His other hand grabs my wrist. Where I thought I’d topped out of excitement and anticipation, I’m now ten or maybe a hundred times higher.
He’s moving my arms behind me. Something hard presses against my hand. By the time I interpret the metallic feel, he’s slapping a handcuff on my wrist.
Exactly like he said he would.
My other hand is poised to be cuffed, but he lifts my restrained hand. I turn my head but he shoves me into the suits as he lifts. Then he guides my free hand upward, and in a swift move, has me handcuffed over the closet rod.
My vulnerability hits me like a freight train when his hands pull away and there’s nowhere for me to go. The chase may have been short, but this is everything I thought I was wrong to want.
My world opens up as he shoves the clothes away from me on either side.
“Since you’re not wearing panties, I guess there’s nothing in the way of me making you mine, Tiny.”
I don’t know what to say. I’ve never made it this far into the fantasy. My mind always flits to a bed at this point where I imagine John grunting on top of me. This is so much better.
Bonbonwiggles through my mind as nothing more than a reminder that I have control. My lips are sealed.
I taunt, “You think your friends are going to let you have me all to yourself?”
He wraps an arm around me, securing his hand over my mouth, then presses his lips to the top of my head.
“You’re mine first.”
Based on the maneuvering behind me, I assume he’s unfastening his pants with his free hand. He yanks the back of my skirt up, and I’m suddenly aware of my own wetness dripping down my thighs.
This is better than I fantasized.
He positions a leg between mine, loosens his grip on my mouth, and whispers, “If you don’t say your safe word, you’re mine forever.”
Silence.
We’re role-playing. I shouldn’t be thinking that forever actually means forever. I wish it did.
“Fuck,” he mutters and nudges his hot, thick cock at my entrance.
His breaths become deliberate and heavy as his tip parts my slick lips. My heart catches in my throat as he moves another inch and stops. Can he tell I’m a virgin?
Impossible. That might be the word of the moment because the stretch is an impossible mix of pain, fullness, perfection, and danger. I don’t have to ask him to give me time to adjust. He must be able to tell that I need it, and he gives it. Or maybe he’s taking it for himself. Stopping and smelling the roses.
Why the hell am I thinking about flowers? The sensations are taking my mind in a million directions as I try to process what we’re doing. I tug against the cuffs and savor the confinement.
I belong to Tank.
He keeps his hand over my mouth. His friends are still exploring based on what I can hear.
Winger calls out, “Any luck?”
Tank firms his hand around my mouth, and presses his head into mine, kissing my hair.
He turns away and says, “No luck,” as calm and cool as I can imagine before his deep, possessive whisper resumes, “Tiny, are you a virgin?”
A jolt of electricity shoots through me. Oh my god. He can tell.
“No, I...” My words can’t get past his hand. Will my truth end this?
He loosens his hand on my mouth and I try to lighten the mood. “Yes, but I’m a bad virgin.”
The low growl that vibrates from his chest into my back and the slight thrust of his cock against my tight walls has my body on fire in the best way.