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Suddenly, the idea that Landon had complete autonomy to drip his hot wax wherever he could reach on my body felt a little more sinister. Just as I was letting nothing turn into a slight bout of panic, he bent his neck and pressed his lips to the spot where the first drop of wax had landed. With his tongue, he detached it from my skin and then pulled it away with his teeth. He pulled the small circle of wax from between his teeth without breaking eye contact.
A shiver of pleasure throbbed in my lower belly.
Okay. If the game is that every bit of wax is going to get cleaned up by his mouth, then sign me up.
He dripped four more spots of wax from my sternum down to my hip next. The most painful was the one that landed near my belly button.
Landon bent again, sucking off the wax from my breast, my chest, and all the way down to my belly so that his face was nearly between my legs. A pleasant, warm hum was growing down there—like a familiar song working its way toward the crescendo. Except there was nothing familiar about this song, and I had no idea how far we were from the climax.
“Our brains do strange things when it comes to pleasure and pain,” Landon said. He spoke in an almost distracted way, like a master explaining his craft while his hands were busy with the work. “While different, they are similar in surprising ways.”
Another drop of wax.
I squirmed, fighting the urge to bat at it with my hands as the sense of scalding heat lasted two heartbeats, then three. This time, he didn’t make me wait before using his mouth to sooth away the sting. He carefully kissed the spot. After the heat of the wax, his mouth felt deliciously good, like slipping into crystal springs on a hot day.
“But sometimes,” he said. He set the candle down and started to strip off his tie, then his jacket, and then he worked his way down the buttons of his shirt. Each button revealed more and more of his well-muscled torso. “Sometimes all it takes is the memory of pain to intensify the pleasure.”
I turned his sentence over in my head a few times, trying to puzzle out exactly what that meant was coming next. First, he’d slapped me around with his little leather stick. Not so bad. It had been more like getting hit with a feather because he had such a light touch with it. Then the wax had been a step more extreme, but I’d also thoroughly enjoyed the part where he removed it with his mouth.
So, what came next? Was he going to throw baseballs at me and then try to soothe away the sting with a vibrator? Or maybe his fingers?
“Why are you grinning?” he asked.
I cleared my face. “No reason,” I said meekly. Maybe because I’m thinking stupid, silly thoughts? Or because it feels like if you so much as lay a finger on my clit, I’m going to explosively come?
Landon considered me, then let his shirt fall to the ground. For all his iron and seriousness in here, I didn’t fail to note the distinct bulge in his pants. It helped to remember that no matter how awkward I might feel laying here and being completely out of my element, he was still enjoying this.
I was waiting for him to dig something new out of his little bag of tricks below the bed, but instead, his hands went to his belt. My eyebrows climbed as I listened to the soft, tantalizing jingle of him pulling it free. His pants slid down just a fraction of an inch, giving me a glimpse of the sharp way his muscles cut diagonally down toward his cock. I wondered how much trouble I’d be in if I reached out and touched it. The thought was tempting, but I also was far too curious to see what he’d do if I kept behaving, so I controlled my urges.
I heard him kick off his shoes, then he pulled off his socks and pants. He was only wearing a pair of black briefs that made the outline of his erection deliciously clear.
Watching him undress was fascinating, and not just because he was built like an underwear model with the face of a brooding movie star. He was so unabashedly confident. There wasn’t an ounce of self-consciousness, even though he could clearly see me feasting with my eyes as he stripped for me.
He looked down at the drawer where he’d pulled the riding crop and candle from, then hesitated. His eyes flicked back up to me, almost as if a thought occurred to him—a thought he was trying to push down.
Landon kicked the drawer closed, then reached to pull me toward the edge of the bed and roll me on my side so I was facing him. “Suck my cock,” he said. “And don’t use your hands.”
