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He hisses. “Good. Now spread your legs and play with your pussy, but remember I fucking own it.”
He falls backward as I slide up the bed, squeezing my nipples. Lying down on his pillows, I slip over the black silk and close my eyes, inhaling the smell of his scent. Sexual masculinity. It’s intoxicating. He is fucking intoxicating.
Music starts playing. Not too loud, but enough to hear. And then the lights are off and all that’s illuminated are the LEDs that surround his king size bed and the outline of the floor and TV. I’m locked and caged in his bedroom, the very one I used to sneak into growing up. Keaton has never been involved with any girl. He’d mess around, sure, but none of us have ever seen him with any one person seriously.
Candi doesn’t count.
“What do you want from me, Cartier?” His voice is baritone, but sensual. As if he has smoked one thousand cigarettes and burned the back of his throat. He hasn’t. We all know he hates smoking. “Answer.”
My head shifts to the side, peering up to where he stands beside the bed with the button of his jeans undone. His body is art, but not the kind you stare at to admire. It’s the kind that you sell because you think it’s cursed.
I lick my bottom lip before my teeth sink into it. His eyes follow the movement as his cheeks redden.
“Cartier…” he warns. “You’re testing my patience. Answer me.”
“I want you to do whatever you want to me…” I move my hand down my stomach, my thumb tracing the line that dips below my belly button before it stops right on top of my Kiznitch star that’s inked below it.
His eyes narrow. “You should be punished for tonight.”
My mouth curves slightly. “I know.”
Leaning down, he sinks his fist into the mattress beside my head as he runs the tip of his nose over the bridge of mine. “I should fuck Candi in front of you.” The whisper of his words slaps me across the face. Undiluted jealousy rages like a wild eagle deep in my belly. I’d kill him for sure… but… when the rage disappears, intrigue takes its place. Would the excitement turn me on? Or is it just the probability of me strangling him after he’s done it that will?
There’s no way I could handle that. I’m entirely full of shit. “Do it.”
He rears his head back as if I’ve slapped him across the face before standing up straight. Seconds pass between us, like a silent battle of who is more stubborn than the other. I know he would. There’s no doubt about it at all that Keaton would fuck her right in front of me just to make his point. Why do I like to test him?
He snickers, falling backward while pulling open the drawer in his bedside table and removing a black satin box. He momentarily stares up at me before going back to the box as his finger runs across the edges. “Know what this is?”
The song changes to “Savages” by Kerli. I shake my head slowly, my finger grazing my clit.
He holds my stare, flicking open the lid. “Good answer.” He places the box on his bedside table and removes the belt around his jeans. I wait for him to drop it, but he brings it to my head.
“Lift.” I tense my abs as he slides the belt beneath my head, sitting it around the base and tightening it around my eyes. Lights out, all dark. My breathing deepens, my chest lifting off the bed. His lips touch my cheek. “You’re going to wish I fucked her instead.”
Doubt it.
The music becomes louder. As if I can hear every word she’s singing, every strum of the beat. Keaton and I have always been free with the bedroom activities, but I’ve never had him blindfold me. And I’ve never had anyone blindfold me with their belt. The distant notes of worn leather tantalize my senses. I just want him inside me.
“Keaton.” I stifle a moan. “Please just fuck me.” I press my thumb against my clit, circling it harder, but he whacks my hand away and rope touches my wrist on that hand, and then my other. Panic squeezes my body like a hug I didn’t ask for. Cold. Damp.
“Cartier?” I hear Keaton come back in. “I said, do you want out?”
“What?” I breathe, resting my hand against my sweaty chest. “No? What happened?”
“You left me for a second. I can take shit away—”
“—no!” I give him back my wrist. “Do it.”
“Sure?” he whispers, and it’s not the same tone he used for me moments before. This is the Keaton I know all the time, not the one in the bedroom. The one I want. No. Need. Right now.
“Yes, fuck.”
The other loop links around my other wrist and he pulls back, latching my hands to the anchors at the top of his bed. My cheeks burn from excitement. It’s intoxicating being around him like this. Existing with him in this moment. Right now, I’m not Cartier Nero, the new CEO of Midnight Mayhem Enterprises. Right now, I’m simply Cartier.
My laughing stops when something cold touches my thigh. It’s not hard, it’s something else. A material. Leather.
Flipping me over from my hips, I land on my tummy and squeeze the ropes on each wrist as he runs the tip of the what the fuck is this? Whatever it is, over the swell of my ass cheek.
