Page 27

"Put your wrists together," he says.

He's still hard, I realize, as I look down while I'm obeying. The throw blanket falls to the floor, leaving me bare again. His cock is straining against his boxer briefs, the fabric damp from the pre-cum leaking from his tip. I would have thought the negotiations would have softened his arousal, but apparently… not at all.

He binds my wrists slowly, wrapping the rope around them and passing it back and forth until there's a thick band holding them together. Then he leads me toward the X-shaped frame.

"Back against it," he says. I obey, and he lifts my hands over my head, securing them to the metal ring above me. When that's done, he kneels, attaching each of my ankles to a side, so that my legs are spread and I'm fully secured.

"Are you alright?" he asks, and I give a small, breathy laugh.

"I'm more than alright."

He glances down between my thighs and gives a small groan. "God, you're so wet. I can see my cum on your thighs."

"Put more there."

"Impatient girl." He smacks the inside of one thigh, lightly, and I whimper. I make the same noise, again, when he strips off his boxer briefs, leaving his thick, hard cock on display, framed by that deep V of muscle.

"That's just mean," I breathe, and he chuckles.

"This isn't a quick road to pleasure, lass." He reaches for his cock, giving himself a few slow strokes before squeezing the base. "For either of us. But with you…" His hand lazily trails over his shaft once more before leaving it. "I haven't needed a ring to control myself in a long time. But I might need one, to keep from coming just seeing you like this."

I look at the sticky trail of pre-cum dripping from his head down his length, and squirm against the frame. "You could make me come now," I plead. "Just to start. And then tease me."

"Oh no." He smirks at me. "You asked for this, a chumann. Now you're going to find out what that means."

He goes to the cupboard and takes a few things out, two of which he sets out of reach. The one in his hand as he approaches me is a long feather, and I almost laugh, until he starts to touch me with it.

It's excruciating. The soft touch makes me buck and writhe against the restraints as he drags it over and between my breasts, down my stomach, over my hips, up my thighs. He trails it around my nipples until they're stiff and aching, and then over them. Then he finally, finally brings it down between my thighs, brushing the tip of it over my clit, and I jerk so forcefully that I'd come off the frame if the bonds weren't holding me there.

"Oh God!" I cry out, hips arching, and Cormac draws in a sharp breath, dropping the feather. His hand goes to the base of his cock, squeezing hard, and when he comes back from the cupboard a second time, I watch as he clasps a ring around the base of it.

"Fuck, I almost came," he mutters. "God, you work me up like no one else, lass." He reaches behind the frame. "And for that, I think you need a punishment for making me almost come too soon. And having barely touched myself."

I swallow hard when I see the riding crop in his hand. He pauses, and I feel my entire body ache at the sight of him, tattooed and muscled holding the crop in his hand, his cock flushed and leaking, pressed against his abdomen; it's so hard. That tight black ring around the base of it, because I turn him on so much he has to keep himself from coming before he's ready.

It's intoxicating. I'm so desperate to come I can't stand it.

"What's your safeword?" he asks, and I let out a shaky breath.

"Lavender," I whisper.

"Alright," he says, and begins.

I know he's going easy on me at first. The tap of the crop against my thighs and the sides of my ass is too light for anything else, but when I'm squirming and whimpering, he increases the intensity. He smacks it against one thigh hard enough to leave a mark, and I cry out at the sting. It burns, but there's a pleasure behind it, as aroused and sensitive as I am. When he strikes the other thigh, I moan, and he lets out a low, rough sound that makes me wonder if he's going to lose control.

But he doesn't. He doesn't even touch himself as he whips me, his cock visibly throbbing but entirely ignored for now. He focuses on me, moving the strikes to my breasts when he deems me ready. When the crop hits my nipple, I nearly scream, jerking against the ropes, and he pauses, clearly unsure if he can trust me to use the safeword.

"Don't stop," I nearly sob. "Oh God, I'm so close. Don't stop."

"Christ, woman," he swears. "God, you're going to kill me."

He does it again, and I jerk in the ropes. I can feel the orgasm on the edge, so close that I just need something to bring it over. He gives me two more strokes across my breasts, then stands back, surveying his work.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous like this," he groans. His hand goes to his cock, giving it a few quick, hard strokes before he lets go again. "You've got me so goddamn hard, lass."

"I can see that," I gasp.

"I want to whip that pretty pussy. Can you take that, a chumann?" His voice is rough, almost hoarse. "For every stroke you take, I'll lick that swollen little clit. How does that sound?"