by Amy Daws
With trembling hands, I instruct him to hop up onto the counter. He does as he’s told and holds his two fists out to me. I begin wrapping the rope around his wrists, cinching them together and nervously looking up into his eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because whatever you’re doing, it’s working,” he husks.
My eyes dart down to take in the straining erection under his jeans. “Just this does it for you?”
He shrugs. “You do it for me, Tre.” He swallows slowly and pins me with a serious look. “You should see yourself right now. What are you thinking about?”
I pause to take in the full effect of his wrists bound together. His muscles and broad shoulders tight and flexed. The soft jeans. Bare feet. It’s all…really, really hot.
“I think this is really freaking exciting,” I croak, totally unsexy. His pleased laugh has me rolling my eyes. “Try to contain your amusement and lie down, please.”
He smirks and shifts back on the counter. The movement has his abs bunching and showcasing the rivets of his perfect six-pack beneath his fisted, trussed-up hands. When he lies down on his back, he winces at the cool granite and the rivets become softer and more spread out.
I slide my hands on his forearms and pull them up to rest above his head. The effect of seeing him laid out like this at my mercy is incredible. “God, you are sexy.”
He chuckles. “So are you.”
I narrow my eyes. “I’m in a T-shirt and jeans.”
He shakes his head and looks up at the lights. “Still sexy.”
I try to hide my pleased smile as I pull my shirt up over my head and slide my jeans down my hips. It’s amazing how we’ve only had sex a handful of times and I’m already so comfortable being naked in front of him. At first, I thought I’d want the blindfold again tonight, but feeling his heated gaze on me is part of where I draw my bravery from. Gareth has a way of making me feel like a million bucks just by looking at me. He did it that night I caught Cal cheating on me, and he’s doing it tonight. He makes me feel impossibly strong.
Wearing nothing but my grey bra and black thong, I stand beside a half-naked Tarzan who’s tied up on a kitchen counter like my own personal buffet. I drag my nails down his furry chest, raking over the springy muscles appreciatively. He is such a glorious specimen of a man. So masculine and powerful, like he was fathered by the legendary Atlas himself.
Gareth’s eyes are on me as I crawl up onto the counter and position myself astride his groin, a leg curled up snugly next to his hips. “Keep your hands above your head,” I state, dipping my fingers inside the glass and grasping a large, dripping ice cube.
Air hisses between his teeth as a few drops of freezing water drizzle onto his chest. I press the cube between his pecs and drag a moist path of water all the way down to his navel. My hair tickles his sides as I bend down and drop a soft kiss on his hard, tiny nipples. I’ve noticed Gareth’s nipples are extremely sensitive, and I’ve been daydreaming all week about how he reacts when I touch them.
I continue my path downward along the ridges of his abs, my own nipples hardening inside my bra as he writhes beneath me. He twines his fingers together above his head, and his arm muscles flex with every squeeze he makes as he fights the urge to lower them and touch me.
Suddenly, my bra feels heavy on my skin. “Close your eyes,” I state, dropping the ice in the glass and reaching back for the clasp.
He narrows his gaze but obeys. I slip out of my bra, then grab a piece of ice and put it into my mouth. I lie down overtop of him, the ice peeking out between my lips as I slide it down the thick column of his throat.
His low groan vibrates against my chest as my hard nipples brush against his damp skin. The skin-on-skin contact is intoxicating as the ice melts to nothing in my mouth. “Does this feel good?” I ask, dragging my tongue along a thick tendon in his throat.
He thrusts his hips up into me, his erection pressing the needy part of my centre. “That should tell you your answer.”
With a little growl, I sit up and eye him in silent warning. “I want to hear you say it, Gareth.”
His lazy smile is adorable. “Yes, Treacle. It feels good. You feel good.”
I reach down to the firmness beneath me. “Should we get these tight jeans off?”
“Yes,” he pants, his eyes hooded as he watches me stroke him firmly over the fabric.
