Page 81 of Snow Bound

He took a couple of practice swings, making the leather snap in the air. Then he aimed for the clothespins on her breasts, and she held her breath. He smacked the first one off, sending it flying across the room. She was still reeling when he went after the second. He smacked them off, one by one, careful to avoid the clamps still on her nipples. And when her breasts were clothespin-free and throbbing, he moved on to the ones on her thighs. She howled behind the gag with each blow, jerking in her bonds as she tried to get away. The pain was incredible, heavy and bright, the pleasure just as devastating. Over and over until she was panting, sweating. Her hair came loose from its pins, hanging in her eyes and clinging to her sweaty face and neck.

“I think you’re going to bruise, Ms. Goodwin,” Grant announced, and traced a finger over one of the marks high on her right breast. “Got the clothespins off though, and most of the wax.”

She glared at him through the curtain of her hair. Or she tried to, anyway. She was so high on endorphins she had no idea what expression was on her face.

“Something to say?” he asked smoothly. He leaned down to grasp the edge of the duct tape over her mouth. “Tell me where my money is,” he demanded and ripped it off.

She howled as the skin around her mouth screamed in agony, and before she could consider just how bad an idea it was, she spat in his face.

He stared at her for a moment in complete, blank-faced shock, then his eyes lit with feral glee and his hand flew. The backhand slap caught her across the cheek, the crack like a gunshot in the small room. The sting was like fire, white hot and blazing, and it went straight to her core

“You don’t want to talk?” He grabbed her chin, fingers digging in while she swam in a sea of lust. “Fine. You can do something else with your mouth, then.”

One hand still gripping her face, he unzipped his trousers with the other. His cock was hard and ruddy, and the single, hard stroke he gave it had fluid pearling at the tip.

“Oh, yeah,” he growled when her eyes glazed over. “You want this.”

She tried to come up with a retort, but it was hard with every cell in her body screaming yes, yes, yes! So she just sat there, panting and sweating and soaking through her panties, and did her best to glare at him through the haze of lust.

The hand on her chin shifted to slide into her hair, dislodging whatever pins were left, and fisted, yanking her forward until her lips were a breath away from his cock.

“Open up,” he commanded. He narrowed his eyes as she slowly parted her lips, and something in her expression must have alerted him because he released his cock and hooked his fist in the chain that dangled between her nipple clamps. “And be a good girl, or else.”

Then his hand tightened in her hair, and his cock was sliding into her mouth.

Oh, the taste. It exploded on her tongue, tangy and salty and warm Grant, and her lizard brain took over. Her eyes drifted closed on a moan, then flew open on a squeak when he yanked on the chain.

“Eyes open,” he commanded, and drove into the back of her throat.

She fought the gag reflex that wanted to kick in, sucking in a quick breath when he withdrew slightly. She curled her tongue around the head, hollowing her cheeks as she sucked, then flattened it out again when he drove forward. She couldn’t see anything but the crisp white of his tuxedo shirt and the waist of his pants, then he withdrew again and she tilted her head back a fraction so she could look at his face.

His eyes were narrowed, his face hard with lust. The cords on his neck stood out and his jaw was clenched, mute testament to the extraordinary control he was exerting over himself. A surge of affection rose up inside her, because she knew he clung to that control for her. She was, in the context of the scene, his responsibility, and she knew in her bones that he’d die before he’d let anything happen to her.

He took care of her, she realized. Every day, in a hundred different ways, he took care of her.

The surge of love was so strong, so all-encompassing, it brought tears to her eyes.

He stuttered to a stop, his cock half in her mouth, when he saw them. He started to speak, began to withdraw. Panic rose at the thought that he might stop, might ask her what was wrong, and God, she couldn’t do that now. She shook her head lightly, pulling against his hold, and drove herself forward to swallow his dick.

“Shit,” he hissed. His hands clenched in her hair he slipped into her throat, her nose buried in his open fly. “Fuck, Anna.”

He dropped the chain and buried both hands in her hair. He drew back just far enough for her to see his eyes. “I’m going to drive my dick through the back of your skull,” he growled.

And he damn near did.

He drove forward, burying himself in her throat, and held her there. She struggled to breathe, not to gag, her hands fisting on the arms of the chair. “That’s it,” he muttered. “Fucking take it, you slut. That’s what you are, isn’t it? A thief and a slut, and if I can’t get my money back then I’m going to take it out on your ass.”

She coughed when he pulled back, dragging in air and struggling to see through watering eyes, then he did it again.

Over and over he drove into her throat, then held it there until she thought she’d have to squeeze the toy in her hand. And always, just before she did, he’d pull back and give her a moment to breathe before doing it again.

Tears streamed down her face, spit flowed down her chin and soaked into the blindfold hanging around her neck. She knew her mascara was probably in streaks, and she could see smears of her lipstick on the fly of his pants. She had the wild thought that she hoped he had an understanding dry cleaner, then his dick was back in her throat and she was trying not to gag.

Wet sounds filled the air, the gluck-gluck-gluck of a wet, sloppy throat fuck. She knew Michael could hear it, knew he could see it, with her face buried in Grant’s groin and her throat impaled on his dick.

It was the single hottest experience of her entire life.

She wished almost desperately for a free hand to bury between her thighs. She started rocking forward on the chair, working the plug in her ass. It caught on her panties a little when she moved—not enough, but there was the tiniest bit of friction scraping over her clit, the material so slick now it was practically squishing.

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