Page 57 of Deeply Examined

“Yes,” I tell him. This, at least, is partly true. I’m nauseous from all his revelations. “I feel awful.”

He shakes his head mournfully. “Poor Ms. Jones.” He pulls two yellow rubber tubes from a drawer and holds them up. “Do you know what these are?”

I squint at them. “Are those the things they use to squeeze your arm when you get your blood drawn?”

He nods with approval. “They’re tourniquets. I’m going to need you to be still for this next procedure. I can cure you, but I need you to submit fully. These will help. Do you understand?”

A flashback to when he tied me to the bed.

You’re beautiful like this. Spread out.

“I understand,” I tell him, proud there’s no waver in my voice.

“Put your arms above your head.” West demonstrates, raising his arms up to the ceiling.

I do as he asks, stretching my arms out long.

He comes up to the head of the table. There are tall silver poles, the kind you would use to hang an IV, on each side of me. Quickly, he ties a tourniquet to each side. He grabs my wrist and tugs it up until it’s at the level of the pole. He wraps the loose end of the rubber tube around the pole and my wrist twice and ties it into a knot. He repeats the process on the other side. By the end, I’m bound to the IV poles with my arms taut above my head.

An experimental tug proves that I have a very limited range of motion. I panic a little. My heart thunders in my chest, nervous and excited all at once.

West steps back and strokes his chin thoughtfully. “Yes,” he says, his voice raspier than usual. He examines me like I’m his favorite science experiment. With a hint of satisfaction, he says, “That’ll work.”

I’m at his mercy in this position. He can do whatever he wants. With effort, I relax into that knowledge. Letting my inhibitions go, I embrace the loss of control. In my regular life, I have to plan and work and strive. Now I don’t have to do anything. Ican’tdo anything except take whatever he decides to give me.

I stare at him, taking in the curve of his bicep, the width of his thighs, the sharp angle of his jaw, now shadowed with stubble since it’s late.

Fuck. He’s sexy.

What’s he going to do?

Anticipation quickens my breath and pulls my muscles taut.

“You’re a beautiful woman, Ms. Jones.” My heart leaps at his words, then stops when he lays the back of his hand on my cheek. He runs his hand down to my jaw, then pinches my chin lightly, tilting it up toward him. “Gorgeous face.” His hand moves to the sensitive skin of my throat, where my pulse flutters wildly. He wraps his hand around my neck. I hold my breath when he squeezes lightly.

He trails his hand down to my right breast, where he rubs his thumb over my erect nipple, making it peak even more. “Perfect tits.” His fingers warm with friction as he trails them down my side and around to my butt, which he palms. “Sweet ass.” His hand slides around my hip and reaches between my legs, hitting the spot I’ve been waiting for. “And such a pretty little pussy.” With that, his fingers toy with my clit, flicking it rapidly.

I moan loudly. I can’t help myself. His touch sends waves of desire roaring through my body.

“Why, Ms. Jones.” His eyes widen with mock surprise. “You’re drenched. Is this all for me?”

Embarrassed, I turn my head to the side and avert my gaze.

“Eyes on me,” he commands in a no-nonsense tone.

My eyes whip up to meet his frosty expression.

“Don’t look away,” he warns.

Our gazes locked, he continues to stroke into my wetness until I’m panting, trembling. It feels so good, but I want more. I need to be filled, to ease the pulsing hollowness between my legs.

He doesn’t give me that.

Not yet.

Instead, he gets out the nipple clamps and holds them up so I can inspect them. A delicate silver chain connects the metal clips. They’re tipped with black plastic or rubber over the part where they’ll attach to my nipples.

I’m scared. I almost ask him to stop, but he’s already opening the first clamp. He brings it to my nipple, and I wince against its coldness. Slowly he releases it, letting it pinch my tender flesh. I suck in a breath because it hurts, an exquisite kind of pain, the sensation sharp and burning. He places the other clamp more quickly, hurrying now. I bite my lip to stop from complaining as my vision swims with unshed tears.

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