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“I don’t have any rope,” she said. “How about a bathrobe tie?”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
August was out of bed in an instant. He switched on the little bedside lamp. Then he picked up her armchair and moved it next to the bed.
He started to sit. “Don’t you dare!” Lia said.
“What?” he asked.
“You’re naked. We do not put our balls on my dead grandmother’s favorite chair.”
“Prissiest madam in history,” August said to himself. He found his jeans and drew them on quickly, then pulled the cord from her bathrobe.
Lia couldn’t believe it when he tossed it to her, turned his back and said, “Tie me.”
“Are you really serious?”
He turned back around and sat on the edge of the bed. He crooked his finger at her, and she sat up to face him.
“David lied to you.” August took her chin in hand. “If I can make you come with my hands tied behind my back, that will prove you are completely capable of having an orgasm with someone, and David was the problem, not you. Will you let me do this? Please?”
Lia was strangely moved by his little speech. Enough that she said—and she could not believe she was saying it—“Give me the cord.”
He gave her the makeshift rope. He again turned his back to her and brought his wrists behind his back.
Lia had never tied up a man before and she had to admit—not aloud—she rather liked the process. August stood perfectly still with his hands at the base of his spine, putting up no fight whatsoever as she took the white silk cord of her bathrobe and looped it around and around his wrists. Lia found herself getting unexpectedly breathless. August looked incredibly erotic in that pose—back to her, jeans loose around his hips, shirtless and tied up. He stood in the perfect contrapposto pose, relaxed and loose as if it were the most natural thing in the world to him to be tied up by a girl.
She took her time with the cord, enjoying the view, enjoying the intimate contact with his skin.
“Too tight?” she asked as she ran her finger under the rope to make sure there was room to wiggle.
“Perfect,” he said. “Finished?”
“Um...almost.”
Lia checked the cord again, though it was perfectly in place, not too tight, not too loose. She just wanted to be near him like this...like he belonged to her, like he was her property she had tied up with a bow.
“You can touch me,” he said.
“I can, can I?”
He looked at her over his shoulder.
“I want you to,” he said. “I need it.”
She shivered at the soft plea she heard under his words. When he said things like that to her, things like “I need it,” she believed him. Stupid boys were always going on about how they “needed” it, but this wasn’t like that. When August said he needed it, he sounded like a runner needed pavement or a swimmer needed water or a priest needed prayer.
When her fingertips touched his back, in that vulnerable place just under the rib cage, he inhaled a quiet breath. She pressed her lips to the center of his back, where the spine met the neck.
August exhaled from the depths of his soul. He faced her and brought his mouth to hers. She felt no shyness at all as she put her hands on the sides of his neck and kissed him. His mouth opened to her immediately, letting her tongue inside. He held nothing back, nothing of himself. No fear. All freedom. He kissed like a man who’d never had his heart broken. He kissed like he was never afraid he would never be kissed back.
“August...” she said against his lips.
He pressed his forehead to hers. “Are you ready?”
She nodded, eyes closed, scared but excited. “I think so.” Slowly she opened her eyes.
August looked at her intently, a teacher to a student.
