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I nod.
“Use your words.” He lifts his hand from my jaw.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good girl.” He goes to the wall. “Tell me when.”
Edwin ghosts his hands over the instruments of torturous pleasure. The paddle, the feathered bow, the belt–
“There.” My entire body jumps as his hand touches the crop like it’s somehow an extension of me.
His fingers trail down the leather. “You like this?”
A knot of pleasure builds in my belly. I nod.
“Words, swan.”
“Yes.”
“You want to feel it.”
“Yes.” The word is a mere breath.
Edwin chuckles. “Well, you’ve been so good, I don’t see why I shouldn’t reward you.”
He unhooks it from the wall, the muscles on his forearm bristling as he works it into his grip. He’s done this before. The movements are innate, choreography built into his muscles.
Circling to the side of the bed, he looks down at me with the intensity of a hawk. “We’ll have to do some preparation, of course.”
I’ve never been one to take it slow in the bedroom. Sex is messy and uncomfortable, and most men don’t know or don’t care enough to do better.
But here? Now? All I want is for Edwin to take his time with me. Have him tease me until I can’t take it anymore.
I want him to break me down and build me back up.
Edwin’s hand touches my thigh, running up my skin until it reaches my underwear.
Wanting no barriers between us, I lift my lower body the best I can, my hands clenching in their restraints.
He slides the tiny piece of fabric off me and then pushes it into his pocket. “For later.”
“You’re dirty.”
Edwin’s eyes narrow.
His hands caress my thighs, first one, then the other.His hands are mapping my skin, and he is so close and yet so far from where I want his hands.
He just looks at me and massages my thighs for a while, until three sharp slaps hit each thigh in quick succession. All in different spots.
All the air in my body leaves me to be burned by the heat spreading from those scorching hits.
Then he just steps back. He admires my exposed body. His eyes fall to my blushing, gushing center, and he groans like he’s some sort of sculptor who is taking in his finished work.
Suddenly, he engages the crop against my thigh, a tiny whisper of touch.
I gasp. A torturous, pleasurable churning starts in my belly.
“Leather is one of the most luxurious materials.” He moves the crop back and forth against the inside of my thigh. “Expensive leather is soft and supple.”
