Page 110 of Unbind

My hands go to his deliciously slick shoulders. ‘Oh yeah?’

‘Yep.’ He spins me around and, with a hand clamped around the back of my neck, frogmarches me towards the island in the centre of the gym. It’s more of a decorative depository than anything else, crafted from a gorgeous chunk of matte black marble. The niches in its sides house dozens of rolled-up towels—even though Adam’s the only person I know who works out in here—and on its smooth surface stand a big white bowl of oranges and a jug of iced cucumber water for his lordship.

We come to stand in front of it, my hips touching its smooth edge, and his hand bears down on the back of my neck. ‘Bend over, sweetheart.’ The way he says the endearment sounds more foreboding than affectionate, and I absolutely love it.

‘Here?’ I protest feebly. ‘What if someone comes in?’

‘I’d like to see them fucking try.Now.’

I’m not sure there’s anything better than a man treating you like his plaything in the bedroom (or gym, for that matter) and a princess everywhere else. In the past week or more, his behaviour has intensified on both fronts. I feel like the early signs of Winky’s thaw have given both of us the confidence to lean into this relationship, to invest in it, just as my, ahem, ‘positive’ reaction to him getting rougher and more stern with me in bed has ignited something in him that he’s been needing to unleash.

And Adam Wright unleashing himself on me is all I want. So if he’s seeing and acting on all these shameless green lights I’ve been flashing at him, then I couldn’t be happier.

But back to the rapidly hardening dick that’s grinding into the cleft between my arse cheeks. This house is so wonderfully cosy that I’m in just a yoga vest and pants with a loose, cloud-like cashmere sweater that’s fallen off one shoulder. Now one hand is digging into my hip as the other strokes down my neck and between my shoulder blades.

‘Be a very good girl,’ he croons, his dick flexing against me, ‘and I’ll let you come quickly.’

The unspoken threat if I’mnota very good girl hangs in the air between us, thick as treacle.

Hmm. Decisions, decisions.

I’m bent at a right angle, my arms cactused either side of my head on the smooth marble, my cheek pressed to its surface. I can feel the stone’s coolness at my front and my boyfriend’s wet heat at my back. When he seems happy that I won’t move, he strokes my hair before hooking his fingers into both sides of my waistband.

‘Let’s take a look at what you’ve got for me,’ he says, and I groan. Why oh why is the act of being bent over by this guy so he can peel my yoga pants and thong off and look his fill so fucking much of a turn on?

65

ADAM

It’s her breathy little groan that spurs me on—that sign that she needs this as badly as I do. This astonishing woman, so strong and beautiful, so magnificent, has given me carte blanche to run rampant over her body, and I’m damn well going to give thanks for every moment while also pushing her to her limits.

Because, God knows, she’s responded so perfectly to every push so far.

I take enormous pleasure in peeling her leggings and thong slowly, slowly down and revealing the creamy white skin of her arse for my viewing pleasure. ‘Very nice,’ I murmur, smoothing a hand over it. My breathing is still ragged from those fucking pull-ups, and my leg muscles scream as I squat for a better look at the line of pretty holes between her cheeks.

‘I’m going to be in a whole world of pain tomorrow because someone interrupted me before I got a chance to stretch out,’ I muse idly, straightening up so I can bend over her. ‘What do you say to that?’

She gives a little giggle. ‘Poor baby.’

‘I think it’s only fair that we’rebothsore tomorrow, don’t you?’

I slap her right cheek hard without warning at the same time that the first and index fingers of my left hand push hard inside her, and the little cry she makes as she bucks is fucking glorious.

‘Don’t you?’I repeat as I twist my fingers inside her body and massage her pinked-up flesh.

‘Um—yes,’ she manages, clawing ineffectually at the marble surface of the island.

‘Quite right.’ I withdraw my fingers and rush to free my now fully hard cock, shoving my shorts down till they’re bunched at my ankles. ‘Let’s get you sore in the best way possible, sweetheart. Hmm?’

As she pants out heryes please, I take my cock in my fist and drag it down from her entrance to her clit and back up again. Her slickness is heavenly torture against my poor, sensitised crown.

‘Tell me if it hurts against the marble,’ I say, and then I’m pushing in. Yeah, she’s wet, but I haven’t exactly warmed her up to take me, and it’s fucking tight. Dear God above, the sight of my beautiful Nat, bent over for me and taking my dick inch by slow, friction-filled inch, is an almost religious experience, and the disbelief hits me in a wave of emotion right alongside the sensory pleasure of driving, driving, until I’m bottoming out inside her.

‘Fuck me, sweetheart, you are such a good girl right now,’ I groan. I’m going to take her hard and fast and then drag her into the enormous shower next door and soap up every perfect inch of her skin. ‘Do you want it rough?’

‘You know I do,’ she moans. ‘I want to feel your balls slapping against my thighs as you fuck me.’

Sweet Jesus.

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