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Oh, this isn’t going well.
“Just knock and enter!”
“I don’t know if I can enter and smolder. I’m wondering if it might be more … uh … smoldery if you answered the door and I’m just, like, standing here. Smoldering.”
He yelled all of this through the door crack and I wondered how many people in the Mansion were listening and giggling, because I could barely contain myself.
“Will, just come in, okay? We can skip the smoldering entry.”
He whipped the door open and stepped in, his face flushed. “Sorry about that. Maybe I can work on that at home. Where do you want me?”
“Why don’t you come sit here and just … try to relax,” I said, indicating the blue velvet armchair next to the divan. I was surprised at how calm I sounded, how soothing my voice was, how I seemed to exude competence, how goddamn sexy I felt.
As he crossed the room, I stood with one fist on my hip, the other arm hanging casually at my side, my breasts lifting ever so slightly with my breath. Will made his way to the armchair, never taking his eyes off my dress, my breasts, my face. As he got closer, he looked like he was experiencing a kind of warm remembrance, his whole body easing up. That’s it, I wanted to say. That’s how you do it. But I didn’t want to make him self-conscious.
“Here?” he asked, pointing to the chair, eyebrow up.
“There,” I said.
He lowered himself, his legs parting slightly. Cocking his head, he regarded me with something like bemused pride.
Yes. Finally he was getting it.
Now it was my turn.
I took a few steps towards him, teetering ever so slightly in my heels, until I was almost standing between his legs. I am doing this, I thought. I bent forward, placing my hands on the arms of the chair.
“So, Mr. Foret,” I whispered, bringing my glossy lips to within inches of his. “How shall we play today?”
I saw him squirm, his Adam’s apple rise and fall.
“I’m happy to do whatever you think is best.”
His right hand automatically rose to touch my breasts. I sprung upright, realizing exactly why Angela was right. The restraints were the only way to go. I couldn’t have Will’s hands on me. To let that happen was to lose control of the session. And myself. I turned and walked to the mantel for the red satin ribbons, then returned to Will, who was now anxiously massaging the arms of the chair.
“With your permission … these will help you concentrate better,” I said.
He watched with fascination as I bent to secure him to the chair. Around and around I wrapped his arms, tying the ribbons not too tight, not too loose, avoiding eye contact, but the heat off his body, his breath on my shoulder as I leaned over, was almost too much to bear.
“Do I have to tie your ankles to the legs of the chair or do you think you can manage to keep them still?”
“I … I think I can manage,” he said, tugging slightly to test the binding around his arms.
I took a step back and looked down at him, desire building inside me like a small storm.
Locking eyes with him, I took my fingers and traced the crisscrossing lines of the wrap dress, down to the side knot. Will watched my fingers and made a small sound in his throat as I worried the knot free and let the dress drop open. Beneath it I was naked.
“Cassie,” he said, almost involuntarily. “I—”
“Shh! It’s not your turn to speak.”
I shrugged the dress off my shoulders and let it fall to the floor; I was naked, my taut breasts before him, my nipples sensitive and alert.
Will took a long inhale, and I watched him grow erect through his jeans, both our eyes following the movement. I bent forward, placing my hands on his forearms, and agonizingly lowered myself to my knees before him. I brought my face to his bound hand, rubbing across it like a cat, keeping my eyes on his eyes, noticing how his hands twitched, longing to touch my hair. Then I took his index finger deep into my mouth, calmly encircling it, sucking it hard. He threw his head back and let out a low groan, that signaled this was all too much, that just me sucking his finger was already killing him.
I let my other hand travel up his leg and firmly across his thigh until it was over his erection. Then I rubbed through the denim until his eyes registered an aching disbelief at this great, great fortune. I untucked his shirt, undoing it one button at a time, spreading both sides back to see his beautiful torso, which wasn’t as cut as it had been while he was doing the renovations, but I loved how this added layer bulked him up, made him seem more manly and vulnerable at the same time. I let my hands linger across his pecs, moving them over his skin the way you touch something you might only get to hold once.
“Your hands on me, Cassie, feels so …”
