What They Call Sin

by Philippa Grey-Gerou

  "Of course, love.” He slid a hand over her ribs.

  She drew a breath, as much to brace herself as it was a response to his touch. He met her eyes comfortingly, silently encouraging her to go on. “In those other books, there are a lot of stories about people being tied up for sex. I don't understand why that would be exciting. I would think that would just be scary."

  "That's part of the appeal.” He drifted his fingers lightly over her collarbone. “Bondage is about taking control and giving up control. The person who is tied up loses all control, but also loses all responsibility. They can simply enjoy whatever the other person chooses to do.” He followed his fingers with warm kisses as his hand started coasting down the slope of her breast. “That may be why it doesn't sound sexy to you. You've never really had any control in bed, so you can't imagine what it would feel like to have it and give it up."

  "Have you ever been tied up?"

  "A few times."

  "Did you like it?” Her breath was ragged now.

  He looked into her eyes, the green of them almost gone in the black of her arousal. God, what she did to him! “Depended on the situation. But most of the time, yeah, I did. It's a powerful thing to trust someone that much."

  "Would you let me do it?"

  "Christ, Lindy!” He couldn't help but roll his hips against her, his rock hard erection grinding into the hollow of her pelvis. “Of course I would. Anything you want."

  "Now?"

  He backed off, trying to read her expression. What he saw was arousal, and curiosity, and a touch of apprehension. This was a huge step for her, asking for something she wanted, taking control. There was no way he was going to deny her this.

  He leaned across her and reached down over the edge of the bed to the pile of clothes he had left on the floor, coming up with the red silk necktie to offer her. “Do you think you'll need more than one?"

  With an excited grin, she grabbed the tie and pushed him over onto his back, straddling his waist. “Wrists, please,” she asked politely, holding out the middle of the tie.

  He laughed and put his hands willingly into the silk. As she carefully twisted the tie around and knotted it, he spoke again. “I do trust you, Lindy, and I want you to feel safe doing anything you want to here. But if something goes wrong, if it hurts too much or is too intense or dangerous, I'm going to say ‘Prince Albert’ and you need to stop right away, alright?"

  She nodded, finishing the knot. “Is that comfortable?"

  He tested it. Snug, but not too tight. He could get out of it if he wanted to. He nodded. “It's fine. But traditionally, it's tied to something."

  "Well, your headboard is solid, so there's nothing to tie it to.” She pressed his arms up over his head, her bare breasts swinging just out of range of his mouth. “But if I ask you to, you won't move, will you?"

  The sultriness, the surety of her question made his mouth go dry. “No,” was all he managed to choke out.

  "Good.” She leaned down to kiss him languidly, her mouth soft and mobile against his. When she pulled away, she seemed to have changed somehow. Become more confident. “Ready?"

  "Whatever you want, love."

  "Actually, it's not what I want. This is something that you've been wanting."

  "Funny, I don't remember sharing any bondage fantasies."

  "No, that part is for me. To satisfy my curiosity.” She readjusted herself, sitting upright, settling her weight on his lower stomach, the curve of her ass bare inches from the tip of his cock. “No, this is something you really want. You've asked me for it more than once."

  He tried to remember, but his brain was misfiring as she pulled her hair back off her neck to bare her breasts and shoulders.

  "Now, how did you say to start? Oh yes, with my hands on my stomach.” She crossed her arms lightly in front of her, her hands splayed over the roundness of her belly. And he suddenly realized that she was going to do exactly what he had wanted. He had just imagined that he would have to coax her through it. It certainly had never occurred to him that he wouldn't be allowed to participate. She circled her hands slowly around each other, then slid them down the tops of her thighs and back up along the outside, then back down to caress up her inner thighs, her knuckles barely grazing the skin along his ribs.

  He couldn't help the jump that the electricity of that contact sent through his body. She glared at him, and he was amazed at how genuinely cowed he felt at her look. He was suddenly fully aware of her power and how vulnerable he was to it. And it only excited him more. “I'm sorry. I won't ... Please don't stop."

