Page 76 of Fruit
Kisses, and fruit, and the taste of him. He doesn’t take his eyes off me, and he has me locked in his gaze.
When the fruit is gone, I discard the packet, and he licks the juice from my fingers. The sensation of his tongue against my skin has my breath trapped in my chest for a moment.
“I want to tie you to my bed and fuck you,” I say without even thinking it first. It just comes out from the sweetness in my mouth.
His body stills, but his gaze doesn’t flicker. He looks at me for a moment before standing up with my legs wrapped around him. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss where it meets his shoulder as he walks us to the bed.
We drop onto the mattress, and I strip him of his clothes. Shirt, jeans, boxers, socks. Each piece reveals more skin for me to explore, but I hold myself back. That will come later.
I take some handcuffs from one of my drawers. It’s the flimsy, padded, playful kind. I’ve only used them a few times, bought on impulse and without a specific plan in mind. Now, though, I’m glad I have them on hand.
“You say stop, and we stop,” I say, showing him the key.
“All right.”
I kiss him slow and deep before he lies on his back. I lift his arms and snap one of the cuffs around his right wrist. It makes a decisive click as it shuts.
“Loose? Tight?” I ask. He tests it.
“Feels fine.”
“Okay.” I run the long chain behind two of the posts out of the many that make up my headboard before closing the second cuff around his left wrist. I check in with him again, and he gives me the same response.
I run my hands down his arms and kiss him lightly on the lips. He stretches up for more, but I move away, sitting on my heels beside him. As he looks at me, I start undoing the buttons running along the front of my shirtdress. I don’t make a show of it, but I go slow, not taking my eyes off him. The chain of his handcuffs rattles slightly as he makes an instinctive move towards me.
“Fuck,” he says, as if only just realising what the handcuffs really mean.
My dress falls open and I let it slide off my shoulders, falling to my bent elbows. I tilt my head back and wrap my hand loosely around my neck. My fingers stroke my skin, moving to my shoulder. The touch is light, but it’s weighted down by the intensity of his stare. I slide one of my bra straps down and trace the imprint it’s left behind before moving to the other shoulder and doing the same.
I reach behind me, unclasping my bra, letting it fall away and discarding it along with my dress, leaving me in my tights and panties.
I run my hands across my chest, and the chains of Sebastián’s handcuffs sound again. I lean forwards and trace his full lips with my fingers. He parts them, and I slip two inside. He looks so good like that, and the feel of his tongue against my skin has me shivering with anticipation.
I remove my fingers from his mouth and press their wetness against one of my nipples, squeezing and rubbing roughly there. I make a noise of pleasure, and the posts Sebastián is chained to creak slightly as he pulls on his restraints. I play with myself for a while. More than physical pleasure, I’m filled with the weight of the moment. Of Sebastián looking at me, at the way his cock is filling to hardness without even having to be touched, of the gentle power of having him chained and wanting whilst I take my own body in my hands.
I sit up off my heels and slide my tights to my thighs before sitting on my ass. I drape my legs over his chest. His head is propped up on a pair of pillows, and he has a front-row seat as I slide the material of my tights down slowly. I let my hands brush my skin as I trace a path down one leg and then the other. He watches every inch I expose intently until my legs are bare, pressing against his chest lightly.
“What next?” I ask. He doesn’t respond, just looking at me, because we can both guess what’s coming next.
I move my legs off him before straddling his midsection. He arches against me and I smile.
“Be good,” I chide, but I lean down to kiss him anyways. He parts his lips immediately under mine, kissing me deeply, and I let him for a while before sitting back again.
He makes a protesting noise but quiets when I open my thighs wide and press between my legs, over the material of my underwear. I stroke myself there, moving my hips slightly against the pressure. I feel my wetness through the cotton as I tease myself under his gaze.
I move my panties to the side and stroke myself. My fingers feel so good after the elongated wait, and I make a noise.
“Iva,” he says.
I rub my damp fingertips against my clit. “Sebastián,” I reply, and he strains against his bonds.
“Please,” he says.
“What do you want?” I respond softly.
“Take them off. Please.”
I sit up, raising each knee in turn, and take my panties off.
