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“Take off my belt,” I order, breaking the kiss.
She doesn’t protest. Her hands immediately go to my waist and deftly remove my leather belt from my jeans. When she’s done, I take it from her and test its bend. It’s an old belt, so the leather is soft and flexible. For this, it’s perfect.
Face stoic, I loop the belt around her back. Once I have it aligned right above her elbows, I yank both ends, forcing the leather into her skin and pressing her closer to me. When I kiss her, she groans so loudly, I vaguely wonder if she’s already coming. But no—she’s just mindless over a bit of leather on her soft skin.
“You’re leaving, aren’t you,” I murmur into the kiss. “You’re going to leave and we’re never going to see each other again.”
“That’s the plan, Daddy,” she responds breathily while I squeeze the belt into her skin even harder.
“What if I keep you here,” I reply deviously, testing her. “What if I belt you to my bed, so I can stuff myself into this perfect pussy anytime I want?”
Her response is a groan. She works her tongue against mine, deepening the kiss. Translation: I’d like that very much, August.
Suddenly, I let go of one end of the belt and Julia nearly loses her balance—but I would never let her fall. I hold her up, my hand pressed against the small of her bare back, and steady her.
“Hands out,” I instruct.
For once, she listens and holds out both of her hands—like she knows exactly where this is going. I place the belt around her wrists and wrap it three times before I feed the length through the buckle, tightening it as hard as I can.
“You good?” I check.
“I’m good,” she confirms—because we’re old pros at this now.
Anticipation swells in me. Perfect. “Move to the top of the bed.”
When her head is on the pillows, I raise her bound wrists over her head and rest them against the wooden beam along the top of the headboard. Immediately, I realize I need more props. “Don’t move, Julia,” I warn.
“I hate waiting,” she calls after me. “Hurry up, old man.”
Yeah, I’m going to get her for that one.
When I return from my bedroom with another belt, her eyes light up with recognition—and excitement. She can’t contain the grin forming on her lips—the same little grin that always arises when I give her the taboo she so obviously craves. Rough sex. Dominance. Switching. She clearly loves this shit, and it seems to me like she’s desperate for it.
To hell with all these men she was with before she met me. They didn’t know what they were doing and it shows.
I’m so pleased to see she followed directions and her wrists still rest against the headboard. Using the second belt, I secure her to the bed, tugging on her restraints for good measure. She’s not going anywhere.
“You good?” I ask, giving her another chance to safe out.
“This is how you’re going to do it?” Her voice is husky with intrigue. “Force me to stay here? Make me your prisoner?”
“You can go anytime you want.” I loom over her, enjoying her naked and bound body. “But we both know you don’t want to.”
I don’t wait for her response. I roll off the bed and force myself to go to the kitchen, even though every cell in my body is screaming at me to go back to the woman upstairs. My cock juts painfully against my jeans, dying for release.
She calls for me. She shouts my name. She starts out confused, but her tone quickly melts into anger.
Obviously, I’ll let her go. She knows what she needs to do though.
Paris. Paris. Paris.
I pour myself a glass of wine I know she would love. I’ll get her a glass after we’re done. If things go according to plan, that should be hours from now—plenty of time for it to decant.
She keeps calling for me.
I take a seat at the kitchen island, doing my best to distract myself by reading the wine label repeatedly. It’s brutal. I know she’s up there, desperate for me—desperate for my cock—and I’m down here.
It’ll be worth it though—worth it when she’s out of her mind with need, begging me to take her.
