Page 38 of Bedding his Innocent Mistress

She swallowed. “It feels kind of amazing.”

His eyes narrowed and then he grabbed her hand and pulled her, with urgency, through his apartment, to a room she’d never been in before. A bedroom, with a door that led to the outdoor area.

“Why don’t you use this as your room?” She asked. It was larger than his, and beautifully decorated.

“I prefer the other.”

She turned around to ask him why, but he was undressing, slowly, deliberately, his eyes on hers. And words and thought flew from her mind.

She stared at him and her nipples, already pinched and throbbing, strained, erect and squashed by the metal.

“This feels strange,” she said, lifting her fingers to the jewels.

“Leave them,” he growled, then, softened. “Unless they are painful.”

“I think it’s good pain,” she whispered, her eyes huge.

“You’ll know if it’s not.”

She blinked her lashes. “And then I’ve got permission to remove them?”

He laughed. “Yeah. Of course.” He was naked, and so beautiful she stared at his body hungrily. “You’ll tell me if you aren’t enjoying yourself.”

She nodded, her mouth too dry to speak. “I don’t think that’s likely.”

He nodded, a muscle jerking in his jaw. She felt a sense of hesitation in him, and she wanted to overcome it. “I want you,” she muttered. God, it was so much more than that. She needed him. Badly. Desperately. As he walked towards her, she dropped her hand to her feminine heart, her fingers lifting the negligee so that she could touch her throbbing tangle of nerves.

He stopped walking and stared, his body immovable, his expression taut as she threw her head back, her eyes focussing on the ceiling.

“Cristo,” he swore, and he closed the distance, lifting her hand, and kissing her fingers, then slipping one into his mouth. Her knees buckled and he caught her around the waist, holding her tight to him. The feeling of his mouth around her finger, knowing he was tasting her essence, was almost too erotic to bear.

He drew her with him, towards the bed, but once they reached it, he turned her around to face the bedhead and gripped her wrists. He clipped a handcuff around her wrist, and then tethered it past a bedpost, then clipped her other wrist to it. She was imprisoned.

“I hope you have the keys,” she joked, but her voice was strained, her brow dotted with perspiration.

He didn’t answer. He moved to stand behind her and bent her forward from the hips, so that her head was level with the mattress, but several feet away.

His fingers on her hips were firm. She gasped as he pushed the negligee up, and she bit down on her lip, impatience making her groan. She stepped her feet apart, wider, and rolled her back, wanting him to take her, the waiting almost killing her.

Her breasts were tingling with pleasure and an intense discomfort that only built the sensations of need. “Please,” she whispered, a husk of sound.

He ran his hands over her back, along the lace of the negligee, and at her shoulders, he dug his fingers into her muscles, massaging her in a way that made her hips tremble and her thighs ache. “God,” she groaned, arching her neck backwards. His fingers caught her hair and he pulled on it. Not hard, but enough to make her body throb.

He kept one hand in her hair while the other ran down to her clitoris and he padded his thumb over the sensitive, exposed nerve cluster.

She swore, tilting her head forward and he laughed, a husky sound of acknowledgement, but still he didn’t speak. His fingers dropped from her hair suddenly and came to her breasts. He flicked one of the nipple clamps, and she cried out. But it was a beautiful sensation. Hot and dark; exactly like him. Combined with the heat he was stirring at her heart, she was a puddle of need.

He dragged his hand outwards, running along her upper thigh, then her hip, and coming to the sensitive flesh between the swell of her buttocks.

“Do you trust me?” He asked, and she nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Why?” His hand curved around her buttocks, and she moaned, every part of her alive and jerking and almost insane with need.

“I just do,” she groaned, low and slow, the words a tremor in her throat.

“Good.” And he thrust into her, without warning, yet her slick, moist core immediately answered, tightening around him, squeezing him, welcoming him back.

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