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“You’re very wet,” he murmured, his lips drifting down.
“You made me that way, Sir,” I whimpered, twisting my bound hands together.
“Good answer.” He moved down the bed so he could take my nipple into his mouth. It felt good, but his cock pressed against me had felt better, and I mewled in disappointment.
“It will get there, have no fear.” There was a smile in his voice as he mumbled around my puckered skin.
I closed my eyes, then immediately opened them again. I wanted to see him. I wanted to see what he was doing to me, to see him taking pleasure from me. I had to remember every moment. His teeth closed around me, and I lifted my pelvis with the leverage afforded me by my leg crooked around his back. My skin was hot, perspiration rising wherever we touched. A trickle of sweat ran along my side under the corset, and the boning began to chafe.
“Wait,” I panted, pushing at his shoulders. “I’m too hot.”
He sat up and pulled me with him. “Then we should cool you off, I think.”
I got to my feet and he stood behind me, trailing one finger down a seam. “First, we’ll take this off.” As soon as the knotted laces released, I breathed deep in relief.
“Better?” he asked, still loosening the tension.
“Much.”
He came to stand in front of me and made a dismayed noise as he opened the hook-and-eye closures to reveal my sweaty, chafed skin. He bent to kiss one raw, red imprint left beneath my breast. “I had no idea you were so uncomfortable.”
“I wasn’t, until I started getting all fired up.” I sighed as he dropped to his knees, his mouth drifting lower, over my belly.
“Now we should see to that, I suppose.” He skimmed a hand between my thighs, up and up, until his fingers nudged my folds. He tilted his wrist, and the tip of his thumb parted me, then slid back to enter me for one brief moment that offered no relief at all.
As I gaped down at him, torn between desire and irritation, he sucked the pad of that thumb between his lips, savoring my taste.
Then he got to his feet and retrieved the champagne bottle.
“What’s that for?” I asked, slightly unsteady on my feet.
“It’s for you. It’s cold, you’re hot,” he shrugged. “I thought you could use a drink.”
“Oh.” I knew better than to trust him. I really did. But I still reached for the bottle with my bound hands.
“No, no.” He pulled it back. “Hands down, please.”
I made a face, but I did as I was told.
He pressed the smooth rim of the bottle against my lips, and I opened them. Carefully, he poured a thin stream of champagne into my mouth, then pulled the bottle away so I could swallow.
“Thank you, Sir,” I said gratefully, licking my bottom lip.
He traced a finger over the path my tongue had just made. It distracted me enough that I didn’t see what he was doing with the bottle, and the first touch of cold glass on my nipple shocked me.
He held back a self-satisfied laugh, but I couldn’t help my giggle. “There are better ways to get my nipples hard, Sir.”
“Yes, but this is so much less comfortable for you.” He rolled the bottle through the valley between my breasts, lifting it to touch the other tight, rosy peak.
“I think it just saves you from unnecessary work.” I rolled my eyes.
“Do you remember what I said about bratty subs?” he asked in a warning tone.
I thought he might secretly like my brattiness. It gave him more opportunities to torment me.
He considered the green glass against my goose bump covered skin. “Lay on the bed for me. Arms over your head.”
I did as he asked, and he ran the flat of his palm over my stomach, considering. He took a drink from the bottle, then sat on the edge of the bed beside me. “You’ll have to hold very, very still, Sophie. Can you do that?”
“Yes, Sir.” It really depended on what he planned to do to me. If he tickled me, all bets were off.
Carefully, he poured a little champagne into my belly button.
I gasped and sucked in my tummy.
“Don’t move,” he reminded me. “You’ll spill it all over the bed.”
“You can afford the hotel bill,” I said through gritted teeth.
“That I can.” He leaned down and licked the champagne from my skin.
It was so cliché, but it felt amazing. I giggled as his tongue swiped over my tummy, and he lifted his head.
“Open your legs.”
If he planned to repeat what he’d done to my belly button, I was more than happy to comply, even if I did have to overcome my momentary fear of a possible yeast infection. I squirmed into a comfortable position as he settled beside me, carefully bracing the champagne bottle against my leg to keep it upright. I startled at the drops of cold perspiration that rolled off the glass and onto my skin.
