Page 25 of His to Command

The first touch of silk against my wrist makes me shiver. Hudson binds me with careful precision—firm enough to hold, gentle enough not to mark. First my right wrist, tied to the bedpost. Then my left. He tests each bond, ensuring I can't pull free.

"Okay?" he asks, hands moving to my ankles.

"Yes." My voice emerges husky, affected.

He spreads my legs wide, tying each ankle to opposite bedposts. When he's done, I'm completely open to him—arms stretched above my head, legs spread in an obscene V, every intimate part of me accessible to his gaze, his touch.

Hudson sits back on his heels, surveying his work. The look on his face—raw hunger tinged with something almost reverent—makes me squirm against my bonds.

"Don't move," he commands softly.

I go still, watching as he leaves the bed again, returning with a small bottle. Massage oil. The scent of sandalwood fills the air as he warms it between his palms.

"I'm going to touch every inch of you," he tells me, voice dropping to that register that makes heat pool between my legs. "And you're going to lie there and take it. No hiding. No control. Just surrender."

The first touch of his oil-slicked hands on my shoulders makes me gasp. He works methodically, massaging my arms, my hands, my collarbone. His touch is expert—firm where I need pressure, gentle over sensitive spots.

But this isn't just a massage. This is worship. This is Hudson Roth claiming my body one nerve ending at a time.

He moves to my breasts, cupping their weight, thumbs circling nipples until they peak hard against his touch. I arch into his hands as much as my bonds allow.

"So responsive," he murmurs appreciatively. "So perfect for me."

His hands continue their journey, sliding down my ribs, mapping the dip of my waist, the flare of my hips. Places I've spent a lifetime trying to minimize, he pays special attention to—the softness of my belly, the fullness of my thighs.

"Do you know how long I've wanted to do this?" he asks, positioning himself between my spread legs. "How many nights I've dreamed of you tied to my bed, completely at my mercy?"

The raw need in his voice makes me whimper. I pull against the silk restraints, not to escape but to reach for him. The bonds hold firm.

"Hudson, please..." The plea escapes unbidden.

"Please what?" His hands slide up my inner thighs, thumbs pressing into sensitive flesh, stopping just short of where I need him most. "Tell me what you want, Robin."

"Touch me." I'm beyond shame, beyond reservation. "Inside me. Please."

His smile is predatory, satisfied. "Not yet. First, I want to taste you."

He lowers his head, maintaining eye contact as his mouth descends. The first swipe of his tongue makes my entire body jerk against the restraints. He groans against my flesh, the vibration intensifying the sensation.

"So sweet," he murmurs, before devoting himself completely to my pleasure.

With my legs spread wide and secured, I can't close them, can't control the pace or pressure. Can only lie there and receive what he gives—the expert flicks of his tongue, the careful suction of his lips, the occasional graze of teeth that sends shockwaves through my system.

"Hudson!" I cry as he slides one finger inside me, then another, curling them against that spot that makes sparks explode behind my eyelids.

"Look at me," he demands, pausing his ministrations. "Watch me taste you."

I force my eyes open, looking down my body to where he kneels between my spread thighs. The sight of him there, those steel eyes locked on mine as he lowers his mouth again, is almost unbearably erotic.

His fingers thrust in counterpoint to his tongue, building a tension in my core that borders on painful. I strain against the silk bonds, seeking a release that seems just out of reach.

"Please," I beg. "Please, Hudson. I need?—"

"I know what you need." He pulls away abruptly, leaving me trembling on the edge. "And I'll give it to you. When I decide you're ready."

The loss of his mouth is a physical pain. I watch as he positions himself over me, his cock hard and ready, the tip glistening with evidence of his own arousal. He nudges against my entrance but doesn't push forward.

"Say it," he commands, voice taut with restraint. "Tell me who you belong to."

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