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“No, please, Graves, please. What if I forget?” she said.
The troubled look on his face made her want to wrap her arms around him, hold him, love him. But he didn’t like to be touched. So she waited, pleading with him with her eyes to tie her up and have his way with her.
The line of his jaw was squarer than ever. “Damn, Chlo…the handcuffs could hurt you if you writhe too much.”
She panted. “Please. I want to do it your way. Your way.”
He waited a moment, then he walked to his closet and came out less than ten seconds later. Her eyes scanned down the length of his corded arms but she was disappointed to see no handcuffs in his hands. Then she spotted the Hermès tie, the same orange one she’d seen him wear, and her womb gripped with pure female thrill.
He guided her wrists together and all the time watched her expression with possessive eyes that made her bones feel like butter. He ducked his head as he tied her hands gently in front of her, and as he did so, his scent stormed through her like a windstorm. He smelled manly and expensive and her lungs burned for more of his scent as he at last secured a firm knot that kept both her wrists together.
“Too tight?” he asked softly, his lips so close to her temple that she felt them brush against her skin as he spoke.
She shook her head, said in a low, sultry voice, “Just right,” and then he scooped her up again and finally set her down in the center of the bed. She stretched her arms above her head and buried her hands under the feathery pillow behind her, his sheets soft and silky against her skin.
She could hardly believe that at last she was here, in the exact place she wanted to be. With rose petals un
der her skin, silky cotton sheets…and him.
Oh, God, she wanted this man so much she would implode with it.
She wanted to pleasure him, to drive him so crazy, to make him want her as badly as she wanted him so that he would never, ever, deny her again…
“Are you planning to join me?” she urgently whispered while goose bumps broke along her flesh as the cool air of the AC caressed her skin. Expectation swam through her, lust hotly soaking her vagina until she was certain she couldn’t stand one more minute of being alive without having him inside her.
Graves stood at the side of the bed and caressed her with proud, appreciative eyes, starting to undo his shirt, button by button, his gloriously muscled chest revealed as he smiled in a way that that undid her.
“Unless you want to change your mind—yes, Chlo. Today is the day you stop being a virgin. Tonight you’re mine.”
Mine…
My God. The sight of her, tied and naked, in her panties, in his bed, was going to give him a heart attack.
Quick and easy was flying out the window so damned fast Graves just didn’t know if he could be gentle with her. Holy God, she was so beautiful. So damned beautiful his eyes blurred as he took in her adorable, desire-softened expression, her delicate curves, her perky breasts with the puckered pink nipples begging to be licked and sucked and kissed, and all that silken gold hair spreading out behind her over his Sferra sheets. His chest moved with emotion, and when he finished unbuttoning his shirt, he almost tore it as he yanked it off, anxious to be rid of his constraints.
She watched him with eyes darkened with need, writhing on the bed with her hands tied above her. “Graves, please fuck me, I feel like I’m dying.”
But Graves was sure the one dying was him.
He leaned over her as he worked on his belt, and her eyes were pools of desire as she glanced up at him. “I’m not only going to fuck you, Chlo,” he rasped in a thick voice once again, tossing the belt aside with a clatter, and allowing his thumb the luxury of memorizing the texture of her plush bottom lip. “I’m going to lick up all your cream…and when you’re squirming for me to lick more, I’m going to suck you up until you feel every pull of my tongue up to each of your little fingers.”
Fuck, he wished he didn’t have to tie her up. But if she touched him, he’d lose it. His mouth burned with the want to kiss her again, feast from her lips and drown in them. But if he did that…he’d lose it, too.
God knows he felt like he was the virgin.
Chloe’s arousal intoxicated him. Her lace panties were so wet he could see the dampness at their center, could smell her enthralling female scent through the scent of roses. He wanted to hear her scream his name. Scream Graves until she didn’t know anything or anyone anymore, much less Luke Preston.
She mewed anxiously, calling his name, arching up in beckoning. With his pants half undone, Graves bent his head and hungrily nuzzled one breast tip with his lips, then latched his mouth firmly around the pebbled peak.
He used his wet tongue to lave it, then gave strong, hungry pulls that arched her body up to his mouth while his fingers curled around the flesh beneath and helped to push it upward. He added his teeth, and his cock throbbed at each of her soft, abandoned moans. God, he was leaking cum in his pants already, he wanted her so much.
His blood roared in his ears as he switched breasts, suckling the taut, diamond-hard nipple on the other side. His eyes rolled to the back of his head from the pleasure, excitement, and arousal swimming in his veins as her gasps echoed in his ears.
Ravenous for more of her, he slid one hand down her lovely flat navel, stopping only to tenderly circle her belly button, and then he dipped lower to cup her over her lace panties. “Open your legs, Chlo.” He could barely make out his voice through his own roaring heartbeat.
Her thighs swung apart.
He hooked two fingers on her panties and withdrew them from her legs, shaking with the need to own her, brand her, lick her. He wanted to worship her, revere her. “Jesus, what is this?” Her pussy lips were bare, and a shudder racked through him at the delectable sight of those swollen pink pussy lips. His voice was a terse rasp and barely audible. “Did you shave that just for me, princess?”
