Page 36 of T is for…

“Baby, we each spend five figures a month to be members of a semi-secret BDSM club. Messed up is where we’re most comfortable.”

This time, she didn’t laugh, though he saw the small smile play around her lips. Instead, she rocked her hips gently against his hand. Her arousal fluid leaked out around the latex gusset of the fetwear.

Nathan positioned the tip of his index finger in the center of the latex panel and pressed up slightly. It was thin latex, thin enough that he could tell her pussy lips were already parted. Spread either by the position of her legs or due to arousal plumping that sweet flesh.

He couldn’t wait to look. To see how pretty she was there.

He ran his finger along the valley of her sex, feeling the contours of her body. He knew when he hit her clit, not just from the slight bump under his finger but in the way she froze.

She held her breath until he circled her clit, molding the latex to her. Tara groaned. It was a guttural sound without artifice—not a sexy sound but an honest one. He preferred honest. He didn’t want any woman he was with, and especially not Tara, to mewl and pant and whimper because that’s what she thought she should do, or what she thought he wanted.

“This pussy feels very wet.”

“It is, Sir.”

Again, the seamless transition back to a D/s dynamic.

He ached with the need to speed this up. To use her in order to pleasure her.

But it was the game that brought them together. The least he could do is play. Especially when it meant playing with her.

Nathan kept his hand on her thigh as he twisted, hooking his arm over the back of the small couch.

“Hey,” he called out to no one in particular. “Can someone bring me some feathers?”

Chapter 9

Feathers.

Tara didn’t want to admit how long it took her to figure out what letter T item would require feathers. When she did figure it out, she hid a grimace.

Tickling.

She hadn’t really given much thought to tickling when it came to BDSM, but she understood how it slotted into sensation play. She had a few reservations, because she’d heard that sometimes tickling was tied to scenes where there was also age-play, and that was, for her, too far.

One of her favorite sounds in the world was the deep belly laughs and uncontrolled giggles of her nieces and nephews when she ticked them or blew “bubble farts” on their bellies. That mentally categorized tickling as a nonsexual activity for her.

However, she was fairly sure she hadn’t put tickling on her hard limit list. Her nieces and nephews were toddler through first-grade aged, which meant she’d filled out her checklist when they were infants. Long before the word “tickle” became associated in her mind with cries of “tickle me, mausi!”

Nathan had a quick, whispered conversation with the Dom who’d responded to his call for help, turning back to her when the man walked away.

Nathan smiled at her, the expression achingly familiar, and then his gaze slid from her face down to her bare breasts, smile turning into a pleased Dom-smirk that made her tense even as her pussy clenched.

“You have lovely breasts.”

The muscles in her upper arms fluttered as she fought twin urges to either bring her elbows forward in a hunch to hide herself, or to press her elbows back, lifting and offering her breasts.

“It’s a shame what I have planned for them.”

A mildly horrified thrill ran down her back. “What do you have planned?”

“T.” He raised one brow.

“Tit torture,” she said on an exhale.

He nodded.

“But first tickling,” she said, not hiding her grimace.

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