  Her hands caressed up between her breasts to flutter along her throat. “I won't.” She watched him, her hands never stopping. “Unless you do that again."

  He nodded his understanding, his chest heaving, his blood pounding in his ears and his groin. Her hands moved down to cup her breasts and she looked down to watch as she shaped them, molded them, fingered lightly along the sensitive flesh at her ribs, making herself gasp in pleasure. He could feel the dampness of her arousal on the muscles of his stomach as she moved almost imperceptibly. He longed to inch himself down and bury his face in her quim, licking up every succulent drop as she pleasured herself, but he kept a tight rein on himself. He could end this, roll her over and fuck her mercilessly as he desperately wanted to. But she wanted this, and he didn't want to disappoint her. So he would lay still and watch until she told him otherwise, even if it killed him. Which, at the moment, seemed likely.

  She thumbed over her hard nipples, rolling and tugging at them, humming softly at the sensations. Her right hand moved back down over her stomach to float lightly over her inner thighs before skating over the fine hair of her mound. She gasped at the contact and rose up fully on her knees, taking her weight off his ribs. Her fingers disappeared between her legs, and she cried out softly and bucked into her own touch. Her face was closed, intense and focused, and he wondered what image she was using to drive her along. Her left hand lost its direction, wandering all over her torso as she focused on the actions of her right. He could see her juices clinging to her fine curls, glistening on her fingers as she delved in and around her center. Her soft cries quickly became animal whimpering as she thrust her hips eagerly against her hand. He wanted to encourage her, but didn't know if he was allowed to speak. And from her expression, his presence at the moment was inconsequential.

  Her head snapped back with an open mouthed cry as her hips convulsed against her hand. In a moment, the orgasm released her and she fell forward, barely catching herself with her left hand before collapsing on him entirely. Her lungs bellowed as she slowly came down and opened her sultry, jewel-dark eyes to look down on him. His breath was coming as hard and erratic as hers, and he knew his eyes looked wild. She must have read his need in his face, for her mouth curved in a smug, satisfied smile as she brought her right hand up to his mouth.

  He sucked her fingers in instantly, their eyes never wavering. She tasted of the comfort he found enfolded in her body, salty and sweet, arousing and easing at once. He carefully circled his tongue around each slender digit, pausing to nibble gently at the sensitive pad, which she allowed. Using the broad flat of his tongue, he carefully cleaned her palm, caressing her wrist with his lips before moving up to engulf her thumb, sliding his head up and down along its length. When he finished, she brought her lips down to his, kissing him oh so sweetly as she explored the taste of herself on his tongue. She ended the kiss, resting her forehead against his for a moment, her eyes closed. Then she reached up, letting her breasts fall against his face, and untied the knot holding him, guiding his hands down to her waist.

  He was on her like lightning, flipping her tops over tails so she ended up on her back with her head at the foot of the bed. He pinned her there, forcing his way between her legs. “Did you have fun playing, kitten?” he purred in her ear. “Cuz I have to say, it looked damn good on you. You had me at your feet there. And you felt it too, didn't you?"

  She clutched at his
shoulders as she nodded, her eyes and legs wide.

  "Good. You've had a taste of it now. You'll want more.” He stroked his hard length along her crease, still slippery wet and sensitive. “But I think there was one more part to my wish, wasn't there? Do you remember?"

  "You ... you wanted to remind me that touching myself would only ever be second best.” Her voice was soft but eager.

  "That's right. And do you know how I'm going to do that?"

  She shook her head.

  He leaned close, his voice dropping to a sensual mutter. “I am going to fuck you so hard your head explodes.” And he slammed his cock home.