He brings his arms down as I reposition myself beside him. As he lifts his hips, I shimmy his jeans down his ass and off his legs, smiling proudly when I see he’s not wearing underwear, as usual.
I ditch my panties as well and take a moment to realise that I’m completely naked on the kitchen counter of Gareth Harris’ home. What a wild turn my life has taken. I’m not sure I could be any luckier as I stare at his hard cock bobbing up toward his chiselled stomach, the vein underneath looking angry and promising all at once.
I dig in the glass for more ice. Most of it has melted, so I bring it to my lips for a cool drink and grab the small chunks at the bottom. Without a word, I dip my head and slip the tip of his bare cock into my mouth.
“Oh fuck,” Gareth groans, the coldness of the ice and the hotness of my mouth tipping him into sensory overload. “Jesus, Sloan.”
His fingers find my hair as he rides my movement. A few pieces of ice slip out of my mouth and fall on the counter below him. I release him and chomp down on the remaining ice while fisting him in my hand. “Treacle or Tre, Gareth. I’ve told you this.”
“Sorry, Tre. Treacle. Got it,” he states, his eyes landing on me with a worshipful, apologetic look.
Feeling brave and curious, I ask, “Did you like the ice?”
He nods and waggles his brows. “I’d like to use it on you.”
I smile and shake my head. “That’s not what happened in the porno I watched.”
He chuckles, his tone disbelieving when he asks, “You watch porn?”
“Once,” I lie. There’s no way in hell I’m telling him that I’ve been looking up ideas for what we can do on Porn Hub all week. He’ll think I’m a total perv. “It really helped me get you under control I think.”
His abs tighten with a soft chuckle, but his amusement fades when I climb on top of him again and place his hands so they rest on his chest. “I’m going to ride you, but your hands need to stay right where they are, on your chest. Got it?”
He nods eagerly, so I position my pelvis over his tip, leaning forward a little so that my breasts are in his face. I feel his trussed fingers reach out to touch me, so I scold him with a giggle. “No touching or I’ll strap your hands above your head.”
I press my palms on his forearms for stability. The pressure pulls on his wrist restraints as I position the head of his penis between my folds.
“Christ,” he growls, watching the action between our bodies and fighting against the rope around his hands.
“Problems?” I ask, looking up at him with concern.
His jaw ticks. “I really want to touch you.”
My brows lift. “How bad?” I sink down on him just an inch and hold myself there, his arms the perfect balancing point for control.
His low groan is wonderful. “Really fucking bad, Treacle.”
I plunge down the rest of the way. “How about now?”
The veins in his arms thicken as he pulls hard against the rope. “Let’s take this off.”
“I’m in charge,” I reply, watching his eyes on me as I sit back and completely open myself to him. Grinding back and forth over him, I work myself against the incredible friction.
“You are but…” he growls, his eyes flashing all over my chest as I squeeze my breasts and roll my nipples between my fingers. He begins fidgeting to try and find a position that gives him some leverage. His tone is frustrated when he says, “This could be so much better if you let my hands free.”
“Why, Gareth?” I ask, making confident eye contact with him and arching a brow. I slowly trail one of my hands down to my centre and
make a few slow, lazy circles around the bundle of nerves. “Would you touch me here?” I moan and have to force my pleasure-filled eyes to stay open.
The crazed look in Gareth’s eyes is almost frightening. “Fuck, Sloan…Let me loose.”
He’s full-on growling now, but I’m not listening. I’m too focused on what I’m doing. I’m getting off on torturing him. This position gives me so much control as I bounce on him, making big, grinding sweeps. The pained look in his eyes has my head lolling back as I let out a low moan and relish in the feeling of him thick and hard inside of me.
I continue riding him slowly, and Gareth’s growls of anger grow more and more frenzied. He manages to find some purchase with his feet and begins thrusting up into me. Deep, punishing strokes that bring me to the precipice of release far quicker than I anticipated.
“Let me loose, Sloan.” His voice is quieter now, more controlled as he stops his delicious thrusts. “Let me touch you. You feel so good. Let me make you come.”
