9
Mel
Weston Fontaine sucks my nipple into his mouth.
Oh. My. God.
Rob moves his hands to my shoulders. I bend forward in response to West’s touch, encouraging him to suck harder, but Rob’s firm grasp holds me still. “Don’t move,” he growls into my ear. “You take what we give you, is that clear?”
My insides blaze with heat. I asked them to take charge, and they’re more than ready for the task. “Yes, Sir,” I whisper. They haven’t asked me to call them Sir, but somehow, in this room, it feels right.
If West has a reaction to being called Sir, he doesn’t reveal it. He keeps his attention on my breasts, pulling an erect bud between his teeth.
My knees go weak, and only Rob’s grip keeps me standing.
Desire floods through me. West sucks on one nipple and then the other. And just when I think I’m going to come from the sheer eroticism of this moment, he pulls away, letting my nipple slide from his mouth.
“You want to be tied up, kitty cat?” he asks, a smile ghosting over his lips. “I think we can make that happen.”
West walks over and opens the wardrobe. I glimpse its contents. Oh wow. It’s filled with every kinky toy imaginable. On the left door hang various clips, hooks, straps, fur-lined leather wrist and ankle cuffs, and an assortment of whips and floggers. On the right door hangs ropes of all sizes, colors, and thicknesses, along with a pair of scissors.
I try to see what’s on the shelves, but Rob spins me away, blocking my view. “You’ll find out soon enough,” he says, his voice amused. “You doing okay so far?”
My heart warms. I’m doing great, but I appreciate the check-in. “Yes, thank you.”
“Good. Stay still. I want you to watch yourself in the mirror.”
I stare at my reflection with wide eyes. The woman staring back looks like someone else. She’s wearing a red skirt and nothing else, and she looks like a creature composed of lust and passion.
She feels like a braver, sexier version of me. This woman wouldn’t come up with an elaborate plot to sleep with her bosses. She wouldn’t be afraid of rejection, and she wouldn’t flinch away from the truth. She would just tell them she’s interested, and if they rejected her, she would deal with it.
Rob’s hands slide up my chest to cup my breasts, yanking my attention back to the present. He rolls my erect nubs between his fingers, then he pinches them hard.
I gasp out loud.
“Too hard?”
My nipples throb in the most delicious way. “No. I just wasn’t expecting it.”
“Maybe you should keep your attention on me,” he suggests silkily.
Oops. Of course he noticed my moment of inattention. Robert Yarrow does not miss the details.
West retrieves a length of hemp-colored rope from the wardrobe. He runs his fingers along a length of it, gives me a thoughtful look, and then puts it back. He selects another coil, crimson this time, and appraises its weight and texture. It must satisfy him because even through his mask, I can see the change in his expression. He looks hungry. Feral.
“Yes, this will do nicely,” he says, his voice a low purr.
He nears me and lets the crimson rope unravel. His face brushes against mine as he reaches around me, holding the rope against the middle of my back. He wraps the two ends around me, under my breasts, loops around the section of rope at my back, and then he pulls it snug.
I can feel it tighten under my breasts. Pinpricks of desire dance across my body. The tightly woven rope is surprisingly comfortable. I was afraid it might irritate my skin, but there’s no chafing at all.
West brings the two loose ends over my shoulders, down through my cleavage, around the rope under my breasts, and back over my shoulders. He’s making a rope-bra of sorts. Rob watches intently as West finishes by tying the rope snugly in the back.
My breasts feel like they’re being squeezed by a pair of hungry, powerful hands.
I feel exposed. No, not exposed. I feel both vulnerable and yet strangely secure.
I love it.