“You want me to fuck you?”
“That’s what you want?”
“Damien, yes. Please, yes.”
And then he pulls away, and I’m left gasping. His mouth no longer on mine. His fingers no longer inside me.
“I don’t know.” His grin is wildly wicked. “Maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe not fucking you is just the punishment you need.”
“You wouldn’t,” I say, though I can’t keep the genuine worry out of my voice.
I shake my head, trying to appear more certain than I feel.
“Because that wouldn’t just punish me. It would torture you, too.”
“It would,” he agrees. “But while I’m not usually averse to self-sacrifice for a good cause—and,” he adds as his eyes skim over my body, “you are a very good cause—tonight I have something else in mind. Take off your jeans, baby. Take off everything and get on the floor. I want you at my mercy.”
“I’m always at your mercy,” I say as I begin to comply, and from the gleam in his eyes, it’s clear that he knows it.
“You are,” he says, a softness sneaking in to dull the sharp edge of his voice. “As much as I’m at yours. But I’ve been thinking about you all day, hot and naked and wet for me. And tonight I’m taking what I want. And, baby? I promise you’re going to enjoy it.”
I’m on the floor now, my clothes abandoned, and I whimper a little as his words caress me, making my nipples peak and my clit throb. I have absolutely no doubt he’s right. But “enjoy” is too mild a term. Whatever he has planned, I’m going to fucking love it.
“Roll over and get on your knees,” he demands as he unbuttons his shirt, then tosses it aside.
I do as he says, then look over my shoulder to see him, looking magnificent with his broad shoulders and tight abs. He’s strong and lean and hard, and there’s no question that he used to be an elite athlete. I don’t care about tennis at the moment, though. On the contrary, right now all I want to do is taste every delicious inch of him.
Of course I can’t. Not when I’ve been ordered onto my hands and knees. And so I stay put and wait for Damien to touch me.
Damien, however, has other plans, and I watch, confused, as he strides out of the room and into the kitchen. I hear a door open, then rattling, then I hear the door close tight again.
A moment later, I hear the tread of his shoes on the tile floor, followed by his return from around the corner.
As far as I can tell, nothing has changed. He’s not holding anything and he’s still wearing his slacks. So what was that all about?
“Put your arms under you, baby,” he says. “I want you on your knees, your wrists beside your ankles, your ass in the air.”
It takes me a moment to form a mental picture, but when I do, I realize that I need to put my cheek on the ground. That puts me in an even more vulnerable position than hands and knees. That way, my back is flat. But like this, my ass is high. And when Damien tells me to spread my legs so that there’s about eight inches between them, I’m suddenly wide open.
“Beautiful,” he says, and the reverence in his voice makes me wet. Something I’m sure he realizes, as I’m completely and fully exposed to him.
He kneels down and caresses my ass with the palm of his hand. My core clenches in response, and though he says nothing, I hear the small noise he makes and am certain that he realizes just how much I’m craving him.
“I want you to stay like this,” he says, slowly stroking my perineum so that I have to fight not to squirm, and actually bite my lip to hold back a needy moan. “Do you think you can?” he asks as he smacks my ass with the palm of his hand, then caresses the stinging area. “Tell me, baby. Can you be very, very good?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“I’m not so sure,” he says. “And I’d hate for you to break the rules and be punished. Why don’t I help you out?”
I have no idea what he’s talking about, and from this position with my head so close to the ground it’s hard to see what he’s doing. But I can see that he has something in his hand and that he’s bending down. A moment later, I feel him slide something beneath my ankle, and then I hear the familiar clicking of a cable tie as he creates a loop around my ankle.
“What are you—”
He repeats the process on my wrist, and when I hear a third cable tie being pulled tight, I realize he’s connected the ties on my wrist and ankle so that they are bound together, nice and tight.
“Please tell me you didn’t go next door to get those ties from Dallas.” My cheeks heat just from the thought of it.
“I had a package in the utility room,” he says. “I was using them to gather cords when I set up the office. Dallas only reminded me that they have other, more interesting uses. And, Nikki?”
“Who said you could talk?” He asks the question with a quick smack to my rear, and I close my eyes, wanting more. Wanting nothing but his touch.
He repeats the process on the other side, the end result being that I’m tied in this ass-up, exposed, wide open position. And I’m so turned on right now that I think if he doesn’t fuck me soon, I am literally going to go insane.
Thankfully, I don’t have long to wait.
I hear the rustle of clothes as he undresses, then the press of his hands against my ass as he kneels behind me. “Christ, you’re beautiful,” he says. “And you’re mine. How the hell did I ever get so lucky?”