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He follows my gaze and then presses his forehead to mine. ‘Have you ever been tied up?’
My eyes flare wide and I shake my head. I’m not weirded out by kinky shit, but Pietro and I had the most perfunctory sex life you can imagine, and beyond that my experience is pretty limited.
‘I...no. I...haven’t had the opportunity.’
He’s straddling me, and his weight on my hips is so pleasing. He rests on his haunches as he sits up straighter, sliding the belt from my fingers with an expression that is darkly watchful.
He loops the belt over, forming a teardrop shape, and he presses it to my shoulder, his eyes still on mine.
He runs it lower, to my breast, dragging it over a nipple that is hard and tight, screaming for him to take it into his mouth. He lifts the belt and then slaps the end on my nipple. The pain is not a bad one. It is an intense awareness that starts in my abdomen and spirals uncontrollably through my body. I curl my toes and bite my lip.
‘Are you afraid?’
I shake my head. I’m not. I’m so turned on.
He leans forward, running his tongue over the nipple he’s just slapped, rewarding it with his mouth, flicking it gently until I am incandescent with an overload of sensations. He catches one of my hands in his and then the other, bringing them to rest in front of me.
‘I have wanted to do this since the first day I met you.’
‘I thought you’ve wanted to fuck me since the first day you met me,’ I remind him of what he said in the maintenance corridor.
‘I’ve wanted to own you,’ he says simply.
‘You can’t own another person.’
His look is meaningful; my heart lurches. ‘You think?’ and I don’t know what to make of that, and I don’t have time to process it. He’s expertly weaving the belt between my wrists and then pushing my hands higher up the bed. The bedhead itself is a wide piece of padded fabric, but on either side it is supported by a timber frame. He slides one end of the belt in the gap between fabric and wood and brings it back out again, slipping the tail of the belt through the clasp and tightening it, just enough to push a sharp breath of surprise from my lips as the leather pinches around tightly clasped wrists.
‘It occurs to me that I can’t touch you.’
‘Is that a problem?’
‘I do like touching you,’ I say huskily, a smile on my lips.
His laugh is like caramel running over my flesh. ‘You’ll get your turn.’
He drops his mouth back to my breasts and I moan as he grabs the nipple he’s already tormented with pleasure between his forefinger and thumb and squeezes it. I pull at my arms instinctively and the leather bites into my wrist.
‘You are so beautiful.’ His stubble, which is really just a five o’clock shadow, is scratchy on my stomach as he moves his mouth down to my thong. He grabs it with his teeth and I cry out at the feeling of his mouth removing my underwear. It is so intimate to see him with my underwear so close to his face.
I need to feel him inside me. I need it immediately.
‘Connor,’ I whimper, pulling on my arms once more.
‘Yes, Olivia?’ He sounds so patient. So calm. As though he’s not being torn apart and shredded by this desire as I am.
‘Fuck me.’
He laughs. ‘Like this?’ He brings his mouth to me, his tongue lashing my clit and I cry out as he flames my desire with the equivalent of a hydrogen bomb. I am wiped out. I explode. I incinerate.
I jerk on my arms and the bed makes an audible groan. I curl my legs, and he grabs my knees with both hands and pushes them down flat to the mattress, without moving his tongue from me. I am saying his name, over and over, an incantation into the room, filling it with magic. Or maybe that’s him and me—our magic, us.
He moves his mouth away and I am torn—I am grateful for the reprieve of pleasure and yet desperate for its resumption.
But his fingers touch me, running down my seam before he pushes inside me. Two fingers, strong and confident, swirling against me, tormenting nerve-endings that are already at breaking point.
‘You’re fucking beautiful when you come,’ he grunts and brings his mouth back to my clit as his fingers stay inside me. The second he lashes me with his tongue I fall apart, my muscles squeezing his fingers, embracing them, as I give way to the destiny of this.
‘Perfection,’ he says.
