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I lift my arms in the air, letting him pull my sweatshirt and the shirt underneath up and off in one fluid motion. He tosses them to the floor.
Giving a moan, I feel him step back, taking in the view of me standing there in the dim light of his empty room, wearing nothing but a set of simple black bra and panties.
I want to wrap my arms around my body, to hide from him, but I refuse. Straightening my spine, I stand there, chin out, ready to face him.
Rough fingertips brush over my skin. He grips the back clasp of my bra. Heat and shame flush my chest, creeping up my neck, burning my cheeks as he easily unclips the clasp. His hands go to my shoulders, a gentle sweep of my bra straps and it falls down my arms, landing on the carpet in front of my feet.
He moves in front of me, bending and snatching the rose from my coat pocket in one fluid motion as he goes. He stands there, those soulful eyes of his taking in the sight of my bare breasts. They rise and fall as I force myself to take deep, steady breaths, the sensations, the heat from his gaze—it’s all too much and my head goes light.
He twirls the stem of the rose between his thumb and forefinger, bringing it closer to his face for a deep inhale before lowering it. “Now, the panties.”
Ice forms in my belly. Heavy and unsettling. Somehow, this, baring my pussy to him, is worse than showing him my bare breasts.
“Can’t I leave them on?”
“What’s the first step of submitting to me?” He tips the rose behind his own ear, blood red against his dark, almost black hair.
My words eventually come but they’re barely above a whisper. “Baring myself to you.”
He moves closer, hooking a fingertip into the elastic waistband of my panties. “And do you think that means panties on, or off?” He tugs at the band, pulling it toward him, a flash of my pale, naked hip in my view.
“Off.”
“Good girl.” He gives it another tug, pulling the material further away from my skin, lower, showing more. “Would you like to do it yourself? Or have me?”
“You.”
I give him the full satisfaction of my humiliation as he peels down my panties. I hold onto his shoulder, stepping out of them. He takes the panties, picks my bra up off the floor, adding them both to the growing pile of my clothes.
He positions me underneath the loop of leather that hangs from the ceiling and raises my hands above my head, latching the cuffs first around one wrist then slipping the other through the leather loop before finalizing my captivity with a loud click.
“Perfect fit.”
There’s no running. No escape. No one to save me. It’s just us.
Beyond being totally bared to him, every nerve ending on my naked skin wide-awake, tiny hairs standing on end in the cold night air, my arms stretched high above my head and locked in tight, I feel deeply vulnerable and exposed, bound by his restraints and completely at his mercy.
My heart continues to race as I wait for what comes next.
He steps back, admiring my body and his work. His light eyes go dark with desire as they roam over my body, taking in every inch of me. His gaze lazes over my nipples, enjoying their involuntary tightening, then rises to my captive wrists, my fingers clenched on either side of the leather strap.
"I'm going to make you beg for forgiveness.” His voice is husky, thick with desire. For me, for my body. The sound does something to me, tingles dancing between my thighs. "You will submit to me completely."
My stomach flips at his words, a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through me. I've never experienced anything like this before, but there's something thrilling about being under his control.
This gorgeous, deadly stranger who I’m slowly growing to hate more and more every moment I spend alone with him. Not only for capturing me and forcing me to take my clothes off, but for making some dark, shameful, disturbed part of me I didn’t know was there surface. As much as I’m hating him, I’m hating myself more for dipping into the excitement, the danger of the moment, and for my body which is now betraying me, showing obvious signs of desire for him in this moment.
“You’re a vision, aren’t you, girl?” He moves toward me, so close I can smell his desire and the faint scent of rose.
A little shudder tears through me. I can’t hide it. My slight tremble only makes him more determined. He plucks the rose from behind his ear.
He moves in closer, the scruff of his beard brushing my cheek. “A vision too beautiful not to taste.”
I close my eyes, feeling his breath against my ear. The petals of the rose, cold, soft, velvety, drag over the curve of my breast, brush over my ever-tightening nipple. A gasp escapes me as I feel the delicate flower caress my skin.
Soft petals travel down over my belly. Right down the center of my pussy. Over my thigh. The lightest sound as he drops the rose to the floor.
Without warning, he starts to lightly trail kisses down my neck and along my collarbone. His lips are soft, his beard rough as he caresses my skin. I bite my lip to suppress a moan, trying to push away the sensations that are building inside of me.
