Page 54 of Snow Bound

“Whatever I want,” he said, pushing her heel back so it touched her butt. He looped the rope around her upper thigh, making minute adjustments to the placement and tension of the ropes, then did the same on the other leg, then stepped back with a satisfied smile. “There we go. All trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey.”

“Your Thanksgivings must be more interesting than mine,” she managed, looking down at herself with a combination of resignation and delight. Experimentally, she tried closing her knees. A sharp tsk from him made her freeze.

“Keep those knees apart, sugar, or I’ll tie them down too.”

She immediately relaxed so her knees once again fell apart, then mentally cursed. She was supposed to be defying him, dammit, not giving him everything he asked for on a silver platter.

“Well.” His eyes shone with surprised approval. “You can do what you’re told. I think that deserves a reward.” He bent down and kissed her.

His kisses were just as delicious as she remembered, just the right about of rough and sweet. Desire flooded through her and she tried to raise her arms to touch him. The rough ropes prevented her, and the realization that she was helpless dragged a whimper from her throat. She felt more than heard his low rumble of laughter, then he took the kiss deeper, nipping and nibbling and licking and plundering until her head was spinning and she was straining against the ropes. When he pulled away she tried to follow, only to be brought up short.

Her low whine of frustration brought another laugh. “Open your eyes, Anna.”

She struggled to obey, blinking to bring his face into focus. The naked desire and fierce approval stamped on his handsome features made her pussy clench, sending a rush of moisture between her thighs.

“Keep those eyes open.” He tapped her once on the nose in a light admonishment, then bent his head to her breasts.

She squirmed as his tongue circled her nipple lightly. It was too delicate a touch, too soft—and judging by his chuckle, he knew it.

He lifted his mouth and blew lightly across her damp flesh. The nipple drew up into a hard nub, and a pleasant little tingle ran through her. Then his mouth was on her again, suckling this time, and the strong pull of his mouth brought another tingle.

Then his teeth closed on the sensitive flesh and he slowly, steadily, increased the pressure until real pain threatened. She arched up, breath hissing out like air from a kettle as she hovered there on the edge of agony...and he bit down.

“Ahhh!” She arched, blinding agony clouding her mind and stealing her breath. Dimly she knew he’d lifted his mouth—the warmth was gone—but the pressure was still there. She looked down, blinking in confusion until her brain translated what her eyes were seeing.

There was a wooden clothespin on her nipple, pinching the tender bit of flesh so it practically glowed a dark red. “You...that...”

His dimple appeared. “Me. This.” He gave the clothespin a flick and her whole body jerked at the sensation.

“It hurts,” she managed through clenched teeth.

“I know.” He flicked it again and she cried out at the burst of pain. “Breathe, sugar. In and out, that’s a girl. Better?”

She nodded, breathing ragged. The pain had faded from a scream to a roar, dull and throbbing. “I know I said I hated you before, but I was just kidding. Now I hate you.”

“Well, then you’re going to despise me after this,” he quipped and lowered his head to her other breast.

He treated her other breast to the same procedure—light licking, a blow of breath, sucking, and steadily increasing pressure from his teeth until she was writhing in the ropes. Then the clothespin.

When he’d finished she was panting, and a light sheen of sweat slicked over her skin. She was muttering dire threats under her breath when he leaned over her, blocking out the light, and stroked her hair away from her face. “Well, if you can threaten to put Tiger Balm in my underwear, you’re still thinking. Give me a number.”

“What...what number?” she panted.

“Between one and ten, one being none and ten being more than you can handle, what number would you give your pain?”

She struggled to focus. The pain was there, pulsing through her body with the beat of her blood, but the initial shock of it had faded. Instead of a sharp spike of sensation, it was a dull throb, centered in her nipples, and much more tolerable than she’d have believed possible only a few moments before. She licked her lips. “Six. Maybe seven. I don’t know.”

He was still stroking her hair, a soothing contrast to the pain in her nipples. “Tell me what it feels like.”

“It throbs.” She sucked in a breath. “Like someone pushing on a fresh bruise.”

He stopped stroking her hair to cup her cheek. “Can you handle it for a while?”

She wanted to say no—it really did hurt—but she didn’t. Saying no would end it, and despite the pain, despite her jangling nerves, she didn’t want it to be over. “I think so.”

“Brave girl.” He brushed a kiss over her mouth, a gentle reward for her courage, then dropped his hand and reached into the bag again.

She ignored the sense of loss and tried to see what he was holding, but he hid whatever it was behind his back and moved onto the bed. He settled on his knees between her spread thighs and with a low hum of pleasure, stroked a finger down her labia.

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