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“I think I should do this more often,” he says softly. “You look so pretty tied up for me.”
Goddammit. How long is he going to hold out?
I glance around for a clock to see how long I’ve been tied up, but all I find are things that make this whole situation more tortuous. Memories flood my mind when my eyes land on the painting above my dresser. The things Elliot said to me that evening will forever be burned into my brain.
Next, I lift my head and catch my reflection in the mirror. I can’t see much except for my spread legs and how soaked I am. With a soft moan, I avert my eyes to keep looking for a clock, but I come up empty.
I’m going to die of pure need if he doesn’t get up soon.
In the end, I’m not sure how long Elliot stays in that chair for. Watching, waiting, teasing me with his gaze. Eventually, I can’t hold back a groan any longer. I signed myself up for Elliot paying me back like this, but I need his hands on me. Or his lips, or his mouth, or his cock buried deep inside me.
“Ell.”
He chuckles. “Begging already? I thought you’d last longer than this.”
With a huff, I press my lips together.Damn him.
Standing, he circles the bed until he’s standing at the base of it. The hunger in his eyes hasn’t died down. In fact, it’s only grown. Still, he keeps his hands buried in his pockets. As his gaze moves down my body, he clicks his tongue. “You’re soaked, and I haven’t even touched you yet. Such a desperate slut, aren’t you?”
I give him my best glare. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? And what’re you gonna do about it?”
“Ohhh, fuck you!”
He laughs. “You wish.”
I. am. going. to. DIE.
“Just one touch,” I beg. “Or one kiss?”
Elliot takes a single finger and traces it from my throat to my belly button. All it does is make me need him more. The ache between my legs intensifies, but there isn’t a thing I can do to relieve it.
“You already did this to me on your birthday,” I whine. “Can’t that count toward my punishment?”
“I told you then that it wouldn’t, love.” Crawling onto the bed, he strokes a hand over my hair before leaning down. He doesn’t kiss me, though—he stays right outside of my reach. “And I know you can handle it.”
“But Elliot—”
“You’ll get what you need, I promise.” He pulls back and places a hand on my stomach. It’s a light touch, one of reassurance. “Eventually.”
I hold back my groan as Elliot’s hand travels down my body. When his fingers hit my inner thigh, I can’t help it—I try to shift to get some kind of friction against his hand.
“Ah ah, Wren. I don’t think so.” He continues to use a feather-light touch as his fingers brush against my skin.
“Please,” I whisper.
“Beg all you want, love, but you’re not coming.”
For what feels like an eternity and a half, Elliot runs his hands all over my body. He avoids any spot that’d give me relief, choosing instead to massage my calves, squeeze my breasts, and pepper my skin with kisses.
Eventually, I relax into it. From the moment Elliot sat in that chair, he hasn’t looked away from me—not even for a second. This may be payback, but it also feels like a form of worship. His touch is gentle and caring, and he’s so attentive to every movement and sound I make.
When his finger finally brushes against one of my hard nipples, I gasp. His chuckle sends warmth spiraling through me.
“Beautiful.” The word falls from Elliot’s lips as a whisper. His breath skates across my skin as he leans over me and takes one of my nipples into his mouth.
Just like that, tension floods my body again. I pull on the restraints, arching my back into him. He sucks gently and flicks his tongue while he pinches my other nipple in between his fingers.
