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December 29
Fifth Day of Christmas
Five Gold Rings
When she awoke on her fifth full day of vacation, Miguel slept next to her, buried face-down in a pillow, barely draped in a white sheet. The morning sun poured in like liquid gold, burnishing his dark skin, making him into a lean sculpture of a man.
Once again she congratulated herself on such a fine vacation find.
Letting him sleep—for surely he needed it, given the way they’d spent most of the night before—she took a long, refreshing shower. He hadn’t moved by the time she emerged, so she wandered naked out onto the sun deck. The discreet servers had come and gone while they were out last night, cleaning up the dishes and clearing away all evidence of their long Saturday of decadence.
Copying Miguel’s method, she called down to room service and asked them to send up breakfast in the elevator. In the mood for a big Sunday brunch, she ordered everything that sounded good—and made sure they put it on her room tab.
When Miguel emerged nearly an hour later, bleary-eyed and sexily rumpled in the white silk pajama bottoms, it was her turn to hand him his coffee—black and strong. He took in her plate—heaped with biscuits, sausage gravy and eggs, next to a half-demolished Belgian waffle with amaretto-caramelized bananas—and shook his head.
“I was starving.”
“So I see.” He kissed her on the forehead, sat and began to fill his own plate. “I’m surprisingly hungry today, too.”
“All that exercise yesterday.”
“Indeed. Speaking of which, how are your...tender areas today?”
He seemed to be much more relaxed today. Expansive, with all signs of the wolf bled away. She wiggled her naked bottom on the chair. “Not too bad. Kinda sore.”
“Not surprising. We’ll save more strenuous activities for tonight. Care to do some sightseeing?”
“Yes!” She pointed a forkful of waffle and whipped cream at him. “But I’m not going naked.”
“The thought never crossed my mind.” He smiled, that charming lawyer grin that meant he planned to get his way. “I know exactly what you’ll wear.”
It turned out to be a simple oufit—a white, thin cotton halter sundress, reminiscent of the dress Marilyn Monroe wore in the famous skirt-blowing-up scene. Tilda put it on, then tied the halter a bit more loosely so her nipples didn’t show through quite so much. However, when Miguel added the gold clamps to her nipples, he made the halter tighter than she had. She thought about arguing propriety, since they were going out in public, but he had her holding the full skirt over her head while she straddled his lap and he stroked her clit to throbbing life before slipping in her silver bullet and clamping on the alligator clip.
By the time he let her go, she was campaigning for another day of sex by the private pool and had forgotten about how the dress looked. He promised her the five gold rings for later in the day, told her to stop whining or he wouldn’t let her come for the rest of the week, and whisked her into the elevator.
They traveled around, playing tourist in the various shops. And he teased her, too, sliding a hand inside her halter to tweak her clamped nipple when no one was looking, sitting next to her at their waterfront table for a late lunch—ostensibly so they could both enjoy the view—but more to lightly rub her swollen clit under the tablecloth.
When they returned in the afternoon, Miguel suggested sunset cocktails on his private terrace and she readily agreed. “Though it’s not sunset yet.”
“We’ll find a way to pass the time.”
His warm hand rested on the small of her back, guiding her into the glass elevator. He pulled her into his arms for a searing kiss, her stomach swooping, not only from the rapid ascent. The ties at her neck slipped away, leaving her suddenly bare breasted, the gold spirals winking around her tight nipples.
“I love dresses like this,” he grinned with a wicked slant, then slid his hands up under the full skirt to squeeze her naked bottom and press her against his erection. He had her panting in moments, only the ding of the elevator doors opening penetrating her senses. “However, I’d like you to go take this one off. It’s time for your rings. Meet me in the master bath. Wear nothing at all—not even jewelry.”
Deeply curious, that thrill of suspense quickening her blood, she hung up the dress and met Miguel in the spacious tiled bathroom. A jewelry box of mirrored gold sat on the counter. He positioned her in a narrower alcove, in front of the walled glass mirror. She looked surprisingly lean and brown in the reflection. The circular clamps held her nipples upthrust, glinting like primitive jewelry, and the gold clip on her clit showed through the damp curls at the vee of her thighs. Her face held a wild, sensuous expression, characteristic of her recent transformation from Type A CEO to...what? Sex slave wasn’t something she wanted to be, much as she loved the games they played.
Miguel handed her the box and stood behind her, watching in the mirror while she opened it. She’d guessed this one then. A gold torque necklace encircled four smaller rings, bracelets and anklets. All were simple, polished metal bands, light and flexible, but clearly sturdy. To close, one end inserted in the other, forming a seamless circle. She sighed, for their beauty and for how deeply the symbolism both moved and frightened her.
He smoothed his hands down her arms. “Yes?”
“It’s not a gift, right?” For some reason, it seemed important to establish that. “Just for the game, just for this week.”
A shadow crossed his face and he nodded, a bit curtly. His hands, though, remained gentle, trailing down to span her waist and brush over her hips. “For the next week, however, any time we’re together, you will wear them and you’ll think of me when they touch your skin. You’ll remember how you feel when I put my hands on you.” He urged her stance wider, pushing two fingers to scissor her clit. She shuddered and dropped her head back on his shoulder.
“Yes,” she agreed. Meaning the acquiescence in every way. Just for this week.
Without another word he took the box from her and knelt down. He fastened one gold loop around her ankle, the lock snicking closed. Then he edged her foot closer to the wall. A latched hook was inset, that closed easily over her anklet. She would not be able to tug away. He repeated the process with the other foot, so she stood splayed in the alcove doorway.
