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That’s fine. Not all women are comfortable at first in such a situation.
“I’ll pretend you dressed up for me,” I tell her. “That you went and bought that sexy black lace and those shoes to show off your body to me. Fuck, that’s hot.”
She makes a small mewling sound that has me looking up from where I’ve been choosing the condom and lube. Was that arousal? Not sure.
It sounded more like distress.
I scan her face, searching for clues, but she’s hiding it in the crook of her elbow. Hiding it from me.
Narrowing my eyes, I walk around the bed, perch on the edge and lay everything in front of me—the condom, the rope, the lube. “Paxtyn. Are you sure you want this?”
Need to be sure. You never force a client to do anything, even if they originally thought they did. You don’t force a person, ever. Period.
I can see her wavering. There’s a shine in her bright eyes that looks like tears. That happens sometimes, too, but I have to be sure.
“It’s okay to be nervous,” I tell her, keeping my voice soft. “Our fantasies are a private thing. It’s not always easy to share them with someone. I swear nothing that takes place between us, nothing we do, nothing you say will ever make it past these walls.” I gesture at the elegant room with its framed mirrors and vases with fresh flowers, the king-sized bed with its white pristine covers and the heavy burgundy drapes. “Just you and me. So relax and tell me what you really want.”
She’s observing me under her lashes, still gripping the headboard. Her chest heaves, pushing up those round tits, pulling my gaze to them.
Shit. Never been so out of balance in my life.
Goddammit, Riot, get your shit together.
I lift the bondage rope in my hands, cock my head at her. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
She nods.
“I need to hear it, Paxtyn. Say it out loud. Tell me you want it, or I won’t go through with it.”
Her lips part on a sigh. “I want it. Do it. Tie me up.”
Nodding, I gather each slender wrist in my hands and tie her against the headboard. Very practical, these old-fashioned beds. Made for bondage. Makes you wonder what our ancestors got up to every night.
I lean back, survey my work. Fuck, she looks amazing like this, the black rope tied around her wrists, her head thrown back, her gaze meeting mine from hooded eyes. I take my time and look, follow the contours of her body from the creamy tits to her flat belly and lower, her pussy barely covered in thin black lace, and her legs.
Perfect.
Small, thin scars at her hips catch my attention, but then she shifts on the mattress, her legs parting a little, distracting me.
I slowly lift my hand, place it over her heart. It’s racing. Fuck, her nipples are hardening, standing to attention.
She’s ready. And hell, I’m more than ready. I count backward from twenty inside my head, struggling to get my body under control, to rein in a hard-on that’s trying to burst through my briefs.
Slow. This is about her, not me.
Let’s do it.
***
I take my time with her. Women may think they want a guy to fuck them fast and hard, but usually they need foreplay, especially when they are nervous, and especially when they guy is well hung.
Yeah, I’m well-hung. Why be coy about it? It is what it is, and with enough foreplay, women enjoy my cock a lot.
I don’t kiss her. I rarely kiss the women who rent me, unless they initiate it. Some of them want to keep it impersonal, and I understand that.
Instead, I focus on the smooth skin of her neck and shoulders, trailing my lips over her collarbone, licking and nipping.
She smells delicious, like coconut and cream. Tastes even better, sweet and salty running from my tongue straight to my cock, making it swell and jerk.
