by Brynley Bush
“Also,” he continues conversationally as if I’m not stark naked and hand-cuffed to his bed, “I thought I’d give you a little preview of tonight.”
His mouth moves to my other breast and I moan a little as he sucks gently on the sensitive peak.
“Do you always keep handcuffs handy?” I ask breathlessly, my mind trying to catch up with my body.
“Mmm hmm,” he answers, his lips moving to my neck. “And zip ties and rope and all kinds of things for restraining bad guys.”
“I’m not a bad guy,” I protest, my back arching at the feel of his soft lips on my skin.
“No,” he agrees, his mouth now exploring the tender spot behind my ear. “These curves are definitely all woman.” His hand moves across the curve of my breasts. “But it remains to be seen whether you’re good or bad.”
His tongue traces the curve of my ear before he pulls the sensitive lobe into his mouth, sucking gently. I can feel the dampness between my thighs and I press them together, but he’s having none of that. He nudges them apart with his knee.
“I don’t think so,” he says firmly. “I want you open for all the delicious things I’m going to do to you.” I feel something tighten deep within me as I instinctively pull against my restraints.
“Relax,” he says, running his forefinger down my nose. He traces the same finger across my lips, and without hesitation I suck his finger into my mouth. And bite.
He chuckles. “You definitely have a wicked streak.”
He slides off the bed and I can’t help but lick my lips at the sight of his beautiful naked body standing next to me.
“Wait here,” he says, disappearing down the stairs.
As if I had a choice! I tug experimentally against the cuffs. Nope, I’m not going anywhere.
A tiny tendril of panic is starting to curl up my spine when he reappears a few long minutes later with a package of nylon boot laces and a bowl of raspberries. I bite my lip, arousal and curiosity vying with each other as I wonder what he plans to do with them.
He sinks down next me on the bed, and I watch apprehensively as he opens the package and removes a single boot lace, his quick fingers deftly tying a slip knot at each end. He leans over me again, his mouth fastening over one nipple as his tongue flicks it with surprising force. I moan and he releases it, quickly placing the open loop at one end of the lace over my erect nipple. I watch, wide-eyed, as he tightens the noose around my nipple, my breath catching at the erotic sensation as the closed loop squeezes my nipple slightly.
He repeats the process with my other nipple until both of my nipples are held taut and erect, the slip knot tight at the base of each and the length of lace between the loops laying on my chest.
“Perfect,” he says with satisfaction.
He reaches for the bowl of raspberries and seductively traces one over my lips before popping it into my mouth. I obediently chew and swallow, but I barely register the tart sweetness of the berry. I am far more intent on what he’s doing to my body.
He carefully places a berry over each of my erect nipples. The berries are fairly large and they fit perfectly over the rigid peaks like some kind of organic pasty. He methodically places a trail of berries down my torso, tucking the last one against my clitoris, held in place by my folds which are growing wetter by the minute. My breath is coming in rapid pants now, and it takes some concerted effort on my part to not close my legs.
Turning his gaze back to my face, Griffin lifts the slack length of the boot lace off of my chest.
“Since you like to bite, I’m going to give you something to bite on,” he says, lifting the length of nylon to my lips. “Open your mouth,” he commands.
My eyes widen as I realize what he intends to do. He places the string between my teeth, which pulls my nipples up and away from my chest with the slightest hint of pain mixed with delicious arousal.
“You will keep this string between your teeth while I enjoy my breakfast,” he instructs. “If you let go, I stop. Got it?”
I nod and get a brief taste of what happens to my stretched nipples if my head moves. My nipples are pulled even tauter, and the nylon at the base of my engorged nipples twists the sensitive peaks in a way that sends a jolt of sweet agony straight to my clit.
He begins kissing my neck and I hold myself still, the string clamped between my teeth. His head moves lower and I feel his lips tug a raspberry from my breast. His teeth grasp the hypersensitive tip, nipping it gently. He uses his tongue and lips to ruthlessly torment me until I buck hard, yanking the lace and my attached nipples upward. I whimper, although it’s not entirely from pain. My nipples are so sensitive that the slightest tug of the lace has my sex clenching.
