapped around her. They are both laughing, but it’s the adoring look she wears that makes my chest squeeze.

  She loved him. That’s perfectly clear.

  Then it’s not the emotion that makes my heart squeeze. I lift the photo out of the box and tilt it toward the fading light from the nearby window.

  He looks familiar.

  Very familiar. I rack my brain. I know this guy.

 
; I know him but can’t place him. My brain spins when I try to put a finger on it.

  I shake my head and toss the photo back into the box. I dig out another one. A photo of just him. Older, dark hair, but he’s not laughing in this one. His face appears haunted, distant. He also looks more gaunt.

  Something definitely changed during the years between the first and second picture.

  I snag another photo. In it, the man wears tan fatigues. He’s overseas in some sand-ridden country and surrounded by several other soldiers all posing with M4 Carbines. In this photo I recognize the brotherhood between the men, but not one of them is smiling. No joking. Nothing. They look burned out, finished with war games. They look like a group who has experienced loss and is ready to come home.

  I throw the photo back in, feeling guilty about snooping. Maybe Skylar’s husband came home with PTSD and they just didn’t make it like a lot of couples do after their spouse comes home from being deployed.

  But, again, the guy looks familiar and something is niggling at the back of my mind. Something heavy and disturbing. It’s right there, bugging me, but it’s not clear.

  Maybe we’ll get to the point where we can discuss her past marriage. It’s too soon now, that’s certain. But maybe...

  Maybe if things go well... and we find out we’re compatible and both of us want to explore whatever this connection is between us.

  At this point, I can honestly tell myself that I want to give it a shot, see where this leads.

  But, I also need to find out who this man is in the photo. As I start to rifle through the documents searching for a clue, I hear Sky call my name in a low moan.

  Shit.

  With a quick, regretful glance at the box, I cover it and throw it back on the shelf and slide the closet door shut.

  Another time.

  Chapter Eight

  Skylar:

  “Cade,” I moan again and suddenly he’s there next to the table, his hands full, but my eyes focus on the lube.

  He has plans.

  “Hey, beautiful,” he whispers, his gaze running over me as I’m draped over the table, my bare ass in the air, my bound breasts pressed against the smooth surface. The rope has begun to dig into my skin, so after this, I’m going to ask for him to remove it. I probably could remove it myself as my hands are no longer tied together, but that wouldn’t be any fun.

  No fun at all. It would be like removing my own negligee.

  “It took you that long to get those three items?”

  He cocks an eyebrow my direction. “I was giving you an opportunity to think about your actions.”

  He’s so full of shit. He loved my actions. This is all just a game. To him. And to me, too.

  I bite my bottom lip until the smile that wants to spread is contained. “Of breaking your concentration on doing the menial task of washing dishes? I’m not sorry.”

  “Ah,” he sighs. “I know you’re not.” He places the lube and the condom on the table, but within reach of where I’m artfully displayed. Then he lifts the blindfold up and stretches the elastic that will hold it in place. “For you.”

  Now I do smile. It’s more out of satisfaction than glee. I wouldn’t own a blindfold if I didn’t enjoy using it.

  He pulls my long hair away from my face and then slides the blindfold over my eyes. I reach to adjust it and he makes a sharp noise which makes me freeze mid-motion.

  “Palms flat on the table in front of you unless I tell you otherwise.”

  Nice.

  The bossier he gets with me, the more I like it. I’m not in any way a submissive person out in the real world, I demand on being an equal, but in the bedroom (or on a kitchen table) I want the man to take charge.

  So far today, Cade has shown he likes to do so.

  Perfect.

  I flatten my hands on the table after stretching my arms out in front of me. I know the wooden spoon is in between them, laying there, waiting.

  Again, a thrill shoots through me and I’m already imagining the sharp sting of the wood against my ass. My pussy clenches hard and my breath catches before rattling out of me on a shaky sigh.

  “Tell me your safe word again, Sky.”

  By the location of his deep voice, I can tell he’s moved behind me. “Lollipop.”

  “Very good.”

  Not so good for him if I use it. (Not so good for me either, if I have to use it.)

  Now that I’m blindfolded, my world had become dark. I have to use my hearing and my sense of touch to figure out what he’s doing. Though, it doesn’t surprise me when his finger traces the crease of my ass.

  My question to him earlier, “Do you like ass play?” floats through my mind. This man does not shy away from it, that’s for sure.

  “Hand me the spoon.”

  Ah. He’s going to make me hand him the tool used for my punishment. Clever.

