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I raise an eyebrow. “I think you’re underestimating me, Zelda. I’ll take whatever I want, and you’ll like whatever I give you.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“Yes, we shall.” I throw back my vodka as Hannah does the same. And then, I take her empty glass and place it on the counter with mine, back her ass into the counter, and kiss her deeply. “Zelda,” I whisper against her lips, my hard-on nestled against her sweet spot. “What do you say we put our missions aside for the night and simply enjoy each other’s bodies without ulterior motives?”
“Zhis is precisely vhat a spy would say to provoke his unvitting target into revealing top-zecret information, Mr. Bond.”
“Call me James. And I assure you, I’m far too enchanted by the blitzkrieg of your beauty, wit, and charm to even think about manipulating you in such a devious manner. The only thing I’m aiming to provoke from you, my dear, are deep moans of pleasure.”
Hannah briefly breaks character to giggle with glee. But when she regains composure, she pushes her glasses up, furrows her brow, and says, “You are undereztimating me, Mr. Bond. I do not recommend zhe practice.”
“I’m hereby calling a truce.”
“Vell, I am not.”
With a wink, I take Hannah by the hand and lead her into the bedroom. Once there, I take her into my arms and kiss her deeply, until one thing leads to another and we’re making out on the bed in our underwear. As our arousal ramps up, it suddenly occurs to me I should probably gather some props to make things extra spicy, or else I’m likely not going to deliver on whatever expectations Hannah’s got for this role-play.
“Stay put, Zelda. I need to gather a few well-chosen implements of torture.” I get out of bed. “Got any bungee cords or soft ropes in this hideaway?”
Hannah puts her hands behind her head with a smile. “The closet in the hallway. But don’t be gone too long, Mr. Bond. I’m not a patient spy.”
“I’ll be back before you can say ‘mind the gap.’”
Hannah giggles as I leave the room, and it’s clear she’s once again not laughing in character. No, that delightful giggle is pure, delicious Hannah Milliken.
In the hallway, I grab some bungee cords from a closet and then gallop around Hannah’s apartment gathering supplies, my hard-on straining against my briefs as I go. I’ve never done any kind of BDSM before—not even light bondage—so I’m not sure how to do it. I’m willing to try my best, though, in order to give Hannah a spicy, fun night to remember while we’re forced to be apart for who-knows-how-long.
Hey . . .
The thought occurs this role-play idea might wind up serving a higher purpose for me tonight. I’ve been dying to say “I love you” to Hannah all week, but I’ve stopped myself because, rightfully, I’ve known down deep it’s still way too soon. But what if I can somehow coax Hannah to say the magic words first, through the guise of James Bond torturing the words out of her? Ha! If I can pull that trick off, then hot damn, I’ll be walking on air as I board my flight to Munich tomorrow morning.
I return to Hannah’s room, various props in hand, and discover she’s no longer lying on the bed in her underwear the way I left her. No, she’s standing at the foot of her bed, her hands on her hips, wearing nothing but sky-high heels and a smile.
I stop short inside the door, floored by the sight of her in the moonlight. Hannah’s nipples are erect. Her expression wicked. Where did she get those clear, platform heels? She looks primed and ready to dance on a pole in the best possible way.
“I’ve had a change of zhe mind,” Hannah declares in her silly German accent. She steps forward and slowly takes the bungee cords and other items out of my hands. “Get onto zhe torture platform, Mr. Bond. Ve’re going to see what top-secret information I can fuck out of you.”
I’m delirious.
Blissed out on white-hot pleasure like nothing I’ve experienced before.
I’m hog-tied to Hannah’s bed, my naked body covered in melted ice, candle wax, and traces of Hannah’s natural lubrication. It’s not what I envisioned when I scurried around Hannah’s apartment earlier collecting props for my planned torture of her. But I’m not complaining. Not when I’m having so much fun, and it’s obvious Hannah is having the time of her fucking life.
To begin with, Hannah teased every inch of my bound body with her lips, tongue, fingers, ice, and wax, before moving on to giving me a blowjob that made my eyes roll back into my head and my heart feel like it was physically cracking my sternum.
After I lost it, Zelda called me a “bad spion”—I’m guessing she peeked at Google translate while I was scurrying around her apartment earlier—and then, with that particular mission accomplished, Hannah left my slack, tethered body for dead while she showered for an eternity in the adjacent bathroom. I’m not complaining about her lengthy absence, by the way. It was an extreme pleasure to lie there, bound and sexually satisfied, listening to my girlfriend singing “Auld Lang Syne” in the shower at the top of her lungs.