He moves to my other breast and repeats the exquisite torture, plucking the berry from my nipple and then worrying the sensitive nub with his mouth until I’m a quivering mess. This time I school myself to stay still despite my desperate instinct to writhe under his skillful tongue.
“You have good self-control,” he praises softly. “You might make a good Navy SEAL yet.”
His mouth moves lower, following the trail of raspberries over the sensitive plane of my stomach as he devours each one, stopping to lick and kiss my flesh as he travels down my torso. My legs instinctively start to close as he reaches the last berry buried in my folds. He slaps my sex lightly with his open palm and I gasp, dropping the lace.
“Keep your legs open for me, sweetheart,” he chastises, kissing my lips softy before placing the string back between my teeth. My body is on fire with desire, every nerve ending sizzling with an intense yearning.
He tsks softly. “Now I’m going to have to start all over again.”
I groan in frustration as he starts at my neck again, his lips working their way to my breasts, nipples, and down my torso again, exactly as he did before despite the lack of berries. This time when he reaches the apex of my thighs, I keep my legs open.
“Good girl,” he says approvingly as his tongue delves into me, causing me to arch my back so that my nipples are stretched even more. Despite the delicious bite of the string against my sensitive nipples, I clamp my lips together and bite down, determined to keep the lace in my mouth this time. I legitimately think I will cry with frustration if he stops his delicious torment.
It is exquisite agony. He licks up the length of my slit, capturing the berry at the top. His tongue laps the sensitive nub beneath the berry as if he is determined to get every last drop of nectar left by the fruit, although the wetness I can feel drenching my sex has nothing to do with the berry. His mouth is relentless, alternately sucking, licking, flicking, and probing me intimately until I feel swollen and needy, my hips bucking and my back arched. The forceful movement of my body increases the pressure on my sensitive nipples, turning me into a wanton bundle of need.
His tongue is insistent, driving my body to an intense level of responsiveness I have never experienced before. I am complicit in my own torturous pleasure. The slightly painful tug of my nipples as my back arches off the bed and my head rolls back tangles with pleasure in a maelstrom of sensation that propels me over the edge. The powerful wave of my orgasm surges over me and I subconsciously clamp my teeth together. The resulting violent yank against my nipples triggers a second but no less intense orgasm that shudders through me as I come again.
Griffin’s tongue slowly eases its onslaught against my now tender flesh and his mouth works its way back up my body as I lie lax, the string falling from my mouth as the aftershocks of the orgasm still ripple through me. He loosens the knot that is secured around each nipple and gently releases them, tossing the lace onto the floor.
He lowers his head and takes one liberated nipple into his mouth, and it is so sensitive that a tiny flutter of an orgasm flits its way through me at the heat of his mouth on the hypersensitive peak.
“Look at your nipples,” he croons. “So beautiful.”
I dare a glance down and barely recognize myself. My nipples, usually a pale pink,
are a dusky rose, and they are elongated and rigid despite my recent orgasm. My head falls back against the pillow. I wait a moment, recovering my breath, but Griffin makes no move to do anything other than caress my sensitive skin ever so gently.
“Are you planning to uncuff me?” I ask.
“Eventually,” he says lazily.
“I’ll make it worth your while,” I barter flirtatiously.
Griffin chuckles darkly. “I’m sure you will, but I think I’ll keep you here a little longer while I take advantage of your delectable body.”
I groan with pleasure as he positions the thick head of his cock at my entrance and drives into me with enough force to lift my hips off the bed.
“Yes!” I urge him on with my voice since my hands are still bound above me, unable to pull him deeper into me. It’s oddly erotic being open and vulnerable to his rough use of my body but unable to touch him, only able to absorb the sensation of our primal coupling. He thrusts into me and my hips rise in response, spurring him to take me harder and faster. He gives me what I need, pumping into me until everything gathers in my core again and we come together in an explosion of color and light.
