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She smiles shyly.

I cup her face between my palms and slam my mouth against hers, claiming it. Her pouty lips part, and our tongues meet. Sweet notes of champagne hit my tongue full force.

I groan.

There’s nothing chaste about this kiss. It’s a dominant, possessive kiss––like I fucking own her.

She places her hands on my forearms as if silently begging me not to stop.

No chance of that happening, little one.

For a few long beats, we’re all tongue as I devour her mouth.

I could kiss her like this for an eternity, but I’m too eager to taste her other set of lips.

I stand up and scoop her into my arms.

“Where are we going?” she asks.

“We’re at the edge of the bed. It’s not the best place,” I explain.

“I see.”

I place her slender body smack in the middle of the king size bed.

I open the nightstand and find exactly what I need. I pull out the silk ties and place the box of condoms on top for easy access.

“Reach over your head and hold on to the headboard rails.”

These modern industrial metal beds are esthetically pleasing and serve double duty.

She obeys.

I make quick work of the silk ties around her wrists.

“Pull against them,” I order.

She does as she’s told.

“Too tight?” I ask.

“No, I’m okay.”

“You’re sure?”

She nods. “I am.”

“Since it’s our first time together, I won’t bind your legs.”

“Okay.”

“What’s the safe word?”

“Um…” she hesitates.

“What’s the color of strawberries?”

She giggles. “Red!”

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