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“No, Fox. Other than the fact that I won’t have any to wear home.”
The evil leer that spread across his sexy face suggested he approved of that predicament.
“If you were mine, I’d need to open an account for you at Victoria’s Secret. The way the scissors make you shudder is . . . entertaining.”
He slid the metal up the crease of her leg to her belly, circling her navel before returning to the hollow inside her hip. The scissors opened far wider than necessary as he slid the string at one hip between the blades. Rather than making the cut immediately, he moved them back and forth, his gaze hooded. With painstaking slowness, he closed the scissors. Her breath quivered in her throat, the tension of waiting for it to happen feeling like the momentous buildup before a stellar orgasm. The dark lust in his gaze hinted at the violence that lurked beneath his usually flippant veneer. He apparently liked scaring her and had loved hurting her during the punishment, if his hard-on was any indication.
Playing with him was feeling decidedly less safe. She trusted him to stop if she safeworded, but how easy would it be for him to comply?
The snip, when it came, made her moan aloud. The quiet slicing sound was followed by the shred of fabric slipping aside, baring her. Rather than shove the remaining side down her leg, he moved the scissors to the other side, toying with her there awhile before cutting that side away.
For a long, heart-stopping moment, he gazed at her nakedness before he stood to lay the scissors aside. He retrieved a black case the size of his palm from the pile of stuff on the bed. When he approached her again, there was nothing friendly or humorous about his smile.
“Mmm . . . Will you look at this?” He grabbed her ankle, squeezed, then slid his hand up her calf and thigh, his touch getting progressively lighter the closer he got to her pussy. “You get so quiet and biddable when you’re trapped.” He popped the case open, and gave it a considering look.
The anticipation was killing her.
“What’s in there?” she whispered, a bit ashamed of herself for not just waiting like she should have.
He arched a brow. Shit. Was he the type of guy who’d get pissy at being questioned? Without a word, he turned the case toward her. It held a dastardly assortment of makeup brushes and feathers. Tickling? Crap, she’d never last. Her skin already felt shivery just looking at them.
“Do you want to tell me where you hid the tracking device now, or are you choosing to be tortured?”
Damn. The man made the word “tortured” sound exhilarating.
“How long are you going to torture me for?”
He shrugged. “No clock in here. I have to warn you, though. I love this game. I can play for hours, so if you think you’re going to outwait me, it’s not going to happen.”
Hours? She was so horny that two minutes might do her in.
“Go for it.” She tried for nonchalant but her shaky voice gave away her apprehension.
His eyes glittered, but he smoothed his expression. Leaning over her, he kissed her lips, a sweet, reassuring kiss that gradually stole her breath before he pulled away. When she strained after him, he smiled with mock regret then stroked back her hair.
Right. No fraternizing with the enemy.
The first thing he chose was a fat blush brush. He moved to the side of the bed then dragged the brush down the outside of her arm with a firmness that felt pleasant and didn’t tickle. Down her leg he went, then up the other until he completed the circuit at the other arm. He started over, the next stroke lighter. It made her try to jerk her arm away, but trussed up as she was there wasn’t much she could do.
The brush skated over her belly, up between her breasts, then circled each of them in turn, avoiding her aching nipples. Need that already burned flamed higher—fast—far too fast for her to control her reactions. Her body undulated under the shivery assault of the brush, trying to shy away from it, but failing. There were no breaks. He was relentless.
Each shudder and gasp he won from her brought a fresh wave of mortification. He was barely touching her—it shouldn’t be turning her on so bad, considering he hadn’t gone near anything particularly sensitive yet. She’d seen the feathers and envisioned doing a lot of giggling, but there was nothing funny about this.
He drew the brush down her belly to her thigh and tickled her there, then moved around to the foot of the bed and went to work on sensitizing her thighs. Every molecule in her body felt like it was straining toward him, begging for him to be kind and thoroughly fuck her.
“Where is it hidden, Addison?” His voice was so quiet that for a moment she thought she’d imagined it.
“Please fuck me, Fox.” The words were out of her mouth before she realized they were in there.
He smiled pleasantly, calmly, which made it all the more maddening. “Bad girls don’t get cock, sweetness.” She forced herself not to whimper in disappointment. “You tell me what I want to know, and I’ll give you what you want.”
Rather than waiting for an answer, or giving her a reprieve, he kept working on her. Closer, closer he got to her pussy. Teasing her with a few flicks of the soft bristles against the bareness of her labia. Why the hell had she waxed for this guy? It made this torture thing too easy.
She strained her legs wider apart, and dug her heels into the mattress to try to trick him into touching her harder, but he yanked his hand back.
“Bad girl,” he repeated, frowning at her. “Now look at what you made me do.” He reached into the black case and drew out a pristine white feather. “Such a naughty girl.”
Oh god, shut up before I burst into flames.
