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But I couldn’t tell if he was at all happy about that fact. I glanced at his neatly made bed—dark blue striped comforter, pristine white sheets and pillows—the bed he’d fucked other women on. Women I’d heard whimper and mewl from my side of the wall. The thought made my stomach twist, and not in a good way. I closed my eyes and took in a long pull of air. What was wrong with me? Any guy I slept with would’ve screwed other girls in his bed. That’s how beds worked.
Except mine. He’d been the only one in my bed, the only one to leave the faint scent of his cologne on my sheets.
When I opened my eyes, I saw that he’d followed my line of sight to the bed. He looked back to me, and I expected him to lead me there. Instead, his lips curled at the corner. “You wear your thoughts on your face, angel.”
“I—”
He pressed his hand over my mouth. “Enough talking. I think your mouth has gotten you in enough trouble tonight.”
I stared up at him, my words clogging in my throat and my thoughts splintering.
When he was apparently convinced I wasn’t going to say anything else, he dropped his hand from my mouth and tugged at my T-shirt, yanking it over my head. I didn’t have anything sexy beneath. I’d thrown on comfortable things after getting out of the shower and coming back to help Pike with Monty. But it didn’t matter, because Foster clearly wasn’t there to linger over lingerie. He unsnapped my bra and tossed it to the side, leaving me naked from the waist up. He cupped my breast greedily and with his other hand, grabbed my hip to drag me against him. His erection was a hard promise, the straining denim of his jeans brushing my belly.
“It’s not even fair how fucking tempting you are,” he said, his thumb teasing my nipple and making everything in me arch toward him. “Tempting and too damned brave for your own good.”
He gave my nipple a firm pinch, and I gasped. “I’m sorry?”
He smiled but there was a darkness behind it. “Yeah, you may well be when all is said and done.”
His hand slid up from my breast over my collarbone, then curled around my throat, briefly applying pressure there before moving up to grip my jaw. He held me there, his cool blue eyes tracking over my face, the slope of my nose, the curve of my mouth—like he was evaluating an item before purchasing. I didn’t dare move. Then he lowered his head and dragged the tip of his tongue along the seam of my lips. I shuddered at the sensual jolt the simple move sent through my nerve endings. Automatically, I opened to him, and he nipped along my bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth and sucking gently. Every move was methodical, deliberate—like he had all the time in the world.
But I didn’t. My body was screaming already, needing something that only he could give me. I’d gone wet and achy the moment he’d grabbed me and stopped me from leaving the room the first time. Patience was not an option. I pushed up on my toes, trying to go in for a full kiss, but he immediately pulled back and hauled me against his bedroom door. The door rattled against my back, and my breath rushed out from the unexpected move.
“No, angel, that’s now how this works. You’re here for my pleasure tonight. If I want to go slow, we go slow. If I want to tie you to my bed and lick every part of you but not let you come, I’ll do that. Your only decision is whether or not you use your safe word.” He crowded me against the door, his breath hot against my ear. “You understand?”
Every errant thought in my mind seemed to fall away, everything zooming in and focusing on the man in front of me—the rumble of his voice, the night-air scent of his skin, and his firm words falling against my ear. My response came out as a whisper. “Yes, sir.”
“Very good,” he breathed, the heat of his chest brushing against my already sensitive nipples. “Though, hard and fast has its merits, too. Turn around and put your palms against the door.”
“But—”
He grabbed my shoulders and spun me toward the door. “Wrong answer. Hands on the door, Cela.”
My palms landed against the wood with a smack, and Foster yanked my scrub pants and panties down and off, leaving me like some criminal preparing for a pat down. My brain was spinning, my anxiety like electrical pulses hopping along my spine. What was he going to do to me with my back turned? My imagination went on a wild ride down way too many paths. I peeked over my shoulder, needing to see what was happening, but a sharp slap to my thigh had me yelping.
“Eyes forward,” Foster said, no emotion in his voice.
I snapped my focus back to the door, fighting my knee-jerk instinct to tell him to go to hell, to grab my clothes and walk right through the door I was braced against. He’d warned me. He was trying to scare me. Or piss me off. Break me and my demand to see him this way.
Footsteps sounded on his hardwood floor. His closet door squeaked open. It took every bit of my self-control to not look back at him. A minute or two passed and then his body heat was radiating on my back, his scent filling my nose. “Raise your hands above your head.”
I did as I was told, and he grabbed one of my wrists. I glanced upward to watch him wrap smooth black leather around it. A cuff. He slipped a finger between the leather and my skin, checking how tight it was, then strung a chain into the metal loop on the outside of the cuff. Blood rushed through my ears, the white noise sound pulsing with my frantic heartbeat. Sweat dampened my neck. Foster strung the length of chain through something above the door—a black eyebolt that I hadn’t noticed before. Once he had it threaded, he hooked a matching leather cuff to my other wrist.
When he released my hand, my arms lowered a fraction, the cuffs holding me in place with only a bit of slack. I jerked at them, the metal links rattling, but there was no slipping through the cuffs. I was now chained to the goddamned wall in the bedroom of a guy I thought I knew—but maybe didn’t know at all. The feel and the sight should’ve scared me shitless. But instead of the pure fear of danger, it was like the anxiety of getting on a roller coaster for the first time—adrenaline coalescing with anticipation . . . and trust. Trust that no matter how terrifying the ride, the cart wouldn’t fly off the tracks.
But when Foster squatted down behind me and locked cuffs around my ankles—cuffs that were attached to each other with a metal bar—my this-is-just-a-thrill-ride mentality faltered. Words tumbled out of me. “You don’t have to lock me down. I promise I won’t run.”
“Not now you won’t,” he said, a wicked smile crossing his face as he looked up at me. “And this is the B in BDSM, angel. You don’t know what it does to me to see you like this—all bound and helpless.”
He rose from his crouch, gliding his hand up from my ankle over my calf and thigh, sending hot shivers twining through me. I pressed my forehead to the door as his touch moved higher.
“I like knowing that I can do this to you.” His fingers slid along my folds, revealing just how embarrassingly wet I was, before tucking inside me. I whimpered and, instinctively, I tried to clamp my thighs together—the stimulation after so much waiting almost overwhelming me. But the bar between my ankles didn’t allow me to close them even a little. “And you can’t do a damn thing about it except stay open to me and accept it.”
“Foster,” I whispered, not sure what I was asking him for.
His fingers slipped out of me, and then the length of his body was pressed up against my back. He was still half-dressed, the cool touch of the metal button on his jeans like an ice cube to my overheated skin. His left hand collared my neck, and his right hovered in front of my face, his index and middle fingers shiny with my arousal. “Taste, Cela. Taste how goddamned sexy you are.”
I clo