  They both roared at the power of the connection, and her legs wrapped around him to hold him in place. But he was having none of it. Once he was seated in her, he pulled almost out and drove in again, pushing so hard he moved her back along the bed a few inches. He continued pushing, moving her further, then pulled back and drove in again, pushing her still further until after half a dozen thrusts her head and shoulders were hanging off the bed. He gathered up her hips and rose up on his knees, sliding her head even closer to the floor until she was in the same position she had asked about earlier. “Let's see what it feels like first hand, shall we?"

  "Michael!” she snarled, barely able to move from the position he had her in. “God please, please fuck me! Do it please!"

  He did. He pounded into her relentlessly, pouring himself body and soul into her with each thrust. He held her ass so tightly that he knew he was leaving bruises, but he didn't care. His focus narrowed to the joining of cock and cunt, his desire made all the more heady by the knowledge that she didn't have to take this if she didn't want to. She wanted this, and he wanted to give it to her. He wanted to sink into her and never surface, lost in her depths for eternity.

  She started keening, a long, slow, high pitched exclamation of his given name that brought him to the edge even as her upper body started writhing in release. He hitched her closer to him and pistoned into her, feeling her walls start to contract around him. That was all it took to trigger his own climax, and he held her tight as his whole body jerked with each spurt of his cock. He slumped slightly as the overwhelming relief washed through him, but then he felt her starting to slide away from him. Holding her with one hand, he reached out with the other. “Grab hold, pet,” he said huskily, drawing her attention to the offered hand.

  She took it, and he levered her up, gathering her close to him as he moved them back to lie on the pillows. She wrapped around him, entangling their legs in casual intimacy as he brushed soft kisses against her hair. “Thank you for trusting me that much,” she murmured sleepily.

  "No, love, thank you.” He rested his cheek on the crown of her head. As they drifted into sated slumber, he realized that this was how he wanted every day to begin and end.

  And he had no idea how to make that happen.

  Chapter 14

  "So, tell me again why we're here?” Lindy asked the next morning as they mounted the steps to the main entrance to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

  "Because, pet,” Michael said, settling his arm around her waist, “you cut me to the quick yesterday with your comment about all our encounters ending in sex. So I wanted to show you a pleasant few hours without threat of intimate relations. This seemed like the safest place."

  "Michael, we had sex in a public bathroom the first time we ever laid eyes on each other."

  He smirked. “We can pretend to be proper for a few hours, can't we?"

  She shook her head, laughing. “I have absolutely no idea."

  They stopped at the admission desk. As he paid a generous donation for each of them in exchange for the little metal admission badge, she asked, “Doesn't this kind of go against the whole idea behind our arrangement?"

  "No.” He carefully attached the badge to the throat of her blouse. “It's all part and parcel of showing you how you deserve to be treated. You want something, you shall have it. QED.” He opened the map. “So, where should we start?"

  "Well, do you have a preference for any particular medium or period?"

  He shrugged. “Not really. Whatever appeals to you."

  "Then do you mind if we do the painting galleries? I'd like to see what they've added since the last time I was here."

  "Lead on.” He draped his arm casually around her shoulder, making her smile. “Do you come here often?"

  "Not really. It's been a while. But we used to come a lot in art school. We'd travel up here to the Met and the MOMA at least twice a year."

  "You went to art school?” He seemed genuinely surprised. “Where?"

  "Philadelphia."

  "PAFA or University of the Arts?"

  "PAFA.” It was her turn to be surprised. “How do you know about Philadelphia art schools?"

  He shrugged. “I have a friend in the trade. She's always talking about looking for new artists, so I pick it up."

  "Oh.” So this trade friend was a woman. That didn't bother her. He probably had lots of women friends. The thought tied her stomach in knots.

  "Relax, pet,” he murmured in her ear. “I'm not her type."

  "No?” She sounded disbelieving and she knew it.

  "No,” he replied emphatically. Then he leaned closer to whisper in her ear. “She has an unreasoning fear of penises."

  "Oh.” A moment later her eyes popped and her face flushed as she understood his meaning. “Oh!"

