“I’ll be good.”
He leans in and brushes my lips withhis. “I know you will.”
Then he stands up, towering over me.
First, he checks the knots on my wrists, presumably because my little panic attack tightened them before he was done. He makes some adjustments, and my wrists are held just as firmly, but more comfortable. Next, he moves down the bed, and rope loops around my ankle. He works fast, drawing it tight and tying it off to something. I don’t know what, only that my ankle is held. He starts on the second, removing my one remaining shoe with gentleness, then tying that one. And I take the opportunity to test the give on the first. I have a few inches of play, no more.
This isn’t a four-poster. The man’s a genius with rope.
“Where did you learn bondage like this?”
“Rope workshops.”
I’m reasonably certain that’s not a euphemism for nautical skills.
“Who did you practice on?”
He’s finished with my second ankle, and his hand returns to the back of my neck. “Why do you care, Tink? We all have a past. You’re my present and future. Don’t forget that.”
It’s an answer I can accept.
Alex feeds another strand of rope under my chin, draws it around my neck, then pulls it firmly against my skin. I can’t help my shudder, and I can feel it when I swallow. The loose end gets attached to the headboard, and that’s even worse, like I’m somethingto tie to his bed for his pleasure.
Which is exactly what I am.
“Don’t struggle too much now,” he warns me, “unless you’re into breath play, too.”
And that mocking comment only makes me shiver again.
He retrieves the knife and makes short work of the rest of my dress. It barely tugs against me, the material already loose, the blade sharp and his access unfettered. He draws it from beneath me and drops it on the floor, a puddle of ruined white silk and satin.
Custom-fitted couture with an eye-watering bill, and it didn’t quite make it through an hour.
“I’m assuming you didn’t want to dye that and use it for parties.”
I laugh. “No, I wanted to rip it climbing over a roof, then have it cut off my bound body.”
“That’s a win, then.”
His hand trails down over my bare back, cups my ass, and gives it a little squeeze. “These are a nice pair,” he says. “Shame to destroy them, but…”
The cold steel of the knife slides beneath my panties, running down the side of my hip. There’s barely a tug, and it lifts away. Alex repeats on the other side, then puts the knife back in the drawer.
“It’s like unwrapping a present,” he breathes, almost to himself, and slowly draws them from between my legs. The light, lacy material brushes sensuously against my aroused sex.
“That’s a picture,” he murmurs, almost wistful. There’s a short delay of nothing, then theunmistakable click of a camera phone. I bite my lip, pressing my face against my arm, my cheeks heating.
Being tied up naked doesn’t make me blush, but knowing he now has it recorded forever? Yeah, that does.
Then something cold, hard and metal slides between my labia, and my hips twitch. I didn’t see what it is, but I can guess. What else does he have in that damn drawer?
He takes his time playing with it, letting it flirt with my opening, then nudging it against my clit. My head is bowed, my humiliation intensifying, because I know what’s coming.
Inexorably, he slides it up, and up. Until it sits between the cheeks of my ass, right against my anus. I tense, but he gives me no mercy. The metal plug penetrates me, stretching me, drawing a gasp that turns into a whimper of shame as it slips inside.
It sits there, cold and hard and uncomfortable, a promise of what will follow.
Alex gives one cheek a demeaning little pat. “You know, it almost seems a shame to take your ass without warming it first…”