  I feel around where I last saw it and my fingers find the narrow, long handle. I pick it up and swing it behind me to offer it to him.

  I’m holding it out to him for what feels like minutes. But it’s probably only seconds before he says, “Show me where you want me to use it.”

  Lowering the spoon, I let it brush my right ass cheek. “Here.”

  I startle when his hands suddenly grip my hips and his lips touch my skin where I had the spoon.

  “Here?” he asks. “Where else?”

  I move it to the left cheek. “Here.”

  He kisses that cheek, too. “Anywhere else?”

  “No. Not now.”

  “Show me how hard you want me to spank you with it.”

  I hesitate. I’ve never spanked myself. However, I do love a good spanking, whether by hand, belt, paddle, crop. I’m not picky. Since a wooden spoon is something I’ve never experienced before, I’m not sure what I’ll enjoy. If I enjoy it at all.

  “Show me,” he demands again, but more firmly.

  I tap the spoon lightly against my ass. It’s painless.

  “That’s it?”

  “No,” I breathe out.

  “Show me.”

  “Cade...” I begin but drop off since I want him to take the spoon. I want it to be him to use it. “Please.”

  “Please what?”

  “Please...” Spank me, fuck me, make me come. “Do what needs to be done.”

  “And what needs to be done, Sky?”

  I hold out the spoon to him and he takes it from my fingers. “Palm back on the table.”

  I settle back into position, preparing myself mentally for what’s to come.

  But no matter if I thought I knew what was coming, it wasn’t quite what I expected. The harsh sting of the flat wide spoon against my ass makes me suck in a sharp breath.

  One of his fingers trails down my cleft again all the way to my clit and back up. And the crack of the spoon against my other ass cheek makes me curl my fingers, rise up on my toes and jerk forward in shock of how much it hurts.

  The pain quickly dulls and the throb of my skin becomes pleasurable, making my core clench tightly. I want him buried deep inside me before he strikes again.

  “Beautiful,” he murmurs. “This is only the beginning of your ass being that color.”

  Only the beginning...

  “Reach back and separate yourself.”

  Pressing my cheek into the table, I do as he says by grabbing my ass and spreading my buttocks wide.

  “Fuck,” he groans and I smile.

  He taps the spoon softly over the top of both cheeks. I arch my back and encourage him to do more. But he doesn’t. He stops and I hear him shuffling around behind me as well as a sound I recognize as him opening the lube. A shudder runs through me. There’s no reason for lube if he’s just going to fuck me. My pussy can’t get any wetter than it already is.

  As he works the lube around my tight opening, I hiss out a “yes.”

  Dipping in a finger to the first knuckle, he makes my entrance slippery, ready for him. I relax and enjoy the sensations of the push a
nd pull of his finger as it goes deeper and deeper.

  “Cade,” I groan.

  “Soon, baby,” he assures me.

  Not soon enough.

  Suddenly, he’s gone and I hear the tear of the condom wrapper and in my mind’s eye I see him rolling it down his hard length then spreading more lube generously over his latex-covered cock.

  Then he’s sliding the crown of it across my anus, down my cleft between my throbbing labia and rubbing it over my clit. He shifts slightly, sliding inside me and I moan loudly as he seats himself deep within me, my fingers digging into my own flesh.

  “Keep yourself open to me, Sky. I want to see all of you.”

  The scrape of the spoon against the table puts me on edge once again.

  Because I know it’s coming.

  It’s coming.

  Now that he’s inside me, it’s going to be even better.

  My heart pounds all the way up into my throat and I close my eyes, even though I’m blindfolded and can’t see anything anyway.

  As he thrusts slowly in and out of me, I beg, “Spank me, Cade. Do it.”

  “Are you asking or telling?”

  Oh fuck. “Asking... Please.”

  His fingers trace the rope that runs along my spine then curves around my ribs and I shiver. The crack of the wooden spoon against my ass makes me jerk and whimper, but he grabs the stretch of rope along my back and holds me in place.

  “Don’t move.”

  I’d like to see him not move when someone’s spanking his ass with a wooden spoon. Easier said than done!

  “I want to spank your pussy with the spoon.”

  Shit. If he does do that I might be screaming “lollipop” (as well as some other choice words).

  When he pulls out, I think that’s his next move and panic. “Cade!”

  He chuckles, leans over me and whispers in my ear, “I’m not going to hurt you. And, no, I’m not going to do it. You would need to beg me for it.”

  There’s no chance of that happening. Hand, maybe. Wooden spoon, never. I’m not that much of a masochist.

  I blow out a breath in relief.