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The sound causes him to pull his hands away quickly, as though he’s been burned.
He says nothing.
I say nothing.
Stone moves to the other side of the table and before long, he’s repeating the process on my left leg. I don't know how long he's been working but I find myself beyond relaxed in this room. I feel safe in here, especially with him. Its like what I imagine a sensory deprivation tank to feel like and I find myself more at peace than I have been in a very long time.
But no matter how relaxed I am, I still cannot help but be aware of his every single touch. By the time he makes it to the part where he’s tucking and knotting, my entire body is on fire. Though the act itself isn’t sexual, it is sensual. We both are fully clothed, he’s only touching the bottom half of my body and nothing carnal is happening, yet this entire experience feels like extreme foreplay.
Maybe it’s just in my head.
Maybe it’s just because I am so attracted to him and I feel like we have a connection.
But then, just like before, Stone finishes the final knot and instead of stepping away, his hands shift, and I finally feel his skin on mine.
With one hand firmly planted on each of my bare feet, he begins to explore.
Moving in unison, his long fingers begin their ascent along my bent, tethered legs. Slowly, Stone’s hands work their way up my body with more pressure the further he gets. The feeling of him gliding over the ropes sends a wave of tremors through me. When he passes my knees, his hands tighten, gripping my thighs. His speed slows even more, until I’m so full of anticipation, that I begin to shake.
My body feels feverish and sweat is dotting my spine and forehead. My clothes suddenly feel far too thick and heavy, as though the heater is on full blast. His hold on me is firm and can no longer be construed as passive or accidental. No, this is intentional and has crossed the line from strictly business to sexual, quickly.
My breathing is coming in short pants that I know he can hear but it doesn’t matter because my eyes don’t have to be open to know he is just as affected. The closer he gets to my core, the more his body is bent over mine and I can feel his rapid, shallow breathing against me.
His hands continue at an achingly slow pace but he’s almost there, where I need him. My brain is so full of lust and need that no other thoughts cross my mind. I’m not thinking about the room, the bindings, the consequences. Nothing.
It’s just me and him right now.
“Stone,” I whimper, his hands wrapped around the tops of my legs and resting in the crevice between my thighs and my pussy. If his thumbs moved even half an inch, he would touch my throbbing clit.
I know he can feel the heat coming off of my core and I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he’s also aware of how wet I am. The slow, sensual teasing has me feeling like a live wire, ready to explode at any moment.
How did he achieve this response without even touching any of my erogenous zones?
“What color, sweet girl?” he murmurs, his voice thick with lust.
I know what he’s asking.
Red. Stop.
Yellow. Pause.
Green. More. More. More.
My breathing intensifies, knowing this answer will change things, knowing there will be repercussions. But I don’t care. I don’t care about anything right now, except getting his hands where I need them. Exploring this, whateverthisis with him. This all-consuming, deep connection.
I know what I want.
“Gre—”
I’m interrupted midsentence by a phone going off. It takes my lust-muddled brain a moment to realize it’s mine.
I ignore it. Stones hands flex on my thighs as the ringing stops.
“Color?” Stone growls out.
I open my mouth to answer but my phone goes off a second time, followed by his.
“Fuck!” he shouts, and just like that, his hands are gone. “It’s Gage.”
