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Deacon tied her hands together and secured them above her head.
I glided my palms down her thighs, along her calves, and to her ankles, kissing along the same path I touched, before securing her feet wide apart to the bed frame. “Deacon’s right.”
“About a lot of things,” Brooke said. “What specifically?” There was a quiver in her voice.
I studied her, bound and at our mercy. “You are gorgeous and I’m already thinking of tying you up like this again and again, and all the things we can do to you.” I meant to sayIcould do to her, but I didn’t want to correct myself.
“Me too,” Deacon said. “Except yours probably hurt a little more.”
I raised an eyebrow. “How do you figure?”
“Only one of us is a sadist.”
I shrugged. “Your loss. Besides, you like watching.”
Deacon grinned. “Guilty.”
“You’re in luck, because it’s showtime.” I grabbed a bottle of baby oil, poured a generous amount in my hand, and handed the bottle to Deacon.
“Is that part of the play?” Brooke asked.
“Yes.” I worked my way up one of her legs while Deacon started on her stomach. “And it’s part of the clean-up.”
He and I took our time covering her generously with oil and making her moan and glisten in the process.
I grabbed one of the candles, and the wax that had pooled at the base. “I love painting a blank canvas, but I’ve never had one that looks like you before,” I said to Brooke.
“Painting?”
“With all the pretty colors.” I dribbled a few light drops along her arms, where she should be less sensitive, to gauge her response.
She sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth when the hot wax hit her skin.FuckI loved that sound and the way she instinctively jerked against the ropes. It was incredible, hearing her and watching her stretched out for me to do with as I pleased.
I moved to her ribs next, alternating between rhythmic drips of color, and drizzled lines. Then down to her stomach. Each time wax hit her skin, Brook squirmed and whimpered.
“Does it hurt?” I asked.
Heryeswas a jolt of want inside. “But not in a bad way,” she said.
She might as well have taken my entire length in her mouth.
The longer I worked, the more I fell into it. I didn’t want to talk, I wanted to paint. To pick out those spots on Brooke that were soft, tender, and extra sensitive. Along her pelvis. The tops of her breasts. Her inner thighs.
The sounds she made were incredible, and the design that lay in front of me was more stunning than anything that hung in The Louvre.
She was writhing and panting and tugging against the ropes.
FuckI needed her.
I barely had enough sense to roll on a condom after I freed my cock. Note to self—next time ask beforehand if we could do this without protection. With a tug in the right place, the ropes on her legs fell away. I shoved her panties aside, and thrust my cock inside her.
She was so slick and tight, and feltsogood. I wanted to hammer until I was spent, but instead I rested there, and moved my thumb to her clit. I teased and coaxed and stroked, watching her in fascination as her breathing grew more shallow. As the colors flexed and moved and broke along her skin. As she clenched her hands into tight fists and tugged against the ropes.
And when she came, her scream of pleasure was as delicious as her grunts of pain had been. She clenched around me, and I pushed her harder, drawing out her orgasm until she tried to pull away. I coaxed her into another orgasm, and when I felt her squeeze me for a second time, in a powerful clench, I pressed her knees to her chest and fucked her hard.
I let go of the last of my restraints and lost myself in her. In knowing Deacon watched us while he stroked himself. He hadn’t come yet—he knew better.
Need tightened in my muscles and in my balls, coiling through me until I was wound tight and ready to snap. Orgasm tore from me, and I slammed inside Brooke with abandon, until I was spent.
