“Leave your clothes and follow me.”
Without waiting to see if I’ve complied, he moves to the still-open glass doors, then steps over the threshold and back into the penthouse.
“Bend over, Kitten,” he says with a nod to the sofa. His voice is firm, and his tone allows for no argument. It’s the kind of voice that makes me melt, and I eagerly do as he says, levering my body over the back of the couch, which hits me just high enough that my bare pussy rubs the plush upholstery in a way that sends sparks all the way down to my toes.
“Hands on the cushions,” he orders.
I do as he says, and he slides both hands between my thighs, urging my legs apart so that he can cup my very wet pussy before easing his hand back so that his fingers slide up the crack of my ass, sending shivers through me.
“Maybe I’ll fuck you here, too,” he murmurs, and my entire body clenches with longing. “Pity we don’t have your collar.”
“We do,” I whisper. “It’s in my purse.”
Not long after we got together, I bolted, running more from my fear than from Ryan. He followed, thank God, and we ended up in Las Vegas. That’s where things truly shifted for us, and while we were there, Ryan bought me a beautiful choker made of hammered silver—a collar. It has a loop in the front for a charm—but it’s also for a leash.
Every time I wear the choker, it makes me feel special. For years, it was the physical manifestation of one very basic reality—that I belong to him. And, yes, that he belongs to me, too. It’s been supplemented by our wedding rings, but not replaced. And though we’ve never been heavily into BDSM, we do play. But there’s nothing pretend about what the collar represents.
Which is why I brought it with me to London. Because I’d wanted to hold on to that physical proof of what we are to each other as a talisman against my fears about Ryan’s distraction and the mysterious person from his past.
Now, I’m even more glad I brought it. I hate that I’d doubted. That I’d been afraid. I want to make it up to him, and how better to do that than to submit utterly? To belong to him completely.
I don’t turn around, but I hear him moving behind me. I’d left my purse on the table by the entrance, and I assume that’s where he is. Sure enough, a few moments later he returns, his fingers lightly grazing up my spine before he pushes my hair aside and fastens the collar around my neck.
“You brought the leash, too,” he says.
“Where you lead, I’ll always follow. I just thought you might need a reminder.”
“I don’t,” he murmurs, kissing my neck. “I know your heart, Jamie, just as I hope you know mine.”
“I do. Truly.”
“Good. Now stand up and turn around for me.”
“I’m sorry I got nervous about you,” I say as I follow his instructions. “About us. But I’m not sorry I came.”
“Neither am I,” he says, his ice-blue eyes boring into mine. “And even though I don’t need a reminder, I’m still going to use the leash. Do you know why?”
“Because you like seeing me naked and bound?”
He chuckles. “I definitely do, but it’s deeper than that, and you know it. It’s a gift, Kitten. You’re strong. Beautiful. Exceptional. And yet you surrender yourself to me. You’re not just giving me power, you’re giving me your trust, and every time I see you on your knees in front of me, I’m the one who’s humbled.”
My heart squeezes, and tears prick my eyes. Slowly, I go down onto my knees, my head down as I draw in a breath, silently offering myself to him.
He’s everything, this man. Friend, lover, husband, and I’m grateful that we found each other.
Slowly, I look up at him. “The only reason I feel safe down here is because I trust you. Because you’ve earned it, and you continue to earn it every single day.”
His throat moves as he swallows. “Jamie. I don’t know if I want to hold you close to my heart or fuck you senseless.”
“Both, please. But do the fucking part first.”
He takes a single step back, his eyes skimming over me. I can see the change coming over him. The subtle shift from husband to master. It’s sexy and delicious, and I have to fight the urge to slide my hands between my legs and feel how wonderfully wet I am.
“Stand up, then lift your chin higher.”
I comply, and he bends to tie one end of the red ribbon we use as a leash to the loop on the front of the collar. It hangs all the way to the floor, the smooth satin dancing lightly between my breasts and grazing over my abdomen as I breathe slowly in and out.
Without a word, he moves behind me. He brushes my hair to the side, his fingertips grazing the sensitive skin on the back of my neck. I shiver, my entire body hyperaware of his presence. His touch. My nipples are painfully tight, my clit swollen and throbbing. I bite my lower lip, fighting the urge to beg. But I can’t keep from whimpering with need.
I’m sure he hears it, but he takes no pity on me. On the contrary, he torments me even more by taking the ribbon from between my breasts. His hand brushes my skin as his fingers run slowly down the ribbon’s length. He stops at my pussy, then presses his hand and the ribbon against my mons. With his hand still in place, he moves behind me.
His lips brush the curve of my ear as he whispers, “Spread your legs for me.”
I do, then close my eyes in defense against the onslaught of sensation as he reaches between my legs with his free hand to grasp the ribbon, his fingers grazing lightly over my clit as he does.
He pulls the ribbon between my legs and I see stars as sparks of pleasure ricochet through my body.
Without thinking, I reach up and pinch my nipples, my breath coming hard and fast as he threads the ribbon up my back, then gives it a tug so that it teases my clit and my perineum.
I’m incredibly wet, and my hips move of their own accord, as if by wiggling I can increase the friction and make this wretched pleasure build to an explosion. Or perhaps I’ll somehow work the ribbon loose and free myself from such decadent torment.
But no such luck. All I manage is to work myself into even more of a frenzy.
“Hunter,” I beg. “Please.”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he takes the free end of the ribbon and ties it to the collar as well, the satin strip tight enough against my sex that there is no escaping the flurry of sensations that accost me with every tiny movement and every beat of my heart.
He’s never tied me like this before, and damned if I don’t want more. I want it to last forever. I want to come right now. Basically, I’m nothing but want and desire and need. So is Hunter. He’s moved to stand in front of me, admiring his handiwork, and the passion I see on his face both humbles and excites me.
Mostly it excites me.
So far, I’ve been fucked in the elevator, touched here, teased with the promise of more, and now bound so that my own breath—my own heartbeat—foments the most incredible type of torment. My sensitive skin feels as if I’ve been standing in a lightning storm, and all Ryan has to do is look at me and my body reacts, my pussy clenching tight against that damnable ribbon.
I’m wired and aroused, and I swear if he doesn’t fuck me soon, I’ll go down to the room I booked for the day, find the vibrator I packed, and take care of this intense longing myself. Except, of course, whatever I can do alone will be a poor imitation of what I want Ryan to do.