“Let me go,” I gasp.
Conflict slashes across his face. “I can’t tell if you’re serious. We need…a word. If you really want to come down, say ‘mussels.’ Okay, angel?”
I’m amazed to find how secure and happy that verbal trapdoor makes me feel.
I smile at him to let him know I appreciate his thoughtfulness.
“Okay.”
He nods and eases forward, his palms dragging upward along the curve of my hips, his gaze hooded and fixed on my breasts.
“This dress is such a dick tease, Vida. Turned my balls to fucking lead the second I saw those little thong lines through the material.” He hooks a finger in the yellow neckline of my strapless dress and tugs slowly downward, my wrists twisting in the leather manacles when he keeps going, going until my bare breasts are revealed to his eyes. “Oh my God. They’re so fucking perky. Jesus Christ.”
“Stop,” I demand, my toes struggling for purchase in the sand, but I’m too high up to gain any footing or leverage. All I succeed in doing is twisting in the air—but that weightlessness makes my tummy feel funny. Like that bottomed-out feeling when a roller coaster takes a steep drop. But there’s no bottoming out. The tickle just lasts and lasts andbuilds. “Let me down!”
Tripp traps a moan in his throat, his eyes closing, as if he’s overwhelmed by his own fantasy. But when his lids lift again, his gaze is glazed. Lust drunk. He reaches out and grips my jaw, holding me steady. “I’ll let you go when I’m ready.”
It’s not a challenge for me to look scared.
Because Iamscared of what’s happening to my body.
At how being tethered and at his mercy makes me feel…sexual for the first time in my life.
And when Tripp continues to peel the yellow dress down my body and I whimper, yanking on the knotted belt, a tide begins to rise inside me. Like a wave of heat busting up against the barrier of a dam. Needing to get to the other side.
“Oh, fuck me, look at that tight-ass body,” he rasps, my dress slipping off my feet now, down into the sand, leaving me dangling from the lifeguard tower in a simple white thong. “It’s not fair,” Tripp breathes, raking the tips of his fingers down the front of my body. Over my peaked nipples and lower, down my bare stomach, playing with the waistband of my thong with a single index finger and making me shudder hotly. “It’s not fair that the softer and sweeter the body, the rougher a man wants to be.” He makes a sound in his throat. “You’d make a man want to be the roughest of all. You make…mewant to be so fucking rough.”
“No,” I sob, jerking in the restraint. “No, please. Let me go.”
Don’t let me go.
He heaves an unsteady exhale and unzips his pants, his huge hand disappearing into the opening, his head falling back on a husky groan, that sinew of his forearm rippling as his fist moves inside his khakis. “Oh God. Oh God.”
I struggle harder, swinging my legs, the leather groaning overhead. “Stop! What are you doing?”
“You know what I’m doing. You made me do this. Made me so fucking hard.”
Before I can respond, Tripp is yanking my dangling body up against him with a growl, ripping the thong down my thighs with his left hand, letting it fall into the sand. I’m completely naked now, and he palms my backside in a grip that is somehow raunchy and reverent at the same time. Stroking. Manhandling. His eyes are bright, communicating a state that is beyond arousal, and I bury myself in them while he slaps my ass. And I love the way it feels. The reverberation. The sharp daggers of lust unleashed by the cracks of his palm.
My neck has loosened, my head lolling. My ears buzz with sound.
I’m trapped by the belt. I’m trapped by the race my body is running to an unknown finish line—and I almost reach that elusive point when Tripp finishes spanking me, then wedges his hips between my thighs, yanking them up around his waist.
“I should fuck you like a rag doll,” he says, mashing his teeth up against my mouth. “Shouldn’t I, you little virgin sacrifice?”
Alarmingly, perhaps, my brain screamsyes.
“No,” I choke out. “No!”
He looks me in the eye and…I feel it.
He’s rubbing his erection through my flesh, the sound of my wetness harmonizing with the crash of ocean waves.
“You’d be so tight,” he says, licking the side of my face, chin to temple. “But I’d still nut so deep it would be disrespectful, huh?”
That smooth, bulbous tip slips over a spot at the top of my slit, and I cry out, every cell in my body going on high alert.
Oh.
