Nothing More Beautiful (34 page)

“Really? You read that?”

“Well, I needed a break from the sci-fi and
fantasy stuff I usually read, so I thought I should try a
completely different genre. Anyway, it wasn’t really my thing, but
it did give me some ideas. I know it might be a little intimidating
and sudden, but I think that’s part of the thrill.”

I hadn’t given the bondage idea much thought
since we wrote the list, and looking at the furniture made me a
little queasy—yet, also, excited. I think the apprehension came
from how he sprung it on me. We were supposed to talk about it
first. “I wish you would’ve talked about this with me before, it’s
not really the same kind of surprise as the ’30s fantasy.”

“Oh, okay. So what does that mean?”

“How about we watch a movie and eat dinner,
and then go from there?” I suggested.

“I can do that,” he said, walking over to
kiss me. “How about some wine to relax those nerves?”

“I haven’t had wine in a while,” I said,
leaving the bedroom. “I’ve liked Riesling the few times Danielle
pushed it on me, or something sweet like that.”

“There’s bound to be one in there.”

I started watching
One for the Money
as Vince barbecued chicken outside. I couldn’t concentrate on the
movie at all, though—my thoughts revolving around the image of
being restrained. Fear and a dark craving mingled in my stomach,
and the two became an enthralling mixture. One part of me was
begging for the release, to let Vince take total control; another
part was telling me I wasn’t ready, that I hadn’t had enough time
to prepare.

But that’s what I always did: calculated.
That’s what I was doing now. I should have just embraced the
concept in the bedroom. Now it would all be planned, and that was a
reminder of my past, which was a turn off on its own.

I considered the idea through dinner while
we watched another movie. “Okay,” I finally said, halfway into the
action flick. The sun had dipped below the horizon and dusk
surrounded the countryside.

Vince turned to me. “Okay, what?”

“I want to do it. I want to try it.”

“The cuffs?”

I nodded.

Pure excitement resided in his eyes. “You
sure?” He stroked my legs, his touch electrifying. “I don’t want to
pressure you into anything you don’t—”

I raised a finger to his lips and cut him
off. “If I didn’t want to, I’d say no,” I assured him.

He launched off the couch. “Okay, give me a
second.” He bolted out of the room before I could reply. About ten
minutes later, he returned with a fuzzy red blindfold that reminded
me of Danielle’s sleeping mask. “Do you trust me?” he asked,
holding out the mask.

Without hesitation, I nodded and said,
“Yes.”

“Put it on.” It sounded more like a command
than a suggestion.

Standing, I complied. My world went dark. He
took my hands and led me next to a crackling fire. The heat felt
intense on my skin. He started undressing me where I stood, taking
off each piece slowly, artfully. He kissed my body up and down as
he went. The fire was bringing out a sweat in both of us, our skin
gliding across each other’s. He released my bra, and I heard it hit
the carpet. His nose moved between my breasts, pressing them to his
face and inhaling, planting kisses on my soft skin. He let out a
small moan. “I like it when you sweat. You smell so good.”

Without my vision, I was trying hard not to
fall over as he sucked on my nipples. They hardened in his mouth,
tingling.

“Lie down,” he instructed, a breath
later.

I did as he bid with his help, finding the
flat surface and a sturdy pillow for my head. He slid off my
panties. “Shouldn’t we have a safe word or something?”

“I don’t plan on getting that rough,” he
said.

“What if you do anyway?” I asked, still able
to feel the fire from the lounge. He must have moved it closer when
he was preparing the room.

“Can’t you just tell me to stop? ‘Stop’ can
be our safety word.”

“I don’t think that counts.”

“Okay, then how about ‘wet monkey’?”

“Wet monkey?” I could hear the laughter in
my voice.

“You’re not likely to say that, are you?” he
asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“Then it’s a good safe word,” he asserted.
“Are you comfortable?”

I repositioned so that my head was more on
the pillow. “Yes.” He took my right foot and brought it down,
wrapping a strap around my ankle. A surge of expectancy coursed
through me. He strapped my other ankle down.

“Too tight?”

“No,” I said, raising my legs. They moved
about an inch, the soft cuffs snug, binding my legs open, my pussy
exposed.