Once I’ve caught my breath, I turn to him lying next to me. “Am I still your prisoner or are you going to release me now?” I ask, my voice sounding husky to my own ears.
He kisses me tenderly and grabs a small key from the night table, freeing me from the metal cuffs. He massages my wrists where the metal bit into my flesh with strong, soothing fingers.
“I’ll take off the handcuffs,” he says hoarsely, “but I’m not ready to let you go yet, Mila.”
Thirty minutes later we’re sitting on his patio, me in the Nike shorts and t-shirt I keep in my gym bag in my car and Griffin in nothing but a pair of athletic shorts. We eat thick slices of bread slathered with jam and slices of bacon washed down with orange juice, watching the activity on the beach and joking about a particularly over-confident guy in a Speedo who is clearly trying to impress his date with his non-existent beach volleyball skills.
“I need to go home and shower,” I say reluctantly as I polish off the last slice of bacon. The thought of taking a shower with him, and what will surely follow if we are naked and wet together, makes me reconsider going home for a brief moment, but I need my own shampoo and conditioner, clean clothes, and most importantly, a chance to regroup and process the last twenty-four hours.
“Alright,” Griffin says agreeably. “I have a couple of things to take care of. How about I come pick you up in a couple of hours?”
I nod. “What are we going to do?” I ask curiously. I’m not used to a guy planning a date with no involvement or suggestions from me. I’m surprised to find that I like not only the element of surprise, but having no responsibilities other than enjoying the day.
“I’m not telling,” he says with that enigmatic grin of his.
“How will I know what to wear?” I say, pouting.
“Dress comfortably,” he says, getting to his feet and dropping a kiss onto my upturned nose. “And don’t pack anything for later. You won’t be needing any clothes tonight.”
At home I take a long, hot shower, deep conditioning my hair while I make sure every inch of my skin is soft and smooth. I decide to wear my hair wavy and natural, and while it dries I dig through my closet trying to decide what to wear for our mystery date. I settle on a pair of short denim shorts that make my legs look long and tanned and a light-weight, long-sleeved coral shirt paired with chunky silver jewelry and a pair of canvas flats. I throw a swimsuit into my large, brown, leather shoulder bag along with a change of underwear (a sexy black lace thong and matching bra), my toothbrush, and a few makeup essentials.
Satisfied that I’m ready, I call Olivia while I wait for Griffin.
“How was your surf lesson?” she asks excitedly without a hello.
“It was great!” I say. “I absolutely loved it. Thank you so much. And thank you for the advice about Griffin yesterday. I’ve decided to give your theory a try and just get him out of my system so I can focus on his case and move on with my life.”
Olivia’s squeal of delight is so loud I have to hold the phone away from my ear.
“I take it you approve,” I say drily when she’s finally quiet enough for me to put the phone back against my ear.
“Yes! He’s gorgeous. And he’s totally your type. I’m glad you’re going to see him again. Just because you have a kick-ass career doesn’t mean you have to shut down your sensual side. So, when are you going to call him?”
I explain to her how he showed up on the beach after my surf lesson and how I ended up going back to his place and spending the night, as well as our plans to spend today and tonight together, which causes another outburst from Olivia.
“You’d better not ditch Simon, Jenna, and me for brunch tomorrow though,” she says warningly, referring to our last Sunday of the month standing brunch date.
“Of course not!” I say indignantly.
“Good, because we’re going to want all of the details,” she says with a laugh. Nonchalantly she adds, “By the way, I have a date with Jack tonight.”
Now it’s my turn to shriek. “Are you serious? That’s awesome! I expect you’ll have a lot of ‘details’ yourself tomorrow,” I tease.
“I don’t think so,” she says seriously. “I really like him. I’m going to take this one slow.”
After we hang up, I think with a tiny pang of regret how completely opposite our dates are tonight. Olivia is not having sex, hoping for a meaningful relationship, while I’m rushing headlong into as much sex as possible because there’s no hope of a meaningful relationship. I don’t even want a relationship with Griffin! So why do I feel the tiniest bit jealous of Olivia?
