She drove her anxiety into the kiss, into lusciously stroking his tongue and biting his lip. He growled with approval but drew away when she was bent completely over the chair, her upper body against the downward curve. He slid his hands down her arms, closing his fingers at her wrists. The cuffs there clicked closed before she realized they were even on her arms.
Reflexively, she pulled back and met resistance. Panic struck at the center of her heart. Suddenly, all she could focus on was the chair holding her in position, the collar tight on her throat, her hands immobile.
Trapped. She was trapped.
Her breath quickened. Blood rushed to her head. She gripped the chair for support.
“Perfect,” he said at her shoulder. “You're perfect.”
No. She wasn't perfect. Not even close to perfect. Every part of her throbbed. Her mind pinged in a hundred different directions.
He must have seen or sensed her panic, because he paused, looked directly into her eyes, and said, “Do you want to tell me something?”
No.
Stop.
The words rang in her head. But her body needed his touch.
Breathe. Breathe.
“Nothing,” she whispered.
“Very good.” He eased away, his hands stroking her ass. His thumbs hooked into her thong and dragged it down her thighs.
Oh God.
She squeezed her eyes closed, turned her wrists in the cuffs. She felt the same way she had when she'd first walked into Indulgence, like she couldn't do this. But she thought of the alternative-leaving unfulfilled-and couldn't make herself tell him to stop. She was just…in a whole different place than she ever believed she could be. And wasn't that what this whole escapade was about?
When she tried to look at him over her shoulder, she caught the movement in the side mirror. God, the mirror. Her dim reflection shocked her. She saw herself naked, bent over the lounge with her ass in the air, wrists cuffed, throat ringed in black leather, light hair spilling across the dark curves of the lounge. And he stood behind her, his gaze devouring her, his hands stroking.
For a split second, she had another one of those bizarre out-of-body experiences, as if she were looking at someone else. Someone wickedly hot and wildly abandoned. Someone so secure with her sexuality, she could release all control. But Giselle knew better. She knew what was on the inside. Someone so completely opposite from the woman in the mirror. Another burst of panic exploded in her belly, and a whimper of alarm ebbed from her throat.
“No one knows what's happening on the inside but you,” he said, as if he knew what she was thinking. His warm hand stroked her back, following her spine in a slow, tantalizing sweep, dropping kisses along the same path. “All anyone else sees is the gorgeous, strong woman in the mirror. Performance is about letting go of what you know. About getting into a character's skin. It's about relaxing and enjoying the experience of being someone else or, in this case, being the best version of yourself. It's about learning you can let go without fear.”
He kissed his way down her spine, his mouth warm on her body. Giselle memorized his words. Soaked them in. Made them her own. And her muscles loosened. Her mind quieted.
Then his tongue touched the tail of her spine and continued between her ch
eeks, and everything fired to life again. His hands gripped her cheeks and parted them so his tongue could continue along the crevice, and circle the pucker hidden there.
Giselle gasped and stiffened, her hands digging into the chair. “Oh God.”
But as quickly as he'd sought out that erotic spot, he moved away. In the mirror, Giselle watched him kneel behind her. Felt his hand behind one knee, pushing it to a padded ledge alongside the lounge. Then the other. Opening her. Exposing her completely. The air licked at her wet skin, shooting sensation all through her pussy.
And as quickly as cuffs clasped around her wrists, they closed around her ankles. Cuffs she hadn't seen. She lifted her head, testing her restraints. And found she had very little room to move.
She was trapped. Spread. Vulnerable. Exposed.
“Hold on, hold on.” Giselle's eyes squeezed closed. Panic invaded her brain, cell by cell. “Give me a second.”
“I only understand 'no' or 'stop.' Beyond that, how fast or slow we go is up to me.” The warmth of his tongue slipped along her inner thigh, stopping just before he reached the spot where she needed his mouth most. “Your shivering is the hottest thing I've ever seen. Are you letting go? Giving me control?”
“Yes.” Her answer was immediate. She needed relief. Needed his touch. Needed his mouth. Needed, needed, needed.
“Good girl.”
How could two simple words pump such a thrill through her body? She bit her lip to keep from asking him to get on with it. That wasn't letting go or giving him control.