Under the Covers (13 page)

"You won't need them," he said.

"We'll see about that. You'll do as I say? Follow my instructions?"

"Sure. Am I allowed to make suggestions? Requests?"

"No."

His eyebrows rose at her answer. She could see the muscles in his shoulder and upper arm flex as he continued to stroke his cock. As much as she wanted to watch, she forced her eyes to remain fixed on his.

"Okay. I can do that. Do I get a safe word?"

"Do you think you need one?"

A smile split his face. "You never know."