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“I don’t want anyone stealing my shit.” He grabs the little glass pipe from the box and holds his hand out for the jar. I set it in his palm and watch him pack the bowl of the pipe, then grab the lighter. “Want the first hit?” He holds them out, and I hesitate before grabbing them.
“It’s been years since I’ve smoked,” I admit as I hold the pipe to my lips.
“Oh, it’s like riding a bike.” He grins as I inhale a deep lungful of smoke, my eyes immediately watering as I try to hold in my cough. I try to hold it for a second, but release it as I cough, the smoke billowing from my mouth in a giant cloud.
I cover my mouth with my fist as I shove the pipe and lighter at him, still having a coughing fit. Tears leak down my cheeks and my chest aches, my head feels light and floaty, but I feel good.
He laughs before taking a hit, much larger and more impressive than mine, then releases the smoke without coughing. He stares at me as I try to recover, that stupid smile still on his face.
“Fuck,” I hiccup, then laugh. I wipe the tears from my face as he takes another hit and holds the pipe out to me again. “Ian’s going to kill me.” I grab it and take a deep breath before inhaling more smoke.
“Should I get him to smoke with us? Then he can’t get mad,” he says, and I shove his shoulder.
“I’m not smoking with my kid, asshole,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“Be a lot cooler if you did,” he says, trying to adopt a different accent.
“Fuck off, Matthew McConaughey,” I laugh. “Was that you trying to sound like him?” He nods as he grabs the pipe from me again. “That was God-awful.”
“I can’t be great at everything,” he says with a small shrug.
“I didn’t realize you were good at anything.” His head snaps toward me, his eyes sparking as he takes in my sarcastic grin.
“You better watch it,” he says, putting the pipe and lighter back in the box and setting it aside.
“Yeah?” I shift toward him, my eyelids feeling too heavy. “Or what?” His jaw tenses as he flicks his eyes between mine, then drops them to my chest and back up. “Make it more obvious.” I roll my eyes, but he tackles me to the bed mid-roll.
“How’s this? Obvious enough?” he breathes as he straddles my hips and yanks the neck of my tank top down to expose my bra.
I nod as I fumble with his shirt, trying to pull it over his head. He whips it off before dropping over me, catching himself on his forearms by my head before pressing his lips to mine in a bruising kiss. I wrap my legs around his waist, holding him tightly to me as he kisses down my jaw, to my neck.
“Let me tie you up,” he says against my skin, his voice vibrating through me. “I’ve wanted to tie you to the bed and have my way with you for days.” I catch his lips with mine and drag my fingers through his hair, tugging lightly on the ends.
“No,” I breathe, and he starts to pull away, but I hold onto his hair tighter, keeping his face near mine. “I want to tie you up instead.” He pauses, then smiles against my mouth. He kisses me again, harder than before, then flips onto his back and kicks his boots off as he shimmies out of his jeans.
I roll off the bed, stumbling and catching myself on the edge as I remove my clothes, leaving my bra and panties on. He fumbles in the drawer beside his bed, then rolls onto his back, a thick black rope in his hands. I’m not even going to ask why he had a rope in his bedside drawer.
His eyes are wild and his smile is wicked as he watches me crawl onto the bed and straddle his hips. He settles onto his pillow, making himself comfortable, before dropping the rope on his chest and lifting his arms above his head.
My hands tremble as I grab the rope. I’ve never done this before. I scoot up his body and wrap the rope around his wrists, then around a post on his headboard. He tugs on it experimentally, then shifts his eyes to mine.
“How do you feel?” I ask, and he nods, his smile widening.
“Helpless,” he breathes. “I like it. Do your worst, love.”
A slow grin spreads as I lower my mouth to his, dodging his lips at the last second to kiss his jaw. He huffs out a laugh as I trail my tongue down his neck, gently nipping at the base of his throat. I move lower, sliding my body over his as I kiss along his chest.
His hips lift off the bed, his breathing ragged and shallow as he stares down at me. I bite down on his pec, my eyes on his, and he hisses through his teeth, jerking on the restraints. I move to his nipple and trail my tongue around it, making him groan.
“Fuck, Kens,” he breathes.
His face, chest, and neck are flushed, his breathing still harsh. I move to his other nipple and roughly bite it, making his back arch and press against my mouth. I tug it away from his body, the skin stretching painfully. He jerks on the rope again, his muscles flexing and veins popping as he tries to alleviate the sting of my bite.
I bite my way down his body, loving the sounds he makes. He widens his legs, his feet at each corner of the bed as I settle between them. I run my hands over his hard thighs, feeling them flex under my touch. He presses his head back into the pillow, his eyes squeezed shut as I lightly trail my palm over his cock in his boxers.
“You’re torturing me,” he groans, bucking his hips.
“Not yet,” I purr. His eyes open wide, his chest heaving and teeth bared as I lay my tongue flat against him, the thin fabric separating us. “I want you to beg for it, Ez.”
