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I could feel it in every word.
“You own my body. That’s the difference. It’s yours. Every bit of it.”
He soothed my breast by blowing warm air against it. “Mine.”
“Yes.” I was lit. Vibrating. “It’s you I want.”
He walked around the table until he was in the middle and aimed his mouth just above my pussy.
My clit cried; my fingers balled into fists.
He lowered just a smidgen more to scrape his beard against me.
I almost attempted to shut my legs, needing the friction from the closure.
But I couldn’t.
I was restrained.
I just had to tolerate the ache.
He rose and took a few steps back until he was standing at the base of the table, viewing my entire body, admiring his work.
The redness on my skin.
The wetness.
The way I was spread wide, making me completely vulnerable and at his mercy.
Despite his disappearance, I still trusted him with my body. Even though we had little experience together, I had a feeling he knew what I could handle, and I was positive he knew what I enjoyed.
He respected our safe word. In fact, he had been furious when I misused it.
So, I didn’t lie on this table, worried about what he was going to do to me.
I lay here, desperate for him to touch me.
But he didn’t move as he continued to gaze at me. He didn’t even place a finger on me.
“Leaving was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.” He crossed his arms, like preventing himself from touching me was a punishment. “Six hours, and I have to do it again. Fuck, I don’t know how—”
“Then, don’t.”
His eyelids narrowed. “Do you know what will happen if I don’t get on that plane?”
My heart suddenly came back into play, the question reminding me of the hurt I’d felt when I realized he really wasn’t coming back. It was that feeling I focused on.
That feeling that stabbed my chest.
Especially because, in the pit of my stomach, I felt that, this time, he wouldn’t ever be coming back.
The burning of the rope, the slapping of my flesh—neither could compete with this pain.
His pending departure was far worse than anything physical he could do to me.
From the foot of the table, his palms landed on the leather between my legs, and he leaned forward, his expression a mix of emotion that I couldn’t quite place. “They’d find me.”
They?