“Good.” He cuffed my wrists as slowly as he
had stripped off my clothes. A second later, I felt a light touch
grazing my skin, tickling my thighs.

I wiggled at the sensation. That was the
moment that I realized I was really trapped—totally at his mercy. I
fought off the rush of panic, reminding myself that I trusted
Vince, that I wanted this. “What is that?” I asked, more of a
distraction than anything.

“A feather,” he said, blowing on my nipples.
It was difficult to tell where he was standing, the crackle of the
fire stealing what little noise he made on the carpet. “You’re so
sexy, you know that? Your skin is so soft, so flawless.” He teased
my breasts with the feather; the sensation was heightened without
my sight. It tickled, but in an intoxicating way, which didn’t make
sense—how could a tickle feel so good?

The feather meandered down my torso, grazing
my clit, sparking my nerves with electric heat. He moved on, down
my thighs to my toes, but this time when it tickled, I fidgeted,
uncomfortable.

The feather returned between my legs, and I
flexed in reaction, my stomach crunching. My gasps were growing
more and more audible as I let go in the world of fire and
darkness. He swirled over my pussy, descending with each pass, and
before I could refuse him, the feather was skimming my ass. A
perverse rush sped through my veins. The unexplored nerves of my
anus flittered with excitement. It hadn’t occurred to me that Vince
might enter there.
Would he do that without asking?
As if to
answer the question, the feather moved on.

I could hear him step away, toward the bed,
and then nothing but the pop of the fire.
Did he leave? Is he
just watching me?
“Vince?” I called out. No reply came. After
several more calls, trepidation set in, and the cuffs became more
than I could take. The fleeting reactions disappeared when I heard
Vince’s footsteps again. “Where did you go?”

“To get something special,” he replied, his
voice soft and tender. “This will be cold.” The warning came right
before a freezing spike jolted my nipple. In the heat of the fire,
the chill ran wildly through my body, the dual sensation tormenting
and thrilling. I shivered, and I could feel the goose bumps forming
across my flesh, down to my legs.

Vince circled my nipple, dipped down the
slope of my breasts, and up to my other nipple. They grew harder
and harder, until Vince took one in his mouth, sucking down the
cold water. He ran the ice cube down to my stomach, over my
bellybutton, stopping just shy of my clit. I could sense his lips
hovering above the bundle of nerves, drawing out my anticipation,
almost to the point where I cried out for his touch. He breathed a
hot, sexy breath on my clit, then immediately rubbed it with the
ice. The temperature change sent a shockwave up to my neck, where
it lingered for a second, before Vince’s lips devoured the nerves,
sucking hard.

“Ahh,” I let out. I went to grab his hair in
reaction, but was suddenly reminded of the bondage, the straps
jerking tight.

“I’ve never tasted anything so good,” he
said, his words melting away my fears and bringing out only lust.
Suddenly Vince vanished for a second time. My body writhed from the
withdrawal.

“Vince?”

“I’m here, sexy,” he said silkily. I could
hear him opening a drawer and placing items on the nightstand.

Raising my hips what little I could, I
encouraged him with my pussy, begging him to continue with his
tongue. Instead, what I got was a cold, startling glob on my clit.
A second later, I could feel Vince straddle the longer lounge. With
two fingers, he massaged my lips with the lube, stroking up to my
clit then back down. The heat slowly intensified as his fingers
parted my inner lips, delicately stroking them up and down. “I love
it how your lips part for me when I rub you,” he whispered. My
heart leapt at his words. I chose silence, listening as his breaths
quickened, hitting my clit, adding a different pulse to his
foreplay.

The sensation stopped when he grabbed my
right ankle. Loosening the cuff, he slid it up to the middle of my
calf, tightening it again. He repeated the action on my left leg.
Without warning, he wrapped his arms around my thighs and pulled me
toward his chest, elongating my arms above my head. The pillow came
with me.

He buried his face between my legs, his
tongue probing between my lips, while his nose tantalizingly nudged
my clit. I succumbed to the storm of sensations: the cuffs, his
lips and tongue, the warm lube, the soft and sturdy furniture, the
blazing fire, and his nose—his beautiful, talented nose. Who knew a
man could do so much with his nose?

