“You have no idea what you’re doing to me.” His voice is rough.
His steps forward are measured and deliberate like a prowl. He pauses at the edge of the mattress, his gaze dropping to the toys. He reaches out, his fingers tracing over the different textures. He doesn’t look shocked. He looksinspired. Like a man beyond ready to tap into his baser instincts.
DK picks up the leather straps, the silver buckles glint in his hands, setting my blood on fire. I’ve wanted to explore this side of myself, to really push those boundaries, but only if there was that absolute foundation of trust—which I feel with him.
His gaze shifts back to mine, his eyes dilated to near-black. “Turn around.” His voice is even raspier than before.
I do as he orders, my heels clicking on the floor as I turn to face my reflection. It wasn’t an easy journey to get to the point where I could look at my full self in a mirror without being my own worst critic. I read books, went to therapy, made a conscious effort to surround myself with women who looked like me and who lived loudly.
Now, when insecurity tries to suck me back in, the opal that sits between my collarbone is a quiet reminder that no one gets to define my beauty. It belongs to me.
The map of my vitiligo against the dark lace and pearls, the generous curve of my hips, the soft pouch of my belly, and the weight of my breasts… I no longer see a project to fix.
With DK closing the distance behind me, looming large in the glass, tapping the leather in his hands, my soul feels liberated even as my body burns with the desire to be bound.
He steps in, his heat at my back, his eyes meet mine in the mirror. A muscle leaps in his cheek as he lowers his head to kiss the side of my neck, the curve of my shoulder… I watch his teeth sink into my skin. Feeling the contrast from a tender touch to a sharp bite heightens everything. Witnessing it takes my lust to a whole new level. I moan and grip the dresser as the warm velvet of his tongue soothes the spot.
Then, he lifts the black leather. It smells rich and earthy. I’ve tried it on before, but alone I can’t get that pressure he’s able to give when he loops the straps around the swell of my breasts—pulling taut to fit one band above the nipples, the other below them. The restriction is immediate.
The hide bites into my softness, sending a lightning bolt between my legs. He’s framing me, binding me, the pressure of the straps forcing me to spill over the edges, pushing my chest forward, making my nipples stand out, dark, peaked, and aching.
He buckles the cold metal at my back. “Is that tight enough?” he rumbles, his breath hot against the shell of my ear.
“Yes,” I moan, unable to move without feeling the reminder of his restraint.
“You’re perfect like this,” he whispers, his gaze locked on the leather compressions. “Bound and waiting for me.”
My heart hammers against the reins.
DK doesn’t rush. He’s a man who understands that anticipation is half the conquest.
He reaches around to spread his hands over my belly, the flesh rippling through his fingers. They slowly climb up my torso, over the leather band to circle my nipples, sharpening them to tight points, pinching and plucking them. My back arches, his name falling from my lips in a breathless chant. My nipples are ultra sensitive, and watching him play roughly with them already has me nearing a climax.
Knowing my body, he stops. His heat leaves me as he goes back to the bed. He moves past the silicone flowers that give my nipples that vibrating pressure I use solo. Instead, he chooses the metal for that heavy, uncompromising pull that tells me he’s not looking for ‘playful’ right now.
And neither am I.
His touch is warm in contrast to the cold steel. I watch in the mirror as the clamp takes hold of my pert nipple, the weight pulling at me, creating a deep, throbbing squeeze that makes my head fall back against his shoulder.
“Okay?” He waits. His hand wraps around the curve of my ribcage to settle me.
“Yes,” I breathe as my body adjusts. “More.”
He attaches the second one, his thumb brushing over the steel, adding friction to the weight. I bite my lip on a moan
“How does it feel?”
“Like I’m caught. Like I can’t escape it.”
“Do you want to?”
“No,” I breathe, my gaze on him in the glass. “I’m all yours.”
“Loo-nah.” His eyes flare. “You don’t know how much I’ve wanted to hear you say that.” His voice is deeper, rougher than I’ve ever heard it, his accent thickening with his pulse.
“It’s a big responsibility,” I tease through heavy pants. “Keeping all this woman satisfied.”
“No better man for the job,” he rasps, giving the clamp a sharp tug.
