Page 46 of Look, Don't Touch

“Hold still,” I whisper.

“Yes.” She chokes.

I pull my fountain pen from my inside breast pocket—because I’m chickenshit—and ease the angled top to the bow of her upper lip. A silky moan slips between her parted lips. I trace her mouth again and again and then grow jealous of the metal.

My irritation with myself is reaching new heights. I throw the pen onto the chair, shuck my suit jacket, and add it to the pile with my cuff links. While I roll up my sleeves, I stalk her in a tight circle. My gaze roams every inch of her skin. The recognizable crows. The gargoyle perched intimately over her left hip and thigh. The open real estate on her right hip and thigh.

Then my eyes feast on the unfamiliar. The skin I saw only last week. The monsters artfully placed across her front, guarding her. The blush of her cunt. The points of her nipples.

I prowl around her once more, and then stop at her back, leaning the front of my clothed body against the back of her naked one. Her shoulders drop at least an inch. She leans into me and my arms itch to wrap around her.

What the fuck?

Her red hair slicked back in a long ponytail brushes against my shirt.

What would it feel like on my chest?

I grab her hair. The softness threatens to knock me onto my ass. I pull a pin hidden underneath and a group of strands unwinds from around the rest, and then it’s loose around my fingers. The sensation is foreign. It’s like the feathered reed grass I played with as a kid, only more substantial.

My hands slide through it, slowly, carefully. I drop some onto her shoulders and fan it across her back, only to grab it again and squeeze it in my hands.

A headiness washes over me. I separate her hair into two parts and drape it over her shoulder, so it tickles her breasts. Then I put my lips near the shell of her ear.

“On the bed. Face up.”

The moment I step away, she turns and hesitantly walks forward, feeling with her feet and outstretched arms. I don’t help her. Instead, I move to the chest and grab what I need, just in time to watch her find the edge of the bed and climb on top. I can’t stop the approving hum that rumbles in my chest.

Heaven, if the damned place exists, will be her. At my feet. By my side. On my bed. In my head. Devouring my heart.

Her lips curve at the sound of my approval. It’s a buoy to my tattered soul. I go to her, loop one of the satin straps around one wrist, and tug her hand until it rests on the bed, gently outstretched above her head. Then I tie the other end to the post. Slowly, I move around her, claiming parts of her, stretching them out, and then binding her.

You’re a fucking vision.

I want to say the words, but I’ve already spoken too much tonight. Chanced too much. I’m chancing everything by being here, partaking in her, now that I know who she is to me. But I can’t stop. Not yet.

She’s spread open for me instead of hunched over. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not picky. This is just a whole new level of intimacy I’m requesting. That she’s allowing.

It’s amazing.

And terrifying.

One by one, I lay my implements out beside her, save for the one I want to use. I spin the four-head Wartenberg wheel, and the metal spikes sing through the air.

Hailey’s chin snaps toward the sound. Her hips tilt, and her breasts blush under and around her ink. I home in on her pert nipples. The wheels skip across the pebbled flesh in the barest glance. One, and then the other.

Her yips echo in my ears.

I move to her hip and toy with the gargoyle that looks familiar, beyond the obvious. Its three-dimensional friends sit atop the architectural marvel of a building she lives inside. I shouldn’t know that, but I do. It’s yet another secret she’ll hate me for.

She is so responsive. By the time I’m skating the spikes gently up the inside of her leg, inch by agonizing inch, her perfect pink cunt is swollen. The tip of her clit peeks out, begging for attention.

I want to spread her wet lips wide. I want to breathe her in. I want to suck that little aching spike into my mouth until she screams my name.

She doesn’t know my name. Not here.

Instead, I stop the wheel less than an inch away from her pelvic bone.

My siren’s hips jolt, not away like one would expect, but up, seeking contact. Saliva pools in my mouth. “Mmm.” I swallow it down, wishing it was her release.

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