Page 14 of Ctrl Me
“Yeah.” My voice sounded like broken gravel. “This is just . . . intense.”
“I know.” He kissed my forehead, then murmured, “Can you take a bit more? For me?”
Could I? Gabe brushed his lips against my head, his breath warm and calming.
“Yes,” I said.
“Even if it’s punishment?” I felt him smile, his lips grazing my skin.
Punishment. A chill ran down my spine and my breath caught in my throat, but not from fear. Gabe wasn’t Dominik. He wasn’t even close. Ineededwhat Gabe offered. The yielding of my control, the delight in letting go completely. I twisted my arms against the chair . . . or tried to. Gabe knew his art well. The ropes held me against wood, just enough to keep me from twisting, not enough to numb or hurt—well not much.
I gave up fighting and surrendered myself to Gabe. “Yes. I didn’t listen to you.”
Gabe stepped back, equal parts desire and amusement in his eyes, on his lips. “No, you didn’t.” He moved behind me. “Lean your head forward.”
From the none-too-gentle tugging against my scalp and the slide of hair up my back, Gabe was pulling my ponytail out. A moment later, he held the elastic band in front of my face. “That’s fine for the office. But when we’re alone, when you’remine, I don’t want to see it. Understood?”
My heart fucking skipped a beat. No anger, but the sharp bite of his command raised goose bumps on my skin.His. “Yes, Gabe.”
He drew the band back. More tugging on my scalp, then the slight pain separated into three points and— “Fuck.” It came out as a whisper. I’d had enough girlfriends who had loved to play with my hair that I recognized the sensations. He’d pieced it into sections to braid.
“I’ve spent hours daydreaming what I’d do with your hair.” He pulled the lengths back until my head couldn’t move, caught against the tall back of the chair. Then he yanked a bit harder and the prickling against my skull went straight to my balls. I couldn’t help the moan.
I fucking loved having my hair pulled. It was one of the things that had led me to believe I might have been a masochist. But to be rendered immobile as well? My hips moved involuntarily, trying to thrust my cock against anything.
The pressure only increased as Gabe braided my hair around one of the wooden slats, I assumed. He finished and the sound of the elastic band snapping back on filled the room, as did the sound of my stuttered breathing. Gabe touched my shoulder, then he was back in view, leaning in, his other hand pressed against my chest. His lips hovered just out of reach of mine, and I couldn’t move to close the distance. I groaned in frustration and desire.
“How are you now?” His lips brushed mine, but didn’t stay there, damn it.
“I want you so bad.” The words poured out of me.
He backed away and smiled. “I can tell.” Probably because my cock was so hard, one stroke would have done me in. “Dinner first.”
Dinner. I’d forgotten all about dinner. How the hell was I going to eat like this? My head rested almost normally against the back of the chair, but I couldn’t move at all. “Gabe—”
He pressed his index finger to his lips, and I fell silent. “I’ll be a few minutes,” he said. “Enjoy yourself.”
With that, he was gone, and I was alone.
Well, not really. Gabe moved in the kitchen. Put a pot on the stove. Poured water. I just couldn’t see him. His scent lingered. My lips burned from his almost kiss, and my heart hammed against my ribs. Cock too hard, balls too tight. And everywhere, the ropes pressed like Gabe’s hands and fingers. Holding me, surrounding me, caressing me. I closed my eyes and gave in to the sensations, the heady intoxication of no control. And I flew through the dull throb at the back of my head, the chill in my ass, the strain in my shoulders and hips. None of it mattered.
An eternity later, Gabe touched my shoulder. “Thomas?”
“Hmm?” I opened my eyes and dinner was on the table. Along with a glass of water. “Hi.”
He laughed. “Hi yourself.” He moved the other chair to face mine and sat. “You’re beautiful.” He traced his finger between the rope holding my thigh to the chair, and I shuddered. “I never dreamed you’d be so into this.”
I tried to shrug, and only managed to hurt my scalp. “Well, here I am.”
“Yes.” There was a tremor in his breath. “Here you are.” He scooted a bit closer to the table, picked up a knife and fork, and cut his chicken breast into pieces.
My stomach didn’t growl so much as flip. Was he going to leave me like this and eat? In front of me? Was that my punishment? When he’d said denial, I’d thought he’d meant orgasm, not food. I pressed my lips together.
He took a bite. “This is really good.” He stabbed another piece and turned.
Oh.Oh. God, he held his fork out to me. My body flamed to my toes, and I opened my mouth to accept the chicken, then closed my mouth around the morsel, and Gabe pulled it back slowly, tines pressing against my lips.
The chicken was good, but that wasn’t why I moaned. When I finished chewing, Gabe offered me more food. Same effect—curled my fucking toes. And that went on and on, until we’d cleaned his plate and drank the water in his glass.
