Page 67 of Why Not Forever?

I lay my hands on his cheeks, the softness of that beard beneath my palms. I search his eyes for a moment before pressing my lips to his. Then I sit back and say, “Okay.”

He places the wide end of the tie over my eyes, tying it in a knot on the side of my head.

“Are you all right?” he asks when he’s done.

I swallow, but nod. “It’s hard for me to give up control.”

“I know, baby. But you’re doing so good. You’re being a very good girl. And do you know what good girls get?”

My lips curl up into a smile. “I hope you’re going to say we get presents.”

He kisses me, speaking softly against my lips. “Good girls get whatever they want.”

“Anything?” I ask, breathless.

“Anything.”

I shift my hips, trying to relieve the ache there. It doesn’t help. Then Tanner kisses my cheek and his hands come to rest on my waist below the hem of my pyjama shirt.

“I’ll go slow. Stop me if you need to.”

“How? Shouldn’t we have a safe word or something?”

His hands slip up the inside of my shirt along my sides, pulling it up. “We’re not going to do anything too crazy tonight, Vic. If you want me to stop, just say stop.”

My shirt comes off in the next second and it’s awkward for the first moment as I sit there, topless, unable to see anything. Does he like what he sees? Is he impressed? Happy? Underwhelmed?

I don’t have to worry for longer than two seconds before his tongue licks one stiff nipple. I moan and arch toward him, his hands on my back urging me closer. I thread my fingers into his hair, holding him to me as he licks and sucks and bites softly.

His hands slide down my back to the top of my pyjama pants and I lift myself up so he can slide them off me. When my ass touches the tabletop again, I’m acutely conscious of the fact that I’m naked, blindfolded, and completely at his mercy.

And yet, when his hands stroke up my legs, urging them further apart, I do exactly as he’s requesting and spread my thighs.

When he lifts his head from my breast, I try to hold him in place. He chuckles, taking my hands from his hair and placing them on the table behind me.

“I’m going to move you into position, baby,” he says as he shifts my ass closer to the edge of the table. “I want you to stay there and not move.”

He lifts one of my legs, placing my foot on something hard—the arm of the chair I had been sitting on. He lifts my other leg and does the same thing, setting it on his chair, so I’m spread wide for his gaze.

“Victoria Marcus,” he says, and my whole body heats at the sound of my name combined with his. “What is this I see? A flower tattoo, a butterfly tattoo, and pink toenails?”

“It’s not a butterfly,” I say. “It’s a moth. Don’t you see the comb-like antennae?”

He chuckles. “I stand corrected. Either way, it’s pretty. I would never have expected something so girly from you.” His hands travel softly along my skin—over my hip and pelvic bone where the flower tattoo is on my right side, then further up my sides to my ribcage, right under my breasts where the moth is on my left. He continues on to cup my face, bringing me toward him for a kiss.

“What did you expect?” I ask between kisses.

“I didn’t expect more tattoos. I knew about this one.” His hand drops to my right calf where a cute watercolour triceratops is in pink, purple, and blue. “I really wasn’t sure if you’d have more. As for your nails, I thought your toenails would match your fingers. A classic French manicure.”

I grin. “How do you know what a French manicure is?”

He kisses my jaw. “I have a bunch of nieces and two sisters, Vic. I’m the youngest sibling. I was subjected to all kinds of tortures growing up, including manicures.”

All along my skin, I feel his body, the clothes he still wears. His buttons slide against me, and I want to lift my legs to wrap around him, pull him closer to my aching core, but I do as he has instructed and remain still.

“You’re such a good girl, Vic,” he tells me.

I whimper when he says that, partly because the words are ones I crave, but also because he’s pulled away again and is no longer touching me at all.

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