The need to orgasm is so strong, I hear myself croak, “Okay.”
I sit forward, his dick still rock-hard inside of me as I pull my feet out from under his arms and tuck them underneath me. I ride him for a moment longer, then grab hold of his wrists and begin fumbling with the rope. It’s distracting to have him inside of me while I try to release him, but he feels so damn good.
When I make no headway, I snap myself out of my sexual daze and crawl off of him. He lets out a pained groan as I kneel beside him and continue my efforts. Whatever I’ve just done to the knot has only tightened the tension. That can’t be good.
“What’s the matter?” Gareth asks, half sitting up. His hard, wet cock looks horribly angry. “Why is the rope so tight now?”
My hands begin to tremble as I stare down at the mess I’ve created. “I can’t get the knot loose,” I mumble, out of breath and trying not to panic.
“What?” he asks, his face leaning in close to mine to inspect what I’m doing.
My gaze snaps up to his wide hazel eyes. “I don’t know how I did this!”
“You didn’t know what you were doing?”
“No!” I exclaim and look down again, jerking and tugging, trying to find any loose areas to begin untethering something.
“You bloody well acted like you knew,” Gareth retorts, accusation lacing his tone.
“I was pretending!” I peal, lifting his hands up to see if I can find somewhere underneath to start. Good God, it looks even worse there. “Gareth! I can’t get this!”
The emotion in my voice is intense as angry red marks begin forming around his wrists. Suddenly, a shaking starts happening all over Gareth’s body. I assume he’s having some sort of a panic attack because I’m nearly crashing into one myself. But when I look up, I don’t see panic in his eyes.
He’s laughing.
He’s laughing like crazy.
He has tears running down his face because he’s laughing so hard. I’ve never seen him like this. It’s really disarming.
“This isn’t funny!” I scream, releasing his hands with a hard thrust and shoving my fists against his chest so he falls back on the counter.
“I beg to differ,” he replies, but it’s barely audible through his deep, booming laugh.
“This isn’t funny! It’s mortifying!” I run a hand through my hair, doing my best to calm my nerves so I can figure out what to do next. It’s difficult because Gareth’s abs are tight and defined as he continues roaring. Occasionally he looks at my crestfallen face and that sets him off further. I’m only halfway serious when I punch him in the gut and add, “We’re going to have to amputate.”
Gareth roars once again. Finally, I can’t contain it any longer. I crack a smile. Before I know it, I fall onto him in a fit of giggles. I end up losing it so much, I get a cramp in my calf muscle and have to roll off of his chest to clutch my leg.
He seems to find that even funnier.
“Fuck you,” I groan, wiping tears from my eyes. “This is such a mess. I was trying so hard to be sexy.”
“Mission accomplished, Treacle,” he retorts, his amusement dying down so that only the delicious crinkles on the edge of his eyes remain. He is quite a sight right now. Belly-flipping sight, and it has nothing to do with the fact that he’s naked.
“Don’t call me that,” I groan, sitting up and ignoring the tender look on his face. I slip off the countertop and place my hands on my hips. “I’m an imposter. I don’t deserve the name.”
With affectionate, smiling eyes, Gareth guides me to a pair of kitchen scissors in a drawer. As soon as I cut and all the rope twists loose, he’s off the counter and all over me. His heat warms my trembling body as his hands fork through my hair and he twirls us so my back presses against the kitchen island. His hot breath is licking tantalising kisses up my neck as he husks, “Perhaps we need a safe word after all.”
I burst out with a giggle and cover my hands over my eyes. “Yes. I think a safe word is wise considering I totally screwed tonight up.”
Gareth pulls away from my neck, looking down at me with a fiery smile in his eyes. God, he’s sexy in this moment. I make a mental note to make him laugh more during sex because it is the best form of foreplay I never ever had with Cal.
With a teasing waggle of his eyebrows, Gareth grabs my hand and places it on his dick. “Does that feel like you screwed anything up?”
I can’t help but giggle. “What does that say about you?”
His body vibrates with a silent chuckle. “That I’m a bloody freak for you.”
