Page 67 of Good Girl

I nod and try. I do. But it’s only just now occurring to me that my fingers are cramping from how tightly I’m keeping the end of the armrests gripped. And I’m not sure I can relax. Not when I don’t know what’s coming. What if—

A heavy weight falls over my shoulder, across my chest and against the opposite thigh. Fingers brush along my thigh as the weight is gathered, and with my eyes squeezed shut, I can only assume it’s the rope. Slowly, it is pulled tight, diagonally across my body, until there is pressure against my collarbone, sternum, and opposite ribs.

The rope goes slack and moves oddly for a few seconds before tension pulls everything tight, but not as tight as I’m expecting. Without any additional slack entering the rope, the end is draped over my opposite shoulder, the length pooling in the V of my legs.

Warmth brushes against my nipple, and a hand worms its way around the rope in my lap, a finger slipping straight over my clit and sinking knuckle deep into my pussy.

I gasp as he removes his finger as quickly as he entered me, taking the rope with him.

Fuck. Wait. Am I…

I’m being tied to the actual chair.

Why the fuck that thought didn’t occur to me when I first saw the ropes and the chair, I have no clue. Because, obviously, that was the plan from the beginning.

The rope goes tight, loose, and then tighter again.

“When I’m done, you’ll have what is called a Butterfly Harness. It gets its name from the shape it makes around a submissive’s chest. It can be extended by binding the arms in a bent position and anchored at the back.”

I force my eyes open and peer down at my chest. I don’t see it. Right now, it’s just a simple X between my tits.

“Keep watching, princess. You’ll see it soon.”

How the fuck did he read my mind like that?

Two more additional loops of the rope on each side, and I have a really thick X, but the overlapping in the center of my cleavage has formed a cross-hatched design. Angel comes around to my side and kneels. I feel the rope as he brings it from the back and around my ribs. His knuckles brush my side-boob, and I swallow as he loops it under the three strands of the shoulder piece, directly above my boob, creating a triangle.

Angel wraps it back around to the back and then under my arm again.

I’m starting to see the shape.

He repeats the same on the other side.

When he’s done, he stands and stops in front of me. My gaze attaches to his face, but he doesn’t look atme. No, he looks at his ropes, slides his fingers under and around them, pulls a little, adjusts something here and another thing over there.

Then he strides away, and unless I crane my neck, I can’t see him anymore.

Buzzing fills the room again, and I snap back around to look at Viper. At some point, he’d retaken his seat on the rolling stool. When my gaze clashes with his, he stands and stalks the few steps toward me, the padding of his bare feet hidden by the music.

He hunkers down right between my thighs and raises the vibrator so that I can see it between my thighs. It has a ball-like white head, and I just know, I fucking know, I’m going to loveto hate it. With his shoulders almost touching the inside of my knees, I can’t close my legs, even if I want to. I’m no longer held open by my own will power, but forced open by Viper.

His lips quirk to the side, and his ice-blue eyes glint with mischief as he touches the vibrating ball to my inner thigh, right at the very top, but low enough that it doesn’t actually touch my pussy.

I jerk in place and suck in a breath—the vibration isheavyand travels up my thigh into my pelvis. Even with it so far from my pussy, the electricity that races through my muscles is enough to shock me senseless.

Is he going to touch that thing to my vagina? Holy fuck, I’ll explode on the spot. There is no way my clit is going to come out as the winner if that thing touches it. It’ll get burned right off.

“Oh, fuck,” I whisper, my leg muscles twitching and spasming under the onslaught.

“Remember, no moving,” Viper says, voice as hard as glass. He grins at me, the edges a little wicked and a lot wild, just before he touches it to my other thigh.

I let out a squeak, twist and squirm in my seat, trying to get away but also trying to maintain my position. The nerves under the vibrator are going haywire, unsure if this actually feels good or not.

With the chair strapped to my back, like my fancy new fucking backpack, I’m stuck. There is zero possibility of getting away. My leg muscles fight each other—half want to close and the other half want to be good and stay spread. I’m at their mercy. They can do whatever they want with me. Not that I’ve ever stopped them.

I don’t think I ever will.

I want this too much.

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