  He laughed. “She has a gallery down in Tribeca. Maybe I can take you sometime."

  "I ... I think I'd like that."

  He took her hand as they entered the main gallery. “So, where should we start?"

  "It's out of order, but can we start with Nineteenth Century? I have a soft spot for the Romantics."

  "Lead the way."

  They spent the next several hours slowly wandering the galleries. It was too early in the year for school field trips and too early in the day for the working class, so they only had to compete for space with the tourists, and those didn't stay long, rushing through the galleries so they could see everything in the museum.

  Michael asked questions about the works they passed, encouraging her to dust off her art history knowledge, long gone dormant. She would talk about the artist and period when she knew it, about brush strokes and light use when she didn't. He listened with interest and pressed her for more, filling her with an unexpected sense of pride that he found value in this part of her.

  The whole time, they were very physical, in a mostly appropriate way. They held hands like teenagers, or he'd put his arm around her. Occasionally when they would stop to study one of the bigger canvasses, he would sit back on the wooden viewing bench and sit her between his thighs, her back resting against his chest as he wrapped her up in his arms. Then he would listen attentively as she talked about the painting, nuzzling her hair and softly asking questions. It made her feel so comfortable, so pampered, that it was hard for her to get up and move on. A few times, she found herself getting lost in one of the works, only to come back to herself to find him looking at her in much the same way she had been looking at the painting.

  At one point, as they passed between galleries, he drew her into a short service hall and backed her against the wall. He pressed his body softly into hers and cupped her face, leaning down to kiss her slowly. With a hum, she coasted her fingers into his hair, opening her mouth to his soft, languid exploration. It was all about their mouths, their bodies quiet in their gentle contact. There was nothing demanding, just the simple pleasure of a lover's kiss.

  She wanted it to go on forever.

  "Ahem."

  They broke apart slowly to see the young security guard standing at the corner watching them.

  "I'm sorry, folks, but I'm going to have to ask you to move along."

  She blushed and took Michael's hand, leading him back to the public area.

  "Thanks a lot, mate,” Michael said wryly as they passed the guard.

  "Just doin’ my job, sir.” H
e touched the brim of his hat. “You folks have a nice day."

  She laughed in happy embarrassment.

  Around twelve thirty, they called it a day and went to the museum's restaurant for lunch. While they waited for their meals, he asked, “What made you decide on art school?"

  "My mom owns a gallery out in California. I've been around art and artists my whole life. I guess I never really had an interest in anything else."

  "I take it you are a painter?"

  "Yeah. I made one miserable foray into sculpture and went screaming back to my paintbrushes."

  He grinned at the image. “So, how do you describe your work?"

  "Well, one reviewer for my senior show said it looked like a cross between Roy Lichtenstein and Maxfield Parrish.” She took a sip from her water glass. “I'm not sure if he meant it as a compliment."

  "I'd love to see it."

  "I haven't done anything new in a while. I only seem to manage to get down to my studio a couple of times a year now."

  "That's a shame. It sounds like you really love it."

  "I do. I haven't had a lot of inspiration lately.” She felt a twinge of disloyalty. It wasn't Gabriel's fault. But ... No. She stopped that train of thought before it could derail a very pleasant day. Fortunately, the server arrived with their food to distract her. They ate in silence for a few minutes before she put down her fork and leaned on the table. “I feel like I've been talking about myself all day. Time to delve into some of your deep dark secrets."

  He smiled. “My life's an open book. I've got no secrets from you.” She thought she saw something flicker across his features briefly. Pain? Fear? But it was gone before she could register it, replaced with his usual cocky leer. “Want the rundown on all the birds I've bedded?"

  She snorted, but felt that jealous twist of her heart again. “Not hardly. Let's start with something simple. Why Rogue?"

  "Relic of a misspent youth. I was always conning my way through one mess or another when I was a kid. Couple of my form mates went with me to university, and the name came with them."