Page 155 of Obey

I test the fit at each wrist, sliding two fingers between leather and skin, then move to the custom straps around her thighs. A set I had specifically designed for her.

“Comfortable, Sola?”

“Very.” Her voice is a low purr. “Though I suspect you had this in mind before the main course.”

“Long before,” I confirm.

Her gaze slides down the bed, lingering on the crimson silk blindfold I’d placed beside the Butterfly, its wings gleaming softly. Her attention returns to me at the edge of the bed, her gaze traveling down my naked body before finding my eyes again. The anticipation in her expression is impossible to miss.

“Nathaniel…”

I return to her side and kiss her slowly, thoroughly. When I pull back, she strains against the cuffs, a silent plea for more.

“Anything too tight?”

“No, Sir.”

“Good.” I retrieve the blindfold and sit beside her. “Ready?”

She offers a slight nod.

“Use your words, Sola.”

“Yes, Sir.”

I brush my lips against hers once more before drawing the silk over her eyes, ensuring no pressure at the temples. Perfect.

I reach for the Butterfly. The sheets rustle faintly as I lift it.

“What are you doing?” Her voice is softer now.

“Something I’ve been anticipating all evening.”

I position the device carefully against her, ensuring the wings sit flush. Then I switch it on.

The butterfly looks more like an extravagant piece of jewelry than anything our engineers have designed for pleasure. Its rose-gold wings curve around a delicate central mechanism, the polished finish striking against Sloane's rich brown skin. I insisted on that particular color during development. Seeing it against her now, I'm glad I did.

Beneath the elegant exterior, the engineering is considerably more sophisticated than its appearance suggests.

A ring of micro-suction ports surges in erratic waves against her; never the same pattern twice, never allowing predictability. At the center, a slender stem begins its work: a slow, teasing drag beneath her piercing before retreating. Then again, slightly quicker.

Her back arches clear off the bed as a sharp gasp escapes her. “Nate. What the fuck is that?”

“SOLAÉ engineering.”

“I hate your company.”

“You work for my company.”

“I’m quitting.”

I thumb the remote, and the stem’s pace quickens to a rapid, insistent flicker. Her threat fractures into a choked gasp. The pattern shifts again—three sharp, rhythmic tugs on the right, then the left, while the tip flicks upward against the sensitive underside of her jewelry.

“Shit—Nate, I’m gonna—”

I cut the intensity. The suction gentles to a faint whisper; the body slows to one long, teasing drag every few seconds.

Her head turns sharply toward me, blindfolded eyes seeking where I stand. “You asshole.”