With the echo of my giggles, Gareth grips me by the waist and lifts me up onto the counter. He spreads my legs out wide and hooks his hands under my knees to pull me to the edge.
Our smiles both fall as he positions his tip between my folds and thrusts into me, unapologetic, hard, and bare. My earlier excitement is still present between my legs. Honestly, seeing him so relaxed and carefree has only further stoked my desire for him.
He grinds deep inside of me, swirling his hips and hitting that G-spot he seems to have a direct map to. It’s unimaginably perfect as my nails score over his shoulders. The growl that rumbles up his throat in response is so damned hot, I feel close to coming already.
“Make this slow, Gareth. Make it count,” I state, then lick my lips and look down to where our bodies connect.
He slams into me one more time. “Oh, I plan on it.”
“You know you can stay here if you ever want to,” I say as Sloan gets dressed.
“What?” She gazes up at me, pushing a strand of chestnut hair out of her eyes.
I try to come off casual even though I feel anything but. “I’m just saying it’s been kind of late the times you’ve left, and if you ever want to crash here so you don’t have to drive home in the dark, you can.”
“How would that work?” she asks, furrowing her brow at me like I asked her a complicated math question.
“What do you mean?” I slide my hands into my pockets and follow her into the foyer.
She pauses in front of the door and turns on her heel to eye me. “Would we cuddle?”
A smile spreads slowly across my face over how serious she looks. “I’m not a huge cuddler.” I reach out and smooth a strand of hair that’s sticking up above her ear. “But I could be convinced if you wanted to. You’re in charge after all.” I wink.
“No.” She shakes my touch away, but the heated look in her eyes tells me she likes it.
My hand moves to her wrist, and I trace small circles on the inside. She watches my finger as I lean in and whisper in her ear, “If you slept in my bed, you could assault me any time you wanted.”
“Oh, is that right?”
Her tone is teasing, but I’m not losing my edge. “I would be at your complete mercy.”
“Such a giver,” she cajoles, pulling back and smiling up at me. She sucks her lower lip into her mouth, and my body roars back to life.
I lift my brows. “It would be a tough job, but I’m
pretty strong. You can feel my muscles if you want.”
She whacks me on the chest, then chews her lip more thoughtfully. “You know, Thursday would be good.”
Her reply puzzles me. Our first week together, we saw each other every night. Is she trying to see me less? “So you won’t be coming out here tomorrow?”
“God no!” she barks.
I deflate.
“I mean, yes!”
“Wait, what?”
“I mean, of course I’ll be coming out tomorrow and the next day. I’m free all week!” She gestures between us and her face falls. “Unless you don’t want me here that much?”
“No, I do!” I reply quickly, then bite the inside of my cheek. Get control of yourself, Gareth. You don’t want to look like a completely sex-starved wanker. Tanner has that look on lockdown. “I just don’t understand why you want to spend the night on Thursday in particular.”
She relaxes instantly, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear as she replies, “Oh, well, it’s Thanksgiving on Thursday?” She says it like a question.
I tilt my head curiously. This is not anywhere near where my head was going. “I’m somewhat familiar with that American tradition.”
She purses her lips nervously. “I could like cook for us, maybe?”
My brows lift. “You cook?”
“Sometimes.” She shrugs. “I mean, I’ve never cooked Thanksgiving dinner completely by myself, but I think I can handle it. But I know you’re an athlete, so maybe you can’t eat certain stuff.”
My reply is instant. “I can eat stuff.”
She smiles with an adorably hopeful twinkle in her eyes. “It’s just, it’s kind of a special holiday to me. I think it would be fun to actually make a meal and, I don’t know…Celebrate. Last year, I travelled home to my mom’s. Every year before that I was busy with work, so I’ve never actually celebrated it here in England. I’d really like to, though.” She looks awkward and quickly adds, “But after we eat, we can totally fuuuck.”
I fight back a laugh at her horrid attempt at sounding cool. “Is that part of the Thanksgiving tradition as well?”
