Page 89 of Tied Up in Riches

A sigh of relief leaves me, replaced by a contentment I’ve never felt before. The lights aren’t on, but enough glow from the sunset filters through the window behind the bed. He holds my gaze, his eyes loving and patient and needy all at once. “My entire life it feels like I’ve been running from something or running toward somewhere–but I never could figure out what it was. I was chasing an elusive peace while trying to escape the parts of myself I didn’t love.” His grip on me tightens, his thumbs brushing over the skin above my leggings. “The ocean, yoga, my meditations, glimmers–they helped. But they’re no match for you. You’re what I’ve been wandering forever trying to find because you–your voice, your calmness and control, your skin on mine–is what settles my restlessness.”

His hands run up and down my back slowly. “You are everything good that money can’t buy, Brooke Fields. I can’t wait to experience every piece of you.”

“Starting right now?” I grin.

He smirks, his fingers hooking on the edge of my leggings. With my hands on his shoulders for balance, he pulls the fabric down my legs slowly, kissing my skin, soft and steady. He’s always steady and in control in a way that makes me safe to give mine up.

I step out of my leggings, completely naked in front of him, yet feeling far from vulnerable.

He returns to my level, kissing my lips once. “You’re sure you’re good with this?” he asks as he reaches behind me and pulls a loop free from between his box spring and mattress.

“Positive.” I sit on the edge of the bed and scoot myself backward to the center.

He reaches for my leg, pulling me over the comforter toward the lower left corner of the bed until he can place it on top of the padded velcro strip. “You’re not going to have any control.”

“I know,” I tell him with my gaze intently focused on where he secures the loop around my ankle. He runs his hand up my calf, sending a wave of chill through me. “I trust you to have it.”

His gaze bores into me with intensity. Like that fact alone turns him on. He flicks his sight to the edge of the bed long enough to grab another restraint. Tugging my leg toward it, he opens me wide for him. The coolness of the air hits my core, my arms instinctively pulling to my chest to try and warm myself.

Marcus chuckles as he secures the velcro tightly around my ankle, then makes his way to the head of the bed. He reaches for my hands, prying them free from where they are clutched to my chest and brings my fingers to his lips. He presses a kiss to my knuckles and straightens my arms above my head. Locking both of them in place with the loop, he pauses to watch me. I tug my arms down on instinct, my body resisting the restraint against my mind’s will. I strain my neck to watch Marcus reach for the strap connecting the loops to the bed and tighten them with a smirk.

Once I’m tied up completely, he gives me a once-over, his gaze heating my body and removing any chill that resided before. Climbing onto the bed from the space between my legs, he runs his hands up my thighs. Eyes locked on where his hands touch me, his thumbs brush over my opening, spreading me apart enough for a jolt of arousal to shoot through me.

A moan escapes me, and he glances up. His hands smooth over my body, up my stomach, gripping my breasts with his knees pressing on my inner thighs, pushing me wider. The stretch hurts in the best way. “I love you laid out for me like this.” He wasn’t talking directly to me–more to himself as he leans forward, taking a nipple between his teeth and sucking until it hardens. The pressure between my legs throbs with each suck and nip at my skin. He moves to the other side, repeating the pleasure. Holy shit.

I could live the rest of my life being the object of his affection.

I whine, wanting more, needing more–anxious to find out what he’ll do with his power over my body. He glances up, locking his gaze on mine. “Patience is a virtue, love. I’m going to explore every inch of you and what makes you feel good before I let you come.”

I bite into my lip, keeping my eyes on him as he shifts his stare.

He kneels on the mattress, straddling one of my legs, as he drags his fingers down my stomach. They whisper along the apex of my thigh before barely brushing over my opening. “Fucking hell, Brooke. You’re already so wet for me.” I moan as he spreads me with more pressure. My voice gets caught in my throat as he slips two thick fingers deep inside me, sending a jolt of pleasure through my entire core.

His fingers slide into me slowly. It’s heaven and torture all at once, feeling where he connects inside of me as he pushes deeper. When they are as deep as they can go, he pulls them out, watching his movement. “Goddamn, Brooke,” he mutters under his breath, his hand shaky as he withdraws his fingers, like he can hardly resist slamming them back inside. I wish that’s what he would do.

