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“Say yes,” he mumbles against my clit.
I don’t know what that’s going to accomplish, but I comply because there’s an orgasm barely out of reach and I want it. “Yes?” It’s more of a question than anything else, but it’s the answer he’s looking for, apparently.
He growls triumphantly and I roll my eyes, but they stay that way when it’s followed by the mother of all clit sucks, causing me to come and scream his name. Loud enough for everyone within a ten kilometer radius to hear.
My eyeballs don’t even have a chance to unroll themselves before Horace fits himself between my orgasm-weak thighs and pushes inside.
He braces his weight on one arm and grins down at me. “You.” Thrust. “Said.” Grind. “Yes.” Thrust.
“You told me to say yes, like I’m going to ask questions when I’m seconds away from coming.” I wrap my legs around his waist.
“Doesn’t matter. You still said yes.” His voice holds a so-there-neener-neener tone.
I let him enjoy his false sense of victory while he’s fucking me, because I’m nice like that.
Post-sex round five, I’m still tied to his bed as Horace dresses in a crisp suit, while staring at me. I can’t decide if it’s creepy or hot, or creepily hot. Regardless, he looks sexy as fuck, and I’m sincerely hoping he’s not batshit crazy and I haven’t inadvertently become a victim of kidnapping.
“You can’t keep me tied up all day,” I tell him. He frowns. I’m unsure how to read that expression, so I continue to make my case. “It’s Christmas Eve. I have to work this afternoon, and
tips are usually sweet during the holidays.” Or so Elodie assured me. “Also, I’ll need to use the bathroom at some point.”
“Right. Of course, darling.” Horace sits on the edge of the bed and drags a single finger along the inside of my arm, causing a shiver to trickle down my spine. He quickly loosens the tie, giving me the use of my hands again. “What time do you get off work?”
I flex my fingers as the blood flow returns with pins and needles. “Probably around five.”
“I think you should quit.” He flips up the collar of his dress shirt and slings the tie around his neck.
“I can’t quit.”
“Yes, you can.” He ties a windsor knot without the help of a mirror. It’s pretty impressive, much like the way he Houdinied his way out of last night’s restraints. “Now that we’re engaged—”
“Whoa.” I sit up, the sudden movement giving me a head rush. “Engaged?”
“You said yes,” he reminds me.
“Seriously, Ho? I was seconds away from an orgasm. You could’ve asked me for anal and I would’ve said yes.”
“Anal’s on the table?”
“No. Well, not right now. Maybe. That’s not the point. The point is, everyone knows that orgasm-related promises don’t hold water.”
His face falls. “Why don’t you want to marry me?”
“I don’t not want to marry you. I just think maybe you’re jumping the gun a little, you know? Sure, I give a mean blow job and my vagina is tighter than a clenched fist, but don’t you think one night and five rounds of sex is a little early to tell if we’re soulmates beyond our love of The Cure and history?”
“We could have a long engagement.”
I applaud his conviction. Either that or he’s delusional. I’m quite flattered by the marriage proposal, but I feel like it would be a smart idea to make sure he’s not a complete and utter nutter before I go committing myself to him for the rest of my life.
I pat his hand and give him a gentle smile. I’m hopeful my nudity helps soften the coming blow. “You said you’re here in Paris for another two weeks, right?”
“That’s correct.”
“How about this, we shack up for the next two weeks and see how things go? It’ll give us a chance to get to know each other a little better. And we can fuck up a storm.” Best Christmas gift I could ever ask for, really.
He ponders this option for a few long moments while playing with my fingers. “I suppose that’s reasonable.”
“Great,” I say cheerfully. “ Do you want to check out my apartment before we decide whose place we’re going to spend the next two weeks boning in?”