Any traces of the moodiness I feel after talking to Olivia vanish when I see Griffin standing in my doorway wearing khaki shorts and Sperrys with a fitted plaid button-down with the sleeves rolled up, revealing his tanned forearms that are corded with muscles. He smiles at me and my insides dissolve. I wouldn’t trade places with Olivia for a second. Even though our time together is like a meteor shooting through the sky to a finite end, I’ll still take the blaze of the extraordinary, no matter how brief.
“You look fantastic,” he says, his eyes lighting up as they travel the length of my body. He takes a step forward and envelops me in his strong arms, and I inexplicably feel like I’ve just come home.
“Thanks,” I say lightly, standing on my tiptoes to kiss him. “So do you. Should I bring other clothes for dinner later?”
“Nope,” he says. “You look perfect. Are you ready?”
I nod and cross the room to get my bag.
“You have a nice place,” he says thoughtfully. “It’s somehow both sophisticated and warm, just like you.”
“It’s no beachside condo with a retractable roof, but I like it,” I say teasingly.
He grabs my hand companionably as we walk down the sidewalk to his Corvette, and as I’m coming to expect, he opens the door and makes sure I’m settled before closing the door. We head north on Highway 5, but he refuses to tell me where we’re going. Ten minutes later, he maneuvers into a parking space along Mission Boulevard and I look over at him questioningly.
“I thought we’d spend the day at Mission Beach,” he says, flashing me that charismatic grin that I am powerless to resist. “It’s one of my favorite places, and I want to be here with you.”
“Really?” I say excitedly. “Can we go on the Big Dipper?” I ask, practically bouncing in my seat. “I’ve never been to Belmont Park.”
He looks at me incredulously. “Are you serious?”
I nod. I’ve always heard about the historic amusement park on the boardwalk, and of course I’ve seen the famous wooden roller coaster from the beach, but I’ve never actually been to it.
“That’s criminal!” he exclaims, opening the car door and coming around to help me out. He twines his fingers with mine and we walk the short distance to the beac
hside amusement park. I wait excitedly while he pays for the wristbands he insists on buying so we can ride as many rides as many times as we want. We ride the seventy-five foot wooden roller coaster three times, once in the front and twice in the back, and it’s fast and rough and pure exhilaration, the perfect metaphor for my affair with Griffin.
After that, we hit a few more of the classic amusement rides, laughing as we ram into each other in bumper cars and as Griffin spins us forward, backward, and upside down on a crazy ride called the Control Freak. I’m ready for something a little tamer after that, so we find adjacent horses on the carousel and hold hands as the horses go up and down to the music, spinning around but never going anywhere. Also the perfect metaphor for our affair, I think with a sigh. A few minutes into the ride Griffin slides off of his horse and climbs behind me on mine, pulling me back against his chest as he nuzzles my neck, and I’m sorry when the ride ends.
After riding the carousel, we wander through the midway, Griffin’s arm draped over my shoulder as the hawkers try to convince us to stop and play their games. Griffin finally gives in, stopping at a booth where you have to shoot out a star with a BB gun. He aims and fires, shooting around the star with economical precision until the star is cut from the paper in a clean circle and floats to the ground.
“Damn,” the game operator whistles, eying Griffin with a combination of fear and respect as he hands him an enormous teddy bear which he promptly presents to me.
“Don’t you feel even a little guilty using your bad ass Navy SEAL skills on unsuspecting civilians?” I tease as we walk away.
“Not at all,” he says matter-of-factly, tipping my face up to kiss me. “Especially when it makes you happy.”
“Well, thank you for the teddy bear,” I say with a smile. “No one’s ever won anything for me before.”
“What kind of lame ass guys have you dated?” he asks jokingly.
“The kind that don’t handcuff me to the bed in the morning,” I retort with a smile.
“Good,” he says, his eyes sparkling. “I want that part of you to be all mine.”
