Page 117 of True North

Words are of no use to me now.

“Good.” He leans to the side and grabs something from a hook behind me. He leans back, the rope in his hands, and my breathing shatters to nothing. “Day’s not over.”

“Harry,” I gasp.

“Yeah?”

I glance at the rope in his hands.

“Trust, Louisa May.”

I stare at him for a moment before I whisper, “Trust.”

“Hands.”

I press my hands together in front of my stomach. He binds the rope around and around before tying it off. A beat later, my arms are over my head, snagged on the hook above me. I can’t get down. I can’t touch him. I can’t move from this bench.

“Right, now, this here... ” He runs a thumb over my clit. My mouth gapes, a whimper tumbling out. “Mine. To do with whatever the hell I want.”

Heat floods my face again as his finger falls away.

I want him to touch me.

I need him to touch me again.

The pounding throb in my clit is painful. The slightest touch would set me off. So worked up, I’m bound to come with the smallest mercy he could give me.

Harry picks up a set of fencing pliers. “This like your vibrator, Lou?”

He has to be joking.

I shake my head.

“I use these all the time. What I wouldn’t do to have you all over these.”

He tosses the tool in his hand, catching the gripping metal end in his palm. The handles ghost up my drenched center before he presses it into my clit. They're cold.

I arch against the small, frigid touch that sends me reeling.

“Cold, darlin’?”

“Too cold.”

He runs the handle through my wet center. “Mine, remember?”

The mewl leaving my lips is ragged.

“More,” I manage to gasp.

He raises one brow. “More?”

“Please...”

Fuck, please.

The pliers slide into me. So slow. Harry watches as the handle disappears, inch after inch.

I buck on the edge of the bench, not even caring I could slip off and hit the ground.

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