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Scarlett does as asked, and I stroke my fingers over the warm, delicate silk of her inner wrists, the pulse that leaps beneath my touch as I graze the delicate bones of her wrists and her hands, the long slender shape of her fingers.
I slip the rope around her fingers, then down over her palms and to her wrists that I press together. When I’m done, I run my eyes over her.
She stands still, arms shaking, sexual tension curling in the air, wrapping around me. I test the bonds, the hanging pieces of rope.
There are other ties, but she needs rope this time. She needs to be bound properly, something I like but it’s precise, a rabbit hole of concentration and connecting, one I rarely indulge in.
The right woman’s important to me. I’m not a control freak like Mercer.
But there’s always precision in the chaos when you get down into the depths, just like the chaos that burrows beneath control.
The dichotomy is something that wraps around my soul, a thing I need and almost never give in to because it’s so rare to experience.
With her roped in this simple way, we both vibrate with the fact this isn’t a game. Not at the center.
We crave it. The power flow is an aphrodisiac that I acknowledge. Hers and mine.
The submissive with control, the master who gives over to the wild inside.
She’s so wet because she feels it all too.
I take the rope and guide her arms up and over her head and back down. I slide the rope down her spine, then sink to my knees and pull the rope between her thighs. I hold her steady and start to lick the sides of her slick thighs, sucking the arousal from her skin.
She tastes like that heaven I crave and the hell I’m in.
Scarlett is phenomenal.
I suck her clit, using my tongue to lick along her slit until she’s shaking and moaning and pushing into me like she needs to get the fuck off.
So I sit back, not ready to give that to her.
“Which ones, Scarlett?”
“I… what?”
She sounds drugged, dazed, and that tone spikes through me, shooting straight to my cock. I look down and choose a mid-sized plug and dildo for her.
They’re not huge, but when I push it into her pussy, she gasps as her slit stretches open. The plug disappears to the base, her lips closing around it.
Her stomach quivers like she’s on the verge of orgasm, so I pull it out and line it with her ass, and I slowly, steadily push it into her tight hole.
“Oh my God…” she moans.
I’m not done, though. I tie it into place with another spool of rope, knotting it so it’s holding the base of the plug firmly inside of her. Then I spread her pussy lips, putting pressure on her that won’t become apparent until she’s on the bed and in position.
Rising to my feet, I lead her over to the bed, loving the awkwardness of her movements, the little sounds of arousal and frustration that slip free.
She looks up at me, eyes hungry, half-trusting, half-suspicious. I fucking love the battling hate and desire that swim in the depths of that hunger, and I use one of the last bits of rope to tie her hands to the hooks on the headboard that are hidden on the top.
I observe her, all that sleek, soft flesh indented with the ropes around her upper thighs, spreading her for me. I slide another rope under her waist, then down to connect with the other, knotting it and resting one of the knots right near her clit.
“What are you going to do to me?”
“Shh.” I pick up the blindfold hidden beneath a gag and I slide it over her eyes, effectively blinding her.
Next, I buckle a ball gag into place. I’ll replace it with the spider gag later, but I’m not planning to fuck her yet. I want to tease us both. I want her to know I’m in charge of her pleasure while observing her limits and what gets her really hot and bothered.
When I’m done, her nipples are tight and high. I run a thumb over them. She shudders and moans under the gag.
