“Before we start,” he said, “I want to talk while your head’s clear. Rules can become flexible when you’re deep in a scene, and I don’t want you agreeing to something you might end up regretting later.”
I nodded. My reservations went out the window fast when something I wanted happened to dangle in front of me. “Okay. What do you want to talk about?”
“Are you on birth control?”
I blinked in surprise but recovered quickly. “I’ve been on the pill since I was fifteen.” I took the continuous one because who had time for that period bullshit? “Why?”
He shifted his weight, and I didn’t miss the way he subtly leaned toward me. “I was tested before my last relationship, and I haven’t had any sexual partners since. I’m clean, so if you’re safe and interested in it, I’d like to go without a condom. It’s easier, and—”
“More fun?” I teased.
Oh, his smile was delicious. “Yes, it’s more fun.” He turned serious again. “But I understand and respect if you’d prefer to keep using them. Also, I’m asking that this is only with me. Any scenes with Mr. E—if it requires it—will use protection. I’ve been clear with him about that.”
I understood the need for condoms, but I disliked them. The smell, the taste, the way putting them on could interrupt the flow of sex. Plus, I disliked the miniscule layer between my partner and me, separating us from each other.
“I’m okay going without them if you are,” I said.
He was pleased, which meant I was pleased too.
While I undressed, he set up the lights and gray backdrop in the far corner of the room, and then carried the chair over. I left on my bra and underwear, which was a simple set of black lace I’d put on with hopes I’d be able to sell him on my modeling plan. I also wore my high heeled black sandals, where the straps flowed from the front of my ankle strap down over my toes, leaving the sides of my feet totally bare.
He had to go upstairs to retrieve the blindfold, and while he was gone, I wandered around, examining the different pieces in greater detail. His work was so beautiful. I couldn’t wait to experience it during play. Whatever we didn’t get to today, I was confident I’d get to it eventually with E.
My mind drifted to him. What was he doing right now? It felt wrong to think about him, but I was so damn curious. The floor overhead creaked and footsteps came down the stairs. When Clay came into view, it reminded me the best-looking piece of art in his house was the one currently walking toward me with a blindfold in hand.
I slipped it on, keeping it pushed up on my forehead so I could watch as he went to the bottom drawer of a cabinet and pulled out leather cuffs. They looked identical to the ones E had used. Were they the same brand? I didn’t know anything about BDSM supplies. Maybe there was only one company, or perhaps all the styles were similar.
We started our photoshoot with Clay’s chair, and I don’t think either of us were prepared for how sexy this would be.
Like my session with E, I was restrained at the wrists and ankles, but now I also had the blindfold pulled down over my eyes. It prevented me from knowing what Clay was doing, and it allowed my imagination to run wild.
Goosebumps lifted on my arms and my breath went short.
I was trapped here, waiting, and completely at his mercy.
We hadn’t played together, not physically, since the day he’d used his sharp ruler on me, and desire moved thickly through my veins. Oh, how I craved his hands on my body.
Instead, he took his pictures.
I heard his feet as he moved around, adjusting to different angles, and listened as his breathing seemed to hurry along. Was this turning him on as much as me? Was the anticipation killing him?
He teased me too as he adjusted my positions. He unclipped my hands at the base of the chair and latched them up by my head, then skated a finger down between my breasts. It glided down over the hollow of my belly button and lower still. I moaned and shivered as his fingers brushed over the crotch of my panties.
“So wet for me.” His voice was hushed, and the heat of his mouth ghosted over my lips, but when I tried to kiss him, he retreated. “Not yet. I’ll make you earn it.”
We didn’t do every piece he had. Some, like the padded folding table, were self-explanatory. The queening chair didn’t take long to photograph. I posed on the low, U-shape seat that allowed my partner to lie in comfort beneath me while I was perched over their face.