Page 28 of Daddy Next Door

His eyes darkened at my eagerness. "I'm going to touch you," he said, shifting on the bed to sit more directly beside me. "Not to rush into anything, but to learn you. To see what makes you respond. What makes you tick." His voice dropped lower. "What makes you wet."

My breath hitched at his words, at the clinical way he laid out his intentions while his eyes betrayed something far less detached.

"If anything becomes too much, you'll tell me immediately. What's your safe word?"

"Rose," I answered, the word we'd agreed on earlier that evening.

"Good. And if you can't speak?"

"I'll snap my fingers three times," I said, demonstrating with my bound but still mobile fingers.

"Perfect." He reached out, finally, his fingertips just barely making contact with my forearm. "Let's begin."

The touch was so light it might have been imaginary if not for the trail of goosebumps that followed his fingers as they traveled from my wrist to my elbow. Just that – just the barest contact – and already my skin felt electrified, hyper-aware of every point where his skin met mine.

"Sensitive," he observed, his voice taking on that slightly clinical tone again. "Do you always respond this quickly to touch?"

"No," I admitted. "It's different with you."

That seemed to please him. His fingers continued their journey, tracing up to my shoulder, then across my collarbone. The restraints limited my movement, but I found myself arching slightly into his touch anyway, seeking more pressure.

His hand moved to my neck, fingers splaying across my pulse point. "Your heart is racing," he noted.

"I wonder why," I replied, a hint of sarcasm breaking through my nervousness.

He chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. "There she is. I was wondering if being tied up had taken away that spark."

"Nothing could take that away," I assured him.

His hand drifted lower, tracing the curve of my breast without touching the most sensitive parts. "What do you want most right now?" he asked, his eyes following the path of his fingers.

The question seemed simple, but we both knew it wasn't. What did I want? To be touched more deliberately? To have him inside me? To be let out of these restraints so I could touch him back? All of those things and more.

"I want . . ." I hesitated, then decided on honesty. "I want whatever you're willing to give me."

His hand paused its exploration. "That's not an answer, Lily. That's deflection. Try again."

I flushed, caught in my attempt to please rather than be honest. "I want you to touch my breasts properly. Not just around them. I want to feel your hands on me."

A smile of approval. "Better." His hand completed its circuit around my breast, then finally, finally cupped it fully, his palm warm against my skin. "Like this?"

"Yes," I breathed, relief and new tension spiraling through me simultaneously.

His thumb brushed across my nipple, and I gasped at the jolt of pleasure. "Or this?"

"Both," I managed. "Definitely both."

He continued his careful exploration, touching and squeezing, watching my face for every reaction. When he replaced his hand with his mouth, the wet heat of his tongue against my nipple had me straining against the ropes, desperate for more contact.

"Still okay?" he asked, lifting his head to check in.

"More than okay," I assured him, trying to control my ragged breathing.

His hands moved lower, skimming over my ribs, my stomach, my hips – everywhere except where I most wanted to be touched. The anticipation was torturous and exquisite.

"When did you know you wanted to be tied up?" he asked, his tone conversational again despite the intimate nature of his explorations.

The question caught me off guard. "Since . . . since a long time. But more since I saw you naked. I never told anyone before you."

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