Page 47 of Hard
‘You’re a sweet-talking man.’ Sweet talking and deceptively devilish.
‘Am I now?’ I nod. ‘Let’s see if you still think so when you’re begging me to let you come.’ I fold my lips together so as not to react to his words. All in vain as he speaks again. ‘When you’re begging me to make it stop.’
I groan a whisperedyes, rocking my centre against him, desperate for some kind of relief. ‘That’s right. You work that pussy. That’s where your only power lies tonight.’
He takes my hands in his, pressing them together, prayer like, before wrapping the navy blue silk twice around my wrists. Then, feeding one end under the wrapping, he ties the loose ends in a knot. And all the while I watch. Who knew a necktie and a little anticipation could make you feel like this?
‘I get the feeling you’ve done this before.’
‘Surely, you wouldn’t allow someone with no experience to tie you. I only wish I had something a little longer,’ he says, almost as though to himself. ‘Something with a few more options. Maybe next time,’ he adds, his fiery gaze meeting mine.
‘Maybe,’ I demure, biting back an excited grin, but whether at the mention of a next time or the rabbit hole he’s suggesting hop down, it’s hard to tell.
Finally, he lifts my hands between us, feeding them over my head. Sitting on his lap with my legs over his and my breasts pushed out? It feels kind of thrilling. Kind of exposing. Even though I’m technically covered by my underwear. Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at me. The way he’s devouring without touching.
Keir presses his large hand to my breastbone, dragging it down and gripping the middle of my bra. When I think he might pull, he instead slides his fingers into one cup, lifting the weight of my breast out to balance it against the fabric and underwiring. One then the other. My nipples, already pebbled, ache for his touch.
He runs a calloused finger in a small circle around my nipple, tightening the flesh farther still. ‘Do you like this?’
Does he mean being tied or his touch? Before I can form an answer, he pinches the tight bud.
‘Yes!’ I hiss out in answer—to his wordsandhis touch.
My chest heaves between us as he bends his head to lap and soothe with his tongue. I moan a helpless and hungered sound.
‘I can’t wait to have you squirming all over me, desperate for my cock.’
‘Please,’ I whisper, rocking against him, my insides clenching emptily. ‘I already am.’
‘No, trouble. Not yet. You only think you are.’
It takes him a million years to loosen the buttons of his shirt and a million more to take off my bra. To take my breasts fully in his hands and to love them a little more. To cup them. To thumb my nipples. To pass swipes of teasing tongue and the threat of teeth.
‘Oh, God.’ I throw back my head, pushing myself farther into him.
‘That’s it, darlin’,’ he growls. ‘You ride me. You’ve got me so hard for you. So fuckin’ wild.’
‘Show me,’ I beg. ‘Show me what I do to you. I need you, Keir, please.’
With a smile wicked enough for the devil, Keir slides his hands under my bottom. Picking me up as he stands, he deposits me on the bed so that my knees are bent over the edge.
‘Still on the pill?’ he asks as he loosens the button fly of his jeans. I nod, words unavailable to my parched throat as he slides his jeans down the strong muscles of his thighs. Boxers follow, then he takes himself in his hand, the ladder of his abdominals rippling.
‘You want this.’
I don’t answer but squirm against the bed like a cat in her first heat. I think I might also make the same sounds as I lift my tied hands above my head.
‘Fuck, that is sexy,’ he growls, watching as I spread my legs and arch upwards.
I’ve never touched myself in front of a man. Never gotten myself off while a boyfriend—a man—watched, but I know I’d be doing so now if my hands weren’t tied. But then, maybe that’s the point. Maybe restriction of movement heightens everything.
Whatever the reason, and I suspect the reason is purely Keir, my skin feels tight enough to burst. Like with one touch from him, I’ll detonate.
One minute, he’s holding himself, and the next, he’s crawling over me, bending his head to my chest and licking my nipples until they’re taut and wet and shining in the lamplight. Heavy and aching.
‘Please, Keir,’ I whisper, sliding my hands over his head to pull him to me. ‘I need you.’
With a chuckle, he straddles my body, admiring the sight of me before he slides down, pulling my panties down my legs. His nostrils flare as though he can smell me—smell my need—his eyes darkening, anticipating the taste of me.
