Her heart felt too big for her chest as she climbed onto the bed, but she was feeling something else besides trepidation. His seemingly dispassionate undressing of her and his instructions to lie on the bed so that he could tie her up had created a low burn of arousal at her sex. Who knew why she liked it so much, to be restrained by him? To give complete control to him? She only knew she did.
Both her anxiety and arousal elevated in tandem a moment later when he gave her terse instructions to take a spread-eagle position on the bed. She watched him, having trouble catching her breath, as he soberly and expertly began to restrain her. She realized that the four separate bundles of rope were pre-tied for this specific task. All he had to do was slip a thick coil around wrists and ankles, tighten it, and then fasten the free end of the rope to a corner of the bed.
When he finally straightened after tying off her last limb, he looked very forbidding. She studied his face as he walked around the bed, and then his body. His flinty expression wasn’t from anger. Her gaze stuck on the fullness of his crotch. No. She thought that determinedly aroused might describe his state better.
The spread-eagle position he’d told her to take left her feeling glaringly vulnerab
le and aroused . . . turned on and unable to hide it. She panted shallowly, her rising and falling breasts betraying her excitement as did her tight, prickling nipples. Cool air tickled at her spread sex, as well, informing her that she’d grown damp watching him methodically restraining her.
He began to undress. His averted gaze hurt her a little. Until he removed his pants and underwear anyway, and she confirmed how thoroughly excited he was, despite his dispassionate expression. He was hurting, somehow. Just like she was.
The recognition only added to her chaotic state.
He reached into the bedside drawer, grabbing something. He crawled onto the bed, coming down on his side next to her, his elbow on the mattress, his hand propping up his head. She swallowed thickly when he met her stare.
“Jacob, what is it? What’s wrong?” she whispered. Frustration simmered in her, because not only would he not help her clarify his turmoil, he wouldn’t even acknowledge it existed.
“Nothing is wrong, Harper,” he said evenly, opening his hand over her belly. He began to stroke her naked body, holding her stare. He brushed his fingertips over her ribs and her sensitive sides, making her nipples pull so tight that the ache in them swelled to sharp pain. She clamped her eyelids shut, unable to keep meeting his determined, blazing stare. “Why can’t you believe me when I say that everything is fine? That there’s no reason to go digging around for reasons to doubt me.” His fingertips brushed over her rock hard nipples. She gasped shakily. He leaned over her. “Do you want to doubt me, Harper?”
“No,” she said with shaky emphasis.
“Do you doubt, right here in the moment?”
“No.”
God, no. The only thing she did in that moment was hunger.
Then his mouth was on hers, feeding that hunger . . . mounting it. He massaged her breasts forcefully while he kissed her, pinching lightly at her hard nipples. It felt so good. She grew so desperate, she thought she might explode from the nipple stimulation alone. Then he was lifting his head and kissing her neck, whispering hotly in her ear.
“Just let go. You’re mine right now. Completely mine. No one is going to take you from me. Nothing is.”
She sobbed raggedly, sinking into the mattress, surrendering to the moment. And his mouth was on her breast, his hand caressing her naked thigh, and she felt herself falling deeper under his spell. His tongue lashed at her nipple, torturing the exquisitely sensitive flesh. He drew on her with electrical precision. She cried out, her eyes going wide. Could she climax with just his mouth on her breast?
She never found out, because suddenly his hand was between her legs, and he was pressing a vibrator to her clit. She seized in climax.
When she came back to herself, he was drawing on her other breast just as forcefully as he had the other. He’d lifted the vibrator from her clit, but his hand was still between her legs. As she panted, still in recovery from her climax, he set the bullet vibrator on her mons and thrust a finger into her sheath. She moaned his name, but he seemed impervious to her sweet agony as he continued to suck on the tip of her breast and finger-fuck her as deep as he could. Harper lay there, swimming in sensation, hating her helplessness . . .
Loving it, because she was in his hands.
A while later, he released her nipple and fastened on her mouth, instead. He thrust his tongue between her lips, kissing her demandingly, and lifted the vibrator from her mons. He slipped it between her labia, buzzing her until she burned in agony again.
When she ignited, she screamed into his marauding kiss.
“Jacob, please,” she muttered when he finally released her mouth after her shudders of bliss had waned. She didn’t know what she begged for, though: more torture or freedom from it? It didn’t matter. There was no escape from him. He kissed and licked her everywhere, his appetite shocking her. She grew dizzy at the sensation of him kissing her inner thigh. Then his lips brushed her labia and his head dipped. Harper stared blindly into space, held hostage by his hot, deep, demanding kiss on her sex.
He brought her to climax again with his firm, demanding tongue. Not until she lay panting on the bed, her muscles and nerves spent, completely wrung out by pleasure, did he crawl between her thighs, brace his upper body by pressing his fists into the mattress, and enter her.
She gave a sharp cry, her body tensing. It was the first time he’d been in her raw. He was steely hard and swollen. Because she couldn’t tilt her hips to better accommodate him in the taut, spread-eagle position, the pressure was intense at first . . . almost uncomfortable. He paused at her cry, but she saw the fire in his eyes. His patience wouldn’t last long.
“Are you all right?” he asked her thickly, waiting for her body to get used to his cock being buried inside her at this angle.
“Yes.”
He thrust, wincing in pleasure when his balls pressed tightly against her outer sex. He looked heartrendingly beautiful to her in that moment, his burnished hair mussed, his hard mouth still slick from her juices.
“God, you feel like heaven,” he rasped. Harper held her breath, awed by the emotion she heard in his voice.
He began to move, slaking his thirst on her, holding her stare the whole time. He took her hard, his hips and ass moving in a tense, erotic rhythm, his pelvis slapping briskly against her spread thighs with every downstroke. Pleasure finally melted away his impassive mask.