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Melody did as instructed, the clink of the attached rings to her wrist cuffs reminding her of her limited mobility.
“That’s perfect. We’re ready for the next position.” Setting the camera down, he stepped forward, closing the distance between them.
Wes crouched down and placed his hands on her calves. His hands ran over her skin and she shivered. “Do you need a break? Are you cold?”
“No, Sir. I’m good.”
“Good. Now for another change-up.”
Melody gasped in surprise when her feet were ratcheted up from flat to now being locked into position where she needed to stay on her toes.
“Can you hold that for me?”
She shifted on her toes, closed her eyes and did an internal check in. There wasn’t any pinching or discomfort, and she was able to move her hips to shift her weight if she needed to. “Yes, Wes.” Melody finally spoke confidently.
“Good girl.” Wes moved in front of her, tipping her chin to look up at him. He brushed the hair from her eyes.
“I forgot to put my hair up, sorry.”
“Guess I’ll have to do it for you.” Stepping back, he walked to the work table and returned to stand behind Melody.
Wes gathered her hair, using both hands he managed to tame it into a twist. He tugged and wrapped a band around the bundle with a skilled hand that came with being a girl dad.
Arching her back and she pulled up further on her toes, she strained to meet his gaze from her locked position. Melody adjusted her stance as best her predicament would allow. “Oh, my fuck. Sir…”
“How does it feel, Mel?”
“Trapped.” Every tug was met with resistance and despite its small size, the modified contraption held her hostage.
Wes leaned in, his breath skittered across her skin and she closed her eyes, sinking into the warmth of his presence.
She could float in fantasy for a moment.
“What else?”
Tension stretched between them and she wished her hands were free to reach for him. “Used,” she whispered, her body pulling toward him.
“How’s that, Mel? I haven’t touched you.” He chuckled darkly. “Could you imagine if I did…”
Melody strained to look at Wes as he let the words hang in the air, tempting them both.
She was torn between wanting to hide and needing him to quell the growing ache between her thighs. She was at his mercy.
Wes walked away to the rolling stool and pulled it to sit in front of Melody in her entrapment and frustratingly within reach if her arms weren’t bound.
Melody kept her gaze steady as Wes leaned in and cupped her face, stopping inches away.
“Wes?”
“We shouldn’t…” his words trailed off and he closed his eyes with a groan.
“Our first session you said this was Vegas.” Melody reminded him barely above a whisper.
His expression was unreadable, she could see the tension in his jaw, and the muscles in his arms flexed. As if he was holding back.
Wes opened his eyes and studied her face, as if he sought further permission. “If you were mine, buttercup.”
It was as if he could read her mind and see her need.