I crave feeling him inside me, in whatever way he’ll give me. There’s something about it that makes me feel undeniably connected not only to him but to myself. The way he touches me–like I’m precious–it makes me love myself more than I’ve ever felt. He makes me feel grounded, safe, ecstasy–physically and mentally.

He presses his lips to my thigh, glancing up and catching my gaze for only a moment before his focus is back on where his mouth meets my skin–hot as he trails kisses down my leg, slow and controlled. When he reaches my calf, he pulls back and digs his thumbs into the muscle, massaging the entire length of it.

I let out a moan because holy shit that feels good. And it’s not even really sexual? Is it? Who the hell knows. The tension in my leg is released as he presses deep with his palms, only to be replaced by a new tension building in my core.

Adjusting himself between my legs, he works his strong hands into the other, repeating the motion, and I respond in the same way–an uncontainable moan leaving my body along with a week's worth of stress. He runs both hands up either thigh, digging into my skin in a way that leaves a trail of goosebumps. With a tight grip on my hips, he breathes a hot breath over my center, and fuck, I can feel myself getting wetter. He doesn’t give me what I want, though. He licks the skin just barely away from where I need his tongue, and the wetness combines with his next breath and sends a rush of chills through my entire body.

He nips at the apex of my thigh, his hands running up my side. They each grip the side of a breast, his mouth hot and heavy behind them, latching onto a nipple. He sucks it into his mouth at the same time he squeezes. His teeth clamped around my nipple and his fingers digging into my skin sparks every nearby nerve ending to life in an overwhelming way. The one without his teeth sinking lovingly into my hardened peak gets twisted between his fingers. He’s straddling me now, hovering enough above me that I can’t find relief from him, but close enough I can feel how hard he is through his jeans. He grinds against me, eliciting a whimper as the rough denim rubs against my sensitive skin.

He chuckles, his breath coming out warm against my chest. Kissing up my neck, his fingers trail behind. He sucks on my neck, dropping more of his weight on me as he brushes his hands up my arms tied above my head. Stopping when he gets to the loops, he runs his grip back down by arms, nipping at my earlobe and grinding his hips again. My thighs burn as they tug at the restraints, wanting to wrap around him.

I let out something between a sigh and a breath. “Marcus,” I whine quietly, knowing it will probably just drag out the torture. His lips curve to a smile against my neck and kisses his way to my lips. He presses a hard kiss to my mouth, demanding access. I let him deepen the kiss, straining to lean up, to get closer to him. Fuck this is hard not being able to touch him, not run my hands through his hair. His tongue dances with mine as he locks his fingers at the base of my neck, controlling the kiss as much as he does the rest of my body.

Pulling back, he straddles me again, taking his sweet time dragging his fingers and his eyes down my body. It’s like he’s learning my body, memorizing it. “The things I want to do to you.” His voice is deep, his eyes dark as they focus on where I’m aching to have him inside me.

“Do whatever you want,” I breathe with my eyes locked on where his thumb brushes over my skin beneath him, sending a throb of arousal through me, my core clenching. He repositions himself to a previous position, straddling one leg. One hand runs flat over my stomach until it locks on my hip. The tip of his finger presses against my opening, teasing me as he pulses against it. He rubs small circles against my wetness, slipping further inside me with each one. My pulse beats in my pussy against his finger, and I let out a soft whine.

Giving in, he plunges a finger deep inside me. A cry breaks free from my throat, my arms pulling on the restraints, begging to reach for the comforter to cling to. Failing to free myself, I grip my own hands, tangling my fingers together and digging my nails into my skin as Marcus pulls his finger out only to drive it back in along with a second.

But they don’t continue in a straight and steady thrusting motion. It feels like he hooks one of his fingers so that every time the other one bottoms out inside me, that one hits my G-Spot. Over and over. His hooked finger does some sort of “come here” motion in just the right spot–one that nearly knocks the breath out of me with every sweep. Holy shit. Ecstasy vibrates through my body with each thrust in and out–hitting so deep that my vision goes spotty.

I’m entranced. Watching him watch what he’s doing. My teeth sink into my lip as his head dips. My stomach contracts in anticipation of his tongue on me.

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