Page 64 of Unbind

I’m flat on my back on his enormous white bed, naked aside from my hold-ups, a gloriously, perfectly naked Adam ranging over me on hands and knees, his body huge and golden, the expression on his face almost worshipful as he gazes down at me, and that dick of his pointing straight at me like a loaded gun.

I can’t help it. I break out into a grin. ‘Come here.’

He smiles back at me as he lowers himself down on top of me, and God, the weight of him, and the sheer size of him, and the softness of his skin against mine—it’s all exquisite.

‘Am I too heavy?’ he murmurs, pushing up onto one elbow so he can brush some hair off my face.

‘No.’ I hook my fingers around his neck and tug him down. ‘I want all of you.’I’ve wanted it like this for longer than I care to admit.

‘Okay then. Tell me if I’m crushing you.’

‘There are worse ways to die,’ I mumble as he flattens himself over me and presses his face into the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply into my hair. I raise my knees and wrap one leg around him as best I can, exploring the gorgeously bunched muscles of his arse with the sole of my foot. I want so much of this man. I want to get to know everysingle inch of him with my hands and lips and tongue—I may even indulge in a nibble here and there.

We lie there for a moment. My breaths are shallow—my lungs are far too squished under this enormous pile of man for proper inhales—but I may just be perfectly happy. Adam’s dick is pulsing, trapped between our stomachs.

He reaches one hand down to the leg I have propped up and gently traces the outline of my insulin pump, secured beneath my hold-up, with his fingertip. He may be obsessed with my blood glucose levels, for reasons I now understand far too clearly, but he gets my illness. There’s no awkwardness, no need for me to apologise for or explain away the funny little contraptions stuck to various sites on my body. As long as he’s confident I can withstand whatever delicious form of cardio he throws at me, he’ll embrace this aspect of me without question.

He raises himself back up onto his forearms and I gaze up at him, dizzy with desire and knocked sideways at the emotion this intimacy with him is prompting.

‘You tired?’

‘Nope. Absolutely not. Not even a little.’

‘Okay, then.’ He laughs and shifts his weight off me, and I pout.

‘I just want to see you better,’ he says, running his knuckles up over my pelvic bone and stomach to between my breasts with a touch so light it makes me shiver.

‘Ogle away. Believe me, I’m doing the same.’

He hesitates. ‘Will you let me tie you up? Just your hands—above your head. I want to do a lot of very bad things to you, and it’ll make it even more enjoyable for both of us if I have you restrained.’ He pauses, uncertainty written on his face. ‘Only if you trust me, that is.’

39

NATALIE

Last night, I distrusted him and resisted him and despised myself.

Tonight, I trust him.

Such a huge shift in such a ridiculously short time, but I can’t help it. The man crouching over me on his bed with ardent eyes is not the man I thought I had a fully formed view of. He hasn’t changed at all, but my opinion of him has done a one-eighty at whiplash-inducing speed.

He let me in. He let me see him, and by showing me himself he’s obliterated my fear so fully it’s as if it never existed.

Adam gave me a gift tonight. He revisited the most unconscionable horrors, recounting them to a woman he had every right to believe would throw his part in them back in his face. And it seems no hardship at all to reward that faith in me with the greatest gift I can give him in this moment.

I reach up and trace a path across the place where the clean line of his beard meets his cheek. ‘I trust you,’ I whisper. ‘You can do whatever you like to me.’

Somehow, I know he won’t push my boundaries tonight. While my head is a quagmire of confusing, unfamiliar thoughts about relentless palms and pink, stinging flesh, I know he’ll play it safe. I suspect he wouldn’t spank me tonight even if I begged him to.

There’s a flash of emotion across his face, as unmistakable as it is fleeting. ‘That’s my girl,’ he says hoarsely, pulling the silicon-lined top of my sheer black hold-up away from my right thigh and manoeuvring it with infinite care over the site of my insulin pump before sliding it down and off my leg. The other follows more easily. It’s not until he gathers them, flexing them between his hands with what looks like malicious glee, that I understand his game plan.

He’s going to tie me up with my own stockings. Tame by his standards, I’m sure, but more exciting for a girl who’s never experienced even the most basic form of bondage. My four other sexual partners were all vanilla as fuck compared to this guy.

It’s not just the stockings that have my heart rate ratcheting up. It’s all of it—the forcible way he nudges my legs further apart so he can kneel between them; the sheer size of him looming over me; that hard, dark jut of his erection right above my stomach; the way his abs and shoulder muscles contract as he holds himself upright even as he orders me to bring my hands up so he can bind them together.

It’s quite a sight. I already feel hopelessly, wonderfully overpowered. Apparently, my face says as much, because he glances down and laughs.

‘Look at that smirk. Could it be that my innocent little Natalie’s worked up already?’

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