She is a mighty fine sight.
But right now, I want to teach her about orgasm denial.
I pad over to the drawers and pull out a wand and the iPod. There’s a small tin of Tiger Balm beside the wand, and I contemplate spreading a little on her clitoris.
That would heat her up.
No. Not right now. That’s too next-level.
I switch on the music system and choose something unsettling, to suit my mood.
Yes. Bach. Aria from Goldberg Variations. Perfect.
I press play, and the crisp, bright, cool notes sing out through my playroom.
Our playroom.
I put the wand in my back pocket, pull off my T-shirt, and return to my wife, who is biting her lip. Taking her chin between my fingers, I startle her, then tug so that she releases her bottom lip. Her smile is shy and sweet, and I know she was unaware of what she was doing.
Oh, Ana. What I have in store for you.
Maybe I’ll let you come.
Maybe I won’t.
I run the backs of my fingers over the soft skin of her throat to her sternum, then, using my thumb, I tug her bra cup down, freeing her breast. She has such beautiful breasts. While I kiss her throat, I release her other breast from its bra cup and toy with her nipple. My lips and my fingers tug and tease each of them, until they’re both erect and begging for more.
Ana squirms against her restraints. “Ah,” she groans. But I don’t stop; my mouth and fingers continue their slow, sensual torment. I know how easy it is to arouse her to orgasm this way.
She’s breathing hard. “Christian,” she begs.
“I know.” My voice is husky with want. “This is what you make me feel.”
She gasps.
And I continue.
Her hips press forward and her legs start to tremble. “Please,” she pleads.
Oh, baby. Feel it.
My cock is pressing against soft denim, wanting release. All in good time, Grey.
I stop and stand up, looking down at her face. Her mouth is hanging open as she drags air in to her lungs, and she writhes against the leather cuffs. I run my hands down the side of her body, leaving one to linger at her hip while I skirt the fingers of my other hand down her belly. Again, she pushes her hips forward, offering herself to me. “Let’s see how you’re doing,” I murmur. I brush my fingers over her sex, and she soaks my fingers.
My jeans get tighter.
I skate my thumb over the excited little nub at the junction of her thighs and she cries out, pushing herself into my hands.
Oh, Ana. So keen. So wet for me.
And you’re so far from coming.
If—and it’s a big if—I let you come at all.
Slowly, I insert my middle, then index finger inside her. She groans and continues to strain against my hand, searching for release. “Oh, Anastasia, you’re so ready.” I circle my fingers inside her, stroking her, tantalizing her, while my thumb continues to rouse her clitoris. Her legs start to tremble again as she strains toward me. It’s the only part of her body I’m touching. Her head is thrown back as she absorbs the pleasure. She’s close.
With my other hand, I pull out the wand from my back pocket and switch it on.
“What?” she murmurs at the sound.
“Hush.” My lips swoop down on hers, and she kisses me greedily. I pull back while my fingers still work away inside her. “This is a wand, baby. It vibrates.” I hold it against her sternum and let it float over her so it oscillates against her skin. My thumb and fingers still tease her sex, and I drag the vibrating wand down between her breasts, then across each nipple in turn.
“Ah!” she moans out loud, and her legs stiffen as she throws her head back once more and groans loudly. I stop moving my fingers and lift the wand from her skin.
“No! Christian,” she cries, and pushes her hips fruitlessly toward me.
So close. And yet so far.
“Still, baby,” I whisper, and kiss her. “Frustrating, isn’t it?”
She gasps. “Christian, please.”
“Hush.” I kiss her and slowly start to move my fingers inside her, grazing the wand across her skin between the two peaks of her breasts. I move so I’m leaning into her, my cock hard and ready against her.
She starts to climb again and I bring her close.
So close.
Then stop once more.
“No,” she whimpers, and I plant kisses on her shoulder as I withdraw my fingers from inside her and stop teasing her clitoris with my thumb. Instead, I increase the speed of the wand and let it travel down her stomach, over her belly and over the tiny swollen bud between her thighs.
“Ah!” she cries out, and pulls on her shackles.
And I stop once more, removing the wand from her skin.
“Christian!” she calls.
“Frustrating, yes?” I whisper against her throat. “Just like you. Promising one thing and then…”
“Christian, please!”
I let the wand touch her again.
And stop.
And start.
And stop.
She’s panting hard.
“Each time I stop, it feels more intense when I start again. Right?”
“Please,” she begs, and I switch the wand off and place it on the small shelf beside the cross and kiss her. Her lips are eager—no, desperate—for my touch. I run my nose down hers and whisper, “You are the most frustrating woman I have ever met.”
She shakes her head. “Christian, I never promised to obey you. Please, please—” I grab her behind and push my still clothed cock against her; rubbing myself over her. She groans, and I peel off the blindfold and grasp her chin; wild blue eyes meet mine.
“You drive me crazy.” My voice is hoarse as I flex my hips against her, once, twice, thrice, and she tips her head back, ready to come—and I stop. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.
“Please,” she whispers, and looks up at me.
Oh, baby, you can take more. I know you can.
My fingers skim her breast as they travel down her body, and she stiffens beneath my touch, and turns her face away from me. “Red,” she whimpers. “Red. Red.” As tears spill down her face.
I freeze.
Fuck.
No. No.
“No!” I breathe. “Jesus Christ, no.” I unclip her hands, and, holding her, I bend down and unclip her ankles. She puts her head in her hands and starts to weep.