By the time Eric broke their kiss again, she was breathing hard and wanting so badly to strip off all her clothes and rub herself against him like a cat. Maybe he’d like that—he did seem to like stroking her hair. She squeaked when he swatted her backside and shook his head.
“You are too delicious for your own good, Devy baby. I’d do that all day if I could.”
His praise made her flush with pleasure and the place where he’d spanked her tingled.
“We could skip dinner,” she offered, making doe eyes.
Eric shook his head again and chuckled. “Not a chance. We’ll get you fed and there will be plenty of time for me to have my way with you after that, don’t you worry. I’ve been dreaming about it all damn day. And I’ve got plans for you.”
* * *
When Eric had said he was going to feed her, she hadn’t thought he’d meant literally. But here she was in his beautiful dining room with its sage green walls and dark wood trim, a fire crackling in front of them, tied to her chair. Well, her wrists were anyway.
They hadn’t started out that way, but Eric insisted on feeding her every bite—which she found ridiculously hot for reasons she didn’t completely understand—and she hadn’t been able to keep from reaching for things out of habit.
It wasn’t terrible to have her wrists bound to the arms of her chair with the lengths of silk he’d pulled from his pocket—did he carry those things around all the time? My goodness. In fact, she rather liked it. It was funny how being bound could make her feel so free but it was easier to let all of her worries and responsibilities slip away when there was literally nothing she could do about any of them.
Nor did she have to worry about whether Eric was feeding her because he wanted to or because he felt some sort of obligation. If he didn’t want to, he could just let her go and she’d dig into the strip steak and Lyonnaise potatoes and roasted carrots by herself.
But no, he cut every small bite and brought it to her lips instead. Same with the glass of Cabernet he allowed her to sip, having made clear she’d only be allowed the one.
And why did it make her wet between her legs when he’d said that? She didn’t like controlling men—she’d had enough of Carter having opinions on everything from how she dressed to what she ate to what she said. But it was so different with Eric.
He wanted to call the shots, yes, but in a benevolent way. It wasn’t that he wanted her to reflect well on him or to be a Stepford wife; he wanted her to be well-rested and healthy and happy. If she wasn’t so keen on decisions he was making for her, she didn’t think he’d force his agenda—he hadn’t yet.
Yes, he might coax her if he thought she was reluctant but if she truly objected she believed he’d back off. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her either; it was obvious he thought she was a good parent and let her steer that ship as she saw fit. It was more like if she wanted to give up the helm for a while either because she was so tired or overwhelmed or simply didn’t want to then he was ready to step in.
And this? Being bound and literally nourished by his own hand? Delicious. Made her feel dreamy and replete in some ways, but in other ways she was far from satisfied. Because for all that she was feeling sated in her hunger for literal food, the memories of their kiss from earlier lingered and she was not at all done with that carnal craving.
She swallowed another bite of the tender strip steak, and when Eric held another bite up to her mouth, she shook her head. “I’m full.”
“One more for Daddy? The iron’s good for you, baby.”
“One more,” she agreed, and took the meat into her mouth, savoring the balsamic reduction it was drizzled in, licking the last drop of it from her lip.
And the way Eric’s gaze tracked the tip of her tongue… She didn’t think she had to worry about not being satisfied in any way tonight.
It was a little mortifying when he dabbed at the corner of her mouth with the napkin from her lap but also made her nipples harden, her breasts feel tight and heavy, her sex swollen and slick. She wanted to take his fingers in her mouth, more of him in her mouth to be honest, just wanted all of him inside her. It wasn’t fair that he’d seen every inch of her but she hadn’t been able to explore him.
Yes he slept in only thin cotton pants and she’d had the pleasure of his sparse, tight curls of chest hair rubbing against her back, but she’d been feeling so awful she hadn’t been able to truly appreciate it, aside from the occasional thrill of being in the arms of such a well-built man.
Now though? She was feeling so much better and she wanted not the teasing bolt of arousal of that damn kiss, but to see it through. To gather like a storm and then burst all over in a deluge of wetness, and the lightning-strike, thunder-clap ecstasy of a really good orgasm.
“You need anything else?” Eric asked, his eyes hooded with desire as he looked at her, wrists still bound to the chair like a sacrifice for him to do what he liked to.
She licked her lips again, not being able to help it because he was just so…everything. He was everything she desired, and she wanted to gorge herself on him as though she’d been starving. Truth be told, she had been. Starved of romantic affection and having someone look at her body as though it was some sort of buffet of sensual delights.
“I need you, Eric. Please.”