My body repeatedly contracted, my abs
burnings, my hips gyrating, my ass flexing, pushing into his head,
harder and harder. “You like my nose, don’t you?” His voice was
honey in my ears, so smooth and confident.

“Yes,” was all I could get out between my
heavy breaths.

“You like it when my nose fucks your clit,
don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And when it does this?” He pushed my clit
down, and then rolled over it in a circle.

“Yes.”

He duplicated the maneuver. “What was
that?”

“Yes,” I said louder, my voice weak. “Just
like that.”

He did it again, but this time never
stopped. His tongue wiped up the wetness coming out of me, the two
sensations taking over, leaving the rest behind. With my body
locked up in a crunch, I shut it all out. I came—loudly. The
absolute darkness of the mask intensified the red scorching my
eyes. Ecstasy exploded in my body. It felt like I was showering
Vince’s face, and I could hear his tongue licking it up, so sexy
and arousing. The orgasm seemed to last forever as I listened to
his mouth drink me in. All of me.

My other senses slowly returned, except my
sight, which was still shrouded. I felt drained, tingly and warm:
satisfied. I pictured Vince’s throbbing cock and how hard it must
be, patiently waiting to explode like I just did. My throat was
dry, the fire stealing what little saliva I had. I hadn’t heard him
leave, but my ears caught him returning, and he tilted my head up.
“Water,” he breathed.

I slurped it down. After I finished, I heard
him gulp down his own glass, resting the glasses on the
nightstand.

“Are you ready for more?” he asked with an
enticing suaveness.

“More? More of your nose and tongue? How can
you wait? I want you to come inside me.”

“I will,” he said, “but I have more to do.
You trust me, right?”

Why was he asking me that again? What was
he planning?
“Yes, I trust you,” I answered, though with a
little hesitation.

“If I could lick you and fuck you at the
same time, I would love it.” I heard him pop open the lube and
squirt it onto something. “This may be the next best thing.” He
straddled the lounge, and I could hear his hand stroking something,
the lube spreading, slick and noisy.

He played with my lips and the entrance to
my pussy with something hard. The building anticipation shattered
when he rammed the object deep inside me, filling me up. Whatever
it was felt like a real cock, yet fake at the same time—a mixture
of a soft outside and a firm core.

He slid it out, then in again, repeating the
process, allowing me to get used to it. “How does it feel?” he
asked.

“Good,” I purred. “Really good actually.
What is it, a dildo?”

“Yes,” he said, and I could tell he was
pleased. “A nice pink one.” He picked up his pace. “I’m glad you
like it. You should really like this—”

Before I could ask what he meant, his tongue
was massaging my clit, as soft and delicate as possible. He slowed
his pace with the dildo, matching the two in rhythm. The sweet
touch was so seductive, so incredibly sexy, that it in itself
turned me on.

Ever so slightly he increased the pace of
the masterful combo. It was hard to pay attention to both feelings,
one so deep inside me, the other shooting through my body from my
clit. It was almost too much—too much sensation, but I loved it,
and craved it.

Then, abruptly, I heard a noise like a fart,
and I stopped dead. “What was that?” I said, embarrassed.

“A queef,” Vince said, unaffected by the
release. “It was in the book, remember? Vaginal farts. There’s
nothing wrong with you.”

I remembered the short segment in the book,
but it had never happened before, and it was weird to hear.

“Relax,” he said. “Let go. Let it happen.”
He continued increasing his pace. As he did, the queefs increased
in frequency. I ignored them, focusing on the growing pressure
under my skull and beneath my stomach. “That’s it, sexy. Like that.
Just like that. God, you’re so fucking sexy.” He ran his free hand
up my stomach and cupped a breast, pinching my nipple.

I moaned lustily.

“You like that? You want more?”

“Yes?”

He pinched harder. “More?”

“Yes.”

He circled my nipple and pinched again. I
let out another cry. Then he stopped everything at once. I could
feel his weight leave the lounge. He left the dildo inside me as he
went to the nightstand. Its idleness was strange. Despite the
fullness it gave me, I missed the movement.