“Turn around,” he states.
I do, as gracefully as I can in three-inch heels. My heart is hammering in my ears as he gathers my hair, sliding the strands over one shoulder. I lower my head, trying to be as calm as he is, but sweat is forming along my spine. When he reaches in front of me, I realize he’s placing a black lace underbust corset around my torso. I’m filled with yearning. He’s decorating my body for him, and I lift my hands and gather my hair out of his way as he begins, confidently and silently, tightening the corset’s ribbon. Each glide of the fabric through the lace is a jolt to my body.
With a final tug, he moves around me toward the wall, taking one of the collars off a hook and reaching into the drawer again. When he turns around, I see that there’s a silver chain leash with a black leather handle in his hand.
My lips part, the air seeming harder to draw in now through the corset and the heat burning through the blood in my veins, as he steps behind me, attaching the collar to my neck, nice and tight. I glance at the crops in front of me on the wall, shivering in anticipation of what’s to come.
His warm body closes against my back, his fingers slide across the pulse point in my neck before he slowly grips the front, not enough to block air, but enough to suggest danger. “Is that what you want me to use on you, Taylor?” he murmurs by my ear.
I trust you echoes from my heart. I shudder against him, my eyes fluttering as his fingers stroke the side of my neck. “Yes.”
He moves to my front, then attaches the leash to the collar, sliding his hand down the chain, until he gives a firm tug, letting me know he’s in control. Then, by the leash, he leads me over to the wall. “Pick one,” he says, gesturing to the sex toys behind him.
I swallow deeply, glancing over the wall of toys. Some of them look wicked, mean. But I focus on the black crop with the big, flat end. “That one.” I point to it.
He opens his hand, arching his brow.
Som
ehow touching the crop and handing it to him seems like one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, but I do it. Because I want him to touch me in the way that he touches me. And I know no matter what, when he touches me with anything it will lead to the most incredible pleasure.
Crop in hand, he places the chain over his shoulder, and I follow him back to the center of the room. I’m not scared when he looks back at me; I see the heat in his eyes. He’s liking this moment, seeing me this way. And I want to be whatever he needs me to be. I want him to enjoy this like I am.
He reaches into his pocket, taking something else out that I can’t see. His eyes are on mine, and I see the hint of a smile on his face when he places a black lace mask on my face. That’s when I smile, too.
Darius loves lace; he always has. Lace belongs on your body, he once told me.
He steps behind me and tightens the mask around my face, and I realize I can still see quite a bit. And that’s when I know the lace is for him—his kink—not to hinder my eyesight. He keeps the chain in his hand, wrapping it around his fingers, keeping the connection between us tight, and moves in front of me again.
My heart rate speeds up as he drags the cool leather of the crop over my lips, down my neck, between my breasts, all the way to the junction between my thighs, and all I can do is stand there and quiver. Fear is there, the worry that maybe he’ll hit me hard, that maybe there will be pain. But then I look into his eyes and I know I’m fine.
Slowly, he begins tapping my thighs lightly, moving up and down my legs until he’s behind me, slapping my bottom with the stinging crop. He flicks my hair over my shoulder, and then I lose awareness of everything in the room as he begins kissing his way slowly down my back, his lips pressing tenderly along my spine. I sense him squat behind me before I feel the first harder slap of the crop. “Place your hands on your thighs and bend a little for me, baby.” I lean forward, feeling the heat rise to my face as he spreads my bottom open. “So, so, pretty.” His hand circles over my butt cheeks again before another swat of the crop burns across my flesh. He drags his fingernails down my back and over my warm bottom before he’s spreading my cheeks wider, getting a view of me that only he has ever demanded of me.
“Don’t move,” is all he says before I hear nothing else. I only feel his tongue working wickedly over my flesh. Earlier, on the hood of the car, Darius devoured me like he had been starved of my taste. Now he’s licking over my slit, nibbling at the fleshy skin, like I’m his. It’s like he’s pulling my soul out of my body and placing it in his hands to play with in the way he wants to play with it.
It’s all so much, so powerful…I can’t control anything. Then with a final slow lick inside of me, I’m coming against his tongue, breathless and flushed.
Only when I hear, “You removed your hands from your legs,” and the leather slaps against my flesh, do my senses return to me.
I open my eyes, finding myself back in the room and feeling his hand on my arm, supporting me. “It’s totally your fault,” I breathe.
“Oh?” The strength of his body is at my back, both hands on my arms now, and every nerve ending awakens at the power behind me. “Do enlighten me why that’s my fault?”
“You made me come.”
His low chuckle brushes goosebumps over my flesh as his hands slide across my breasts and his fingers tweak my taut nipples. He pushes me forward toward the black leather chaise, then he presses against my back, and I lower my hands onto the soft, cool tufted leather.
Bent over the chaise, I’m anticipating that he’s going to move away, so when I feel the tickle of rope against my back, I gasp in surprise. It’s soft and warm, and I’m not opposed when he binds one wrist to a metal loop on the side of the chaise. I can’t catch my breath when I watch him work over me, making another cuff to bind my other wrist.
I cannot see him when he says, “Now let’s see if you can be still.” He also doesn’t give me the chance to wonder what he means by that, because somehow, at some point, he’s sheathed himself in a condom and the tip of his cock is at my entrance and he’s entering me in one swift stroke.
A throaty moan rages from my mouth at the tightness of me, compared to the fullness of him. His fingers are around my hips, gripping tight when he’s thrusting his hips in a steady rhythm. Warmth envelops me like a blanket of fire, growing more and more intense as the minutes go on. And as the crop again slaps down on my already warm bottom, I’m lost to the sensations he’s offering. Each smack of the leather, and every one of his sexy throaty groans, pulls me deeper…until he’s not him, and I’m not me, somehow we’re something more.
Then I know nothing but a pleasure that makes a few seconds the best few seconds of my life. And all that’s left is his thrusts, his burning slaps on my bottom, the rope, his power, and my screams of pure satisfaction echoing off the walls.
My mind is hazy, my body humming when I hear his soft chuckle. “Even bound, you still find a way to disobey.”
I blink, peeling my sweaty cheek off the leather chaise. That’s when I notice the metal loop that Darius bound me to is now resting on the chaise by my hand. “Oh, my God, did I break it?”