Page 52 of Captive Bride

I scan the length of him.

He’s absolutely massive. His cock is throbbing before me. His size leaves me equal parts terrified and thrilled.

I quiver all over again at the sight of him.

Instead of climbing onto the bed, he turns to the chair behind him, picking up a silk tie that’s been casually strewn across it.

“Put your hands above your head,” he tells me.

I do, looking into his eyes as I obey.

My mind turns to the first time I saw him, to the darkened corner of the lobby.

I can practically feel his hands around my wrists, the intense powerlessness I felt at their touch.

I breathe deeply, calming the emotions that race through me at the thought.

He walks around the side of the bed, looking down at me from his vantage point.

I feel his hands on my wrists, pushing them together. The tie slides around them, delicate fabric caressing my sensitive skin.

I feel as it begins to tighten and look up to watch.

He binds my wrists tightly, securing them to the headboard with practiced hands.

I give them a tug, experimenting with the length.

The constraint leaves me feeling utterly powerless, and I wonder at the spark that spreads through me at the thought of it.

I turn to find his eyes. They pierce me in question.

I answer with my own, my chest heaving in anticipation.

He walks slowly back to the foot of the bed, looking me over slowly, as if admiring his handy work.

I bite my tongue to keep from rushing him.

The simple truth, though, is I’m half-crazy with impatience.

I don’t think I can go another second without feeling his hands on me, without tasting him again. My mind races as fast as my pulse, yearning for him.

Finally, he climbs onto the bed, crawling across my lithe form.

His mouth finds mine in a rush, the kiss hard and frantic. I kiss him back with equal desire, the taste of his tongue making me groan in pleasure.

His hand finds my breast, kneading and pinching with expert precision. My nipples stand unbelievably hard in the dim lighting, and I feel myself growing wetter by the second.

He slips a hand between my legs, touching me more fiercely than he did before, eliciting a moan of pure desire.

“Spread your legs,” he tells me.

I gladly obey.

He rises to his knees, my own now on either side of him.

My skin is flushed with heat. I feel energy whirl throughout me, driving me to madness.

“Tristan...” I start, unable to keep myself from begging any longer.

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