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Meanwhile, Voss unzips his slacks, pushing them down his thighs over hard, chiseled muscles that look strong enough to crush me.
I reach inside my shirt and slide my arms from the loops of my bra, pulling the garment out of my sleeve and letting it fall to the floor.
He corners me, setting a palm to the wall beside my head, like a cunning wolf happening upon a small and unwitting rabbit in the woods. Reaching down between us, he hikes my skirt to just below my bare sex beneath and takes a moment to squeeze the back of my thighs.
In the mirror across from me, I look disheveled. Messy. The embodiment of sexual repression unleashed.
Dragging his fingertip down along the edge of my crisp, white shirt, he grazes my nipple, seeming to study me as he drags it back up for another pass. The sensation of his finger over my diamond hard flesh sends another wet rush between my thighs.
“Stay put.”
He crosses the room to the tray that stands beside the small kitchenette, and opens the bottle of wine, popping the cork, before pouring two glasses. Setting the bottle back on the tray, he pauses and lifts what looks to be a long, silicone stopper for the bottle, twisting it around with some unsaid curiosity. A quick glance back at me, and he moves to the sink, pumping a small bit of soap over it, and flips on the faucet.
Washing it?
Instead of pushing the stopper into the bottle, he flips the cork and plugs the opening with it, then returns carrying a glass of wine and the stopper.
Eyes narrowed, I instinctively back up a step. “What are you doing?”
“Drink some wine.”
“Not until I know what you plan to do with the wine stopper.”
“I plan to fuck you with it, Nola.”
I back up another step and frown.
“I’m a bit of a naturalist when it comes to sex. We’re surrounded by things—props and toys—that make it so much more exciting. Yet, half the time we don’t even use the shit.”
“So, you brought me up here to get yourself off, is that it? To get your fucking jollies watching me bang a wine stopper?”
“When was the last time you went outside of your comfort zone?”
“Never. I’m pretty sure that’s why they exist, ya know? Boundaries.”
“Boundaries exist to box you in. To make you fear what’s on the other side of them.”
“Boundaries keep others from venturing into places they don’t belong.” I wriggle my finger toward the stopper. “Keeps you from feeling unnecessary pain.”
“No one knows that better than me, Nola.” Snorting a laugh, he sets the wine down on the nightstand beside us. Without warning, he slaps his hand to my mouth, his big, imposing body pressing into me, until the wall hits my spine.
The shock tightens my muscles into a strange paralysis, every muscle trembling with adrenaline.
“But let’s say, for a second, that you step outside those boundaries,” he whispers, and licks his lips. “Say that you make yourself vulnerable for a minute.” He twists the stopper in front of me. “What if it felt fucking incredible to let go like that? Could you, in all your tightly-wound up morals and virtues even imagine such a thing?” His eyes are on me, thick with lust and challenge, and I can feel my heartbeat soaring in response. The cool silicone tickles my thigh as he traces it up and down my leg. “You think it’s appalling to fuck something so common as a wine stopper. But what if it felt good, Nola? How ashamed would you feel getting off on it?”
Teasing the hem of my skirt with the object, he keeps his hand pressed to my mouth, his warm cinnamon breath beating against my throat, where he drags his tongue, just before his lips clamp down.
“Ah!” My muffled cry arrives as more of a whimper behind the barricade at my mouth.
The stopper trails up my skirt, only grazing my exposed slit. “I’ll make a deal with you. Let me fuck you with this, and if you don’t come, I’ll let you watch me fuck myself with it.”
Part of me wants to laugh at such a bold statement. This man doesn’t know as much as he thinks he does about my body to make that kind of a deal.
“Are you willing to go outside your boundaries, Nola?”
The tip of the stopper presses against my seam as he gently draws up and down over my clit. Penetrating gray eyes study me, burning with intrigue and what I surmise to be a small bit of amusement.
My knees turn weak, eyes heavy with a foreign rush, and I nod.
