Page 73 of Brutal Promise

He forces his knee between my legs. His mouth is on mine. I taste the scotch he’s been drinking and smell the tobacco of a cigar. I inhale deeply as his lips crush mine with his need. His hand moves from my neck to my pussy, taking me by surprise.

I moan, wrapping my arms around his neck to keep from swooning.

He massages my clit, and I grind against his hand, trying to get more friction as my breathing turns raspy.

“You’re mine, mine to love, mine to fuck,” he hisses in my ear, giving it a nip.

He pushes the robe off my shoulders, leaving me exposed. The cool air hits my breasts, and I welcome it as I’m burning with desire.

“Say you’re mine,” he commands.

I turn my head, delaying my answer.

He thrusts his fingers into me, and I wince with pleasure.

“Say it, or you’ll be sleeping alone tonight.”

He kisses my neck. His lips reach my breasts strapped into the leather bra and on full display. He thumbs the leather back and rubs my nipple, causing my pussy to gush.

“What will it be,Usha Moya? Who do you belong to?” His anger has dissipated. He’s making me beg. I hate myself for being weak.

“You.” My voice is thready. My chest heaves. I yearn for him to grab me by the hair and ravage me, caveman style.

Our bodies convey what we don’t put into words.

“That’s more like it,” he says, releasing me. “Now get upstairs.”

I take to the stairs as if my life depends on it.

I run to our room, drop the silk robe on the floor, and crawl under the covers. My heart is pounding.

I look to the door, and there he is, watching me. He unbuttons his shirt, never taking his eyes off me. He walks into the room, kicks off his shoes, and disappears into the closet.

He returns, void of clothing, with a padded eye mask and what looks like a silk tie in his hands.

“You were quite the distraction. I had to make an excuse to leave my meeting.”

He slips a strap off my shoulder and moves the lingerie to the side before he feasts on my nipple, taunting it and nipping, sending waves of pleasure coursing through my breasts.

My eyes widen.

He leans over me and grabs my wrists.

“What are you doing?”

“You’ll like it. Relax.” He binds my hands and ties them to the wrought iron headboard. He slips the mask over my head and covers my eyes.

I feel the mattress shift with his weight. The acrid smell of the tobacco, mixed with his musky cologne, tells me he’s close—anticipation courses through my veins.

He cups my breast and kneads them. I move my legs together to stifle my need to have him between my thighs.

His tongue slips between the nipple and the leather bra, and he teases it, keeping my nipple erect.

He shifts his weight. I feel his lips on my belly, catching me by surprise. He drops kisses on one side, then the other.

I suck air into my lungs and stifle a moan.

I pull at the restraints, yearning to touch him, but they won’t budge.

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