Page 60 of Bound

I undo her bra with a flick of my fingers and then I’m palming the lush globes, rolling the beaded nipples between thumb and forefinger.

She moans, her head falling back on the pillows. “Oh, God.”

I keep going, adding my mouth, skipping forward a few items on her list because I need to worship those breasts, because she orders, “More.”

So, I give her more.

I taste and nip, squeeze and stroke, and then I’m shifting my weight so I can snake one hand down and slip my hand beneath the waistband of her jeans.

A sharp breath that has me pausing…

And her grabbing my wrist, guiding me down, coaxing me to flick open the button on her jeans and slipping my fingers into the slick folds between her legs.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to taste this slick pussy.”

Her lips part, and then I’m gently stroking her, watching for any discomfort, testing pressure and angle, circles and strokes. Her flush spreads down along her throat, over the tops of her breasts. Her hips start the rhythm again, as though seeking purchase. I give it to her—on her clit, circling her entrance,sliding the tip of my finger into her sopping cunt. She goes still. “Jackson.”

Immediately, I freeze. “Too much?”

“God, no,” she whispers, chest heaving. “That—” A shake of her head. “Your finger and your thumb…I?—”

“You what?” I ask, starting up again.

“I’m going to come if you keep doing that.”

A rush of blood to my groin, my vision growing even hazier, my cock even harder, but I don’t stop my finger and thumb, don’t fuck with that rhythm. I keep going, leaning down to suck a nipple deep, slipping a second finger inside when she softens, allowing me in, knowing she’ll need more to take me, knowing she fucking loves it by the tremor that ricochets through her body, knowing it from my name on her tongue, her hands in my hair, her pussy clamping hard around my fingers.

“Oh God. Oh God. Oh?—”

She freezes and I feel it—the gush of her desire as her orgasm races through her.

I keep stroking, keep kissing, keep guiding her through until she goes limp beneath me, slumping against the mattress.

“Claire?” I murmur, lifting my head, my dick rock-hard, my vision hazy, my hands shaking as I reach for her jeans, ready to tear them free and thrust home. “You good?”

Then I hear it.

The soft snore.

My gaze flies to her face and…

Disappointment wars with tenderness.

I don’t know if it’s the food or the drinks or the long day, but her eyes are closed, her body is lax, and her mouth is slightly parted as her breaths come slow and steady, slow and steady.

She’s sleeping.

Christ.

While my dick is ready to break in half and I’m ridiculously close to an orgasm.

But she’s also…trusting me.

Feeling safe enough to fall asleep here, like this.

Something settles in my chest—a wound closing or maybe hooks sinking deeper.

I can’t tell for sure, but it’s an acute type of pain, the best type of pain—aching muscles after a long workout, scoring a goal despite getting slashed…pushing through discomfort and finding something beautiful on the other side.

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