Page 80 of Snow Bound

He turned back to the table and picked up a set of clover clamps. He knelt in front of her with a knowing gleam in his eyes and bent his head to her left breast.

She watched him circle his tongue over her nipple gently, almost delicately, with a sense of foreboding. Her breath hissed out when he switched to suckling, softly at first and then hard, his cheeks hollowed with the force of it, then his teeth sank into her nipple.

“Mother fucker,” she moaned, half in despair and half in delight as the sweet, sweet pain wound through her.

His laugh was low as he released her nipple and applied the clamp, then gave it a sharp tug and release that made her breast bounce. Pain spiked as all the little clothespins danced and shimmied. It had barely begun to fade when he was at her other breast, pulling and tugging and biting until it, too, was captured by a clamp.

“How’s that, Ms. Goodwin?” he asked and gave the connecting chain a solid yank.

Her back arched, her teeth gritted against the surge of pain. When she could speak again, what came out was, “Fuck you.”

He grinned and dropped the chain, then pushed to his feet. “Maybe if you’re very good.”

She nearly moaned when he picked up one of the candles. They hadn’t been burning long, but a good portion of the wax had melted already. She’d only done wax play once before, and she’d found it pleasant, if a bit silly.

She didn’t feel silly at all now.

He stood in front of her, legs braced apart, the candle in his hand. He waited until her clouded eyes looked into his. “Where’s my money, Anna?”

She tilted her head to the side. “Which part was unclear,” she wondered, “the ‘fuck’ or the ‘you’?”

He held her gaze as he pinched the wick to extinguish the flame, then tipped the candle. She watched the liquid wax slide close to the edge and held her breath.

It fell out in a thin trickle to splash onto her thigh in a burst of heat, making her jerk and hiss. She stared down at the little spatter of wax, cooling rapidly on her skin. Strong fingers grasped the edge of it then pulled it up, and he examined the reddened skin underneath.

“Such a pretty pink,” he declared. “More of that, I think.”

“Golly, a rhyme,” she spat sarcastically. “Are we in a Dr. Seuss book?”

His eyes narrowed and he tipped his hand, splashing more wax onto her thighs. He worked his way up one thigh and down the other, getting a second candle when he’d emptied the first amid her muttered curses.

He stepped back and surveyed her thighs. “What do you think, Mr. Rogan?” he asked. Anna blinked and tried to focus on Michael’s face on the monitor.

“Nice,” Michael said. He was leaned back in his chair now, his drink refreshed. Even through the monitor—and the haze of lust—she could see his eyes gleam. “She looks lovely covered in wax.”

“She does, doesn’t she?” Grant smiled and picked up the third candle.

Anna moaned, unable to stop the sound from escaping when he held it above her breast. She felt the warmth first, then the sting. He decorated her breasts carefully, almost artfully. When he was done, he stepped back to study the effect, a pleased smile on his face while she panted for breath.

“Where’s my money, Anna?” he asked again.

Panting, her vision blurred with pain and pleasure, she let her head fall back. “I’ll tell you,” she rasped, her voice little more than a whisper. “I didn’t take it, but I know who did. I’ll tell you.”

She lifted her head in time to see the surprise in Grant’s face, then the concern as he stepped forward. “Who was it?”

She licked her lips and looked him in the eye. “Colonel Mustard, in the library, with the computer.”

A grin lit Grant’s face even as an exasperated huff came from the monitor. “This isn’t working. Get the belt.”

“The belt?” Her laugh rang out, harsh and mocking as Grant turned back to the table. “You think you can break me with a belt?”

“And gag her,” Michael growled.

“With pleasure.” Grant picked up the roll of duct tape and tore off a strip. He smoothed it over her mouth while she did her best to eviscerate him with her gaze, then felt him slip something into one of her hands. She looked down at the dog’s squeaky toy in the shape of a bone.

“Squeak it three times if you need to use your safeword,” he whispered, then stood.

“I think those clothespins should come off,” he said and lifted the belt from the table.

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