“And you assume we’ll be going to my place?”
“Yes,” I say boldly.
“You assume correctly.” He stares at me, his eyes blazing sapphires against a sea of white foam. “Remove the top of your dress.”
I slip one strap over my shoulder, going deliberately slowly. He sucks in a breath. I hold back the smile that wants to split my face as I slide the other strap over my shoulder and urge the fabric downward. The only thing standing between him and my breasts is a strapless bra.
We stand there, gazes locked, until—
“Fuck it.” He crushes his lips to mine.
My lips are already parted, and he thrusts his tongue between them. My whole body responds. My nipples protrude, and I remember the nipple clamps. Did he bring them? Already I tense in anticipation.
He unclasps my bra deftly and tosses it to the floor. Then he cups my breasts, thumbing my hard nipples as he deepens the kiss. Our mouths are one, giving, taking, licking, kissing. I reach downward, toward his crotch, and grasp the bulge beneath his slacks.
He groans into me, a low melodic hum like the beginning of a rolling clap of thunder.
I revel in his warm mouth, his spicy flavor, his velvet tongue twirling around mine. I arch, my clit throbbing, searching for something to rub against. Yes, his thigh. His hard and taut thigh. I grind into him, still holding his clothed erection—
He breaks the kiss and inhales sharply. “Damn, Skye.”
I steady myself, force my jelly legs not to tumble over.
He pulls the chain from his pocket. “Your tits are so beautiful, your nipples so hard. God, I want to suck and bite them until you can’t stand it.”
“Go ahead,” I say boldly.
“Later. For now…” He positions one of the clamps around a nipple.
I jerk.
“Easy,” he says. “This won’t hurt.”
“It won’t?”
“Not unless you want it to.”
The stainless steel is cool on my skin. He tightens the tiny screw slowly, squeezing my nipple. The bold sensation arrows straight between my legs.
“Good?” he says.
I nod, my lips parted.
“You look incredible right now,” he says. “So fucking sexy.”
I don’t know how I look, but I know how I feel. I feel sexy. Amazingly sexy. The steel can’t compare to Braden’s warm fingers or lips, but it’s a constant pressure, a constant pinch, and oh my God, it’s so good.
He adjusts the second clamp around my other nipple. “Beautiful,” he says, his eyes heavy-lidded. “So beautiful. Are you ready, Skye?”
“Ready for what?” My words come out on a sigh.
“For this.” He yanks on the chain between the clamps.
“Oh!” The feeling is intense and pure, as if he’s biting both nipples at once. I’m wet. So wet. So ready for his cock inside me. I reach toward his bulge, but he brushes my hand away.
“Time to go, baby.”
Is he fucking kidding me? “Braden…”
“I know. This will keep you on edge tonight. Right on edge and under my control. You aren’t to touch that chain, Skye.”
“But it’s on me. How can I not?”
“Because you won’t. If you do, I’ll know.”
“But how can you—”
“I will know. Trust me.” He pulls my dress upward. “I want you to go without your bra tonight.”
“But the clamps will show.”
“No, they won’t. Your nipples will show, which is hot. They’ll be hard all night and will jut out farther than the clamps themselves. No one will be the wiser.”
“But—”
“And I’ll be able to subtly pull on your chain whenever I want.”
I gulp. “That will…”
“Drive you wild. I know. That’s the point.” He leans down and bites the shell of my ear. “Then maybe you’ll know how completely out of control I get just thinking about you.”
My legs nearly stumble, but he steadies me.
“Go now. Fix your bloodred lips.”
I nod and walk to the bathroom. My lips haven’t run, thank goodness. Susanne lip stain is good stuff. They do need a touch-up, though, which I do, hands shaking.
When I return, Braden has put the flowers he brought me into a vase. They sit on my small table.
“Thank you,” I say, “for the flowers.”
“You’re welcome. Are you ready?”
I nod. Every time I move, the clamps and chain move. Just the slightest twitch sends a thrill through me.
Damn.
This is going to be a long night.
Chapter Fifty-Four
When we arrive at the gala, Braden and I are treated like true VIPs, which, I guess, he is. I don’t feel like a VIP, but we’re led to the best table in the room, right in the front, where a bottle of Dom Pérignon and a platter of berries sit waiting.
“They think we like this better than Wild Turkey,” Braden whispers to me.
I giggle. I’ve never had Dom Pérignon, obviously, and I’d like to try it. The server opens the bottle and pours two flutes for us, handing the first to me.
Braden takes his and clinks his glass to mine. “To control,” he says, casting his gaze down to my breasts.