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I watch as he dips his finger in the liquor and flicks it across my breasts, like little liquid freckles. My wrists strain against the bonds as he licks each one, the flat of his tongue dragging across my skin like an erotic massage. I swallow, my mouth dry, when he dips his finger in his whiskey and paints it across my lips.
“I’d have a smoke,” he says with that raspy, guttural tone, “but I want you to kiss me.”
Even now, when he holds full control and power over me, when he could hurt me so easily it’s comical, he gives me this. This one taste of autonomy.
His hands on either side of me, he braces himself above me. I briefly wonder what strength he needs to hold himself like that over me. “Kiss me, Vittoria.”
He bends his mouth to mine. My eyes flutter closed. With my wrists tied above me and my body splayed out before him, every sense is heightened and aware.
I need him. Oh, God, I want him so badly I nearly cry.
I lift my head as far as I can go, and I kiss him.
The rough feel of his lips mingles with the fiery whiskey. I lick his tongue, inhaling his masculine groan. If my wrists weren’t bound, my fingers would be buried in his hair and my legs wrapped around his body. As it is, my body pulses with desire, every breath and heartbeat making my core ache with need. I want him. All of him. And he’s barely touched me.
Too soon, he pulls away. “You kiss like a fucking goddess,” he growls in my ear. “Fucking goddess.”
“Thank you.” I feel shy and a little flattered.
Kneeling beside me, he drags his fingers down my thighs, one knuckle gliding over my sex. “Such a perfect little pussy you have.”
“Thank you,” I repeat, the flush returning to my cheeks. He says wicked, dirty things as if he’s talking about the weather, and somehow the nonchalance of it all turns me on. Apparently there’s nothing he could say that wouldn’t flatter me right about now. I swallow hard.
“I want to shave you.”
I blink, blood pounding in my ears. “What?”
“Shave you. I want to shave you.”
I didn’t notice him taking out his blade, the same one that he used to shred my dress. He flicks it open. He isn’t… there’s no way…
“I’d make it good for you, sweetheart,” he whispers. Instead, he raises it to my head and, with the gentlest flick of his wrist, he slices a tiny curl of hair. It falls to my breast, and he blows it away. My skin erupts into goosebumps. “Which means I can’t do it tonight.” He shakes his head sadly, as if he’s disappointed.
“Why not?” I ask, even though I really don’t know if I actually want him to shave me.
I watch as he sobers, the teasing glint in his eyes gone. His voice drops to a lower register, and he grabs my chin between his fingers. “Because tonight, you’re being punished for your disobedience.”
He pushes off the bed and walks away, leaving me breathless and trembling. Earlier today, he dragged me over his knee for a spanking. What devilry does he have in mind now?
Chapter Sixteen
“Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast.” Romeo and Juliet
Vittoria
I lose track of how many times he kisses me, his teeth grazing my skin as often as his lips, until my flesh feels fevered and chafed. Bracing himself on either side of me, he blows out a warm breath, and my nipples stand at attention.
He told me he’d punish me. He wasn’t lying. The throb of need with no relief in sight, heavy between my thighs, is all I can think about.
We share one shot after another, as he drips the whiskey on my tongue with the pad of his finger. I lick and suckle. He paints the whiskey on my lips and suckles it off. My head feels lighter, my mouth dry. And still, I crave more.
When he dips his mouth to my thigh, my hips jerk.
“Ah, bella mia,” he says with a shake of his head. “I’ll never reward your disobedience.”
This whole time, I didn’t really know how he meant to punish me. The spanking over his lap earlier seemed like a good starting place, but maybe he knows a part of me liked that. But when his tongue parts the seam of my pussy, realization dawns on me with blinding clarity.
“Romeo,” I plead, at the first swirl of his tongue on my clit. “Oh, fuck.”
The slap to my thigh is instant and corrective, but sends a jolt of heat straight to my core. “Language.”
I nod. He rewards my compliance with another swipe of his tongue. I scream when his teeth graze the tender flesh, only to ask forgiveness with another perfect lick. He holds my hips between his hands, his calloused palms rough on my naked skin, while he eats me out like a starving man who found manna in the desert. I close my eyes and moan.
