I glared at him, unable to stop staring at his mouth. God, I wanted that mouth so bad.
So I took it. Kissing him like he was my last breath, but quickly reminded that I’d been denied his mouth for far too long, and it pissed me off. I bit down hard on his lower lip, tasting the copper of his blood as it filled my mouth.
“Fuck!” he hissed as he pulled away, still managing to keep hold of both my arms behind my back. “What the hell, Rowan?”
I continued to glare at him as I dragged deep breaths into my lungs.
His free hand went to my pulse. His touch inflamed me, and I couldn’t stop arching into his hand as he stroked my neck.
“You missed me,” he observed.
“Let go of me.”
“We gonna talk?” he asked.
“Nope.”
“We gonna fuck?”
I shivered as my pussy contracted around nothing, but I couldn’t deny the very thing I wanted most.
His hand slid to my breast, and he palmed my nipple over my T-shirt. “That’s what I thought. Already hard. How much you wanna bet your panties are already soaked?”
I forced myself not to react. It was a warm day, so all I had on was a jean skirt, T-shirt, and low-rise booties. To say he had easy access was an understatement.
He slid his hand between my legs, moving my panties aside and slipping a finger inside of me. “Dripping.”
I swallowed convulsively, trying not to make a sound.
“Tell me you want this, Rowan,” he growled.
I closed my eyes, goosebumps already forming on my skin. One last night wouldn’t kill me and then I could tell him we were done for good.
“Yes, sir,” I breathed out.
He released my hands, lifted me in his arms, and carried me up to my loft where I unlocked the door. We made our way to my bedroom, and he cupped my chin. “Hair up and you get naked.”
I nodded, and he left me to get ready while he locked up. I was naked and waiting when he returned, and he walked around me before gripping my chin and meeting my eyes. “Punishment first.”
“For what, sir?”
“For blocking my calls.”
I bit my lip.
“Understand?”
I wrinkled my nose, but answered, “Yes, sir.”
“Spread your legs.”
I spread my legs, and Scooby grabbed silk ropes which he wrapped around my wrists. Not too tight to sting, but certainly tight enough that I wouldn’t be able to get out of. He then grabbed the chain he’d installed on the ceiling a few weeks earlier and held the middle of the rope up to it. There was a hook on the end of the chain, and he secured my ropes to it.
“Tug on your binds,” he ordered, and I did so.
They were secure and he smiled slowly.
“Flogger or crop?” he asked.