Page 49 of Fenrir

Grace slid from the bed and looked around the room. She spotted a closet and walked to it. She pulled the doors open and scanned the enormous room filled with racks and racks of immaculate suits, all color-coordinated and spaced precisely two inches apart.

Her gaze landed on a set of drawers, and she walked to them, pulling them open one by one until she found what she was looking for. She scanned the ties and removed a black one and a red one before closing the drawer.

She held the ties in her hand and walked back to the bed. Fenrir hadn’t moved from where she’d left him sprawled. All six foot four glorious inches of him. Hard, scarred, and waiting.

She let the ties unroll in her hands and hang in front of her.

Interest turned to fear in Fenrir’s eyes as he realized what she wanted. She climbed on top of him and set the ties on his chest. Slowly she drifted the silk across his skin. Back and forth, she moved them like lazy snakes, allowing him time to relax.

Fenrir’s breathing came out labored, and she touched his face.

“Look at me,” she said softly.

He did, and his eyes glowed brightly. His beast close to the surface.

“I am not going to hurt you, Fen.” She tugged on one end of one of the ties and let the silk slide down his torso. “This is fabric. Just fabric. Not magic. Not chains. Fabric. You can break this any time you want.”

The glow in his eyes intensified, and she waited, sliding the fabric up his limbs. Across his face. Down his throat. And all the while, her eyes never left his.

“Do you trust me, Fen?” she asked again.

His gaze remained conflicted, but his words came out stronger than she’d anticipated. “I don’t know.”

She nodded. That was fair.

“But I want to.”

She slid her hand up his right arm and then back down again. She lifted it into her lap and slowly wound the black tie around his wrist. He opened and closed his hand, flexing against the fabric.

“That’s right,” she said. “Feel the fabric. It’s soft. Easily broken.”

She tied off the tie and stroked his hand, lacing her fingers in his and then up his arm and down again. “Remember, it’s like you said, you’re in charge. Not me.”

Fenrir stared at the tie on his wrist and flexed against it again before looking at her.

“Is that okay?” she asked.

“Yes,” he whispered.

Grace took his hand in hers and raised it above his head. He gripped her rear with his free hand and kissed the inside of her thigh as she tied his hand to the headboard.

She stayed there for a minute and slowly kissed across the fist he’d formed. She released his pinky from his balled fist and sucked it into her mouth. Fenrir’s grip tightened on her rear, and he slid down enough to be able to draw her to his mouth and lick her again.

Grace grabbed the headboard as he pulled her hips into his face. He swirled his tongue against her core, and she wanted to explode all over again. His licks grew greedy, and she noticed his tied hand relaxed.

Almost ready to climax again, she pulled away from his mouth and grabbed his free hand. Fenrir stared at her, waiting.

“Touch me,” she commanded.

Fenrir took his free hand and trickled it down her body. He stopped at her entrance, and she lifted off him and grabbed the headboard. She kissed his tied hand again as he slid one finger inside her.

The feel of his finger made her bite down on his knuckles. He cupped her face with his tied hand and slid another finger inside her. Grace moaned and moved her hips back and forth on his hand. He pressed his fingers in and out of her, and she dropped her cheek to his tied hand. He cupped her face and sucked one of her breasts into his mouth.

She rode his fingers, allowing them to stretch and fill her. Her rhythm became more frantic, and he slid a third finger inside her.

She grabbed the headboard with one hand and laced her fingers in his restrained hand.

“Fen,” she could barely get his name out before another climax rolled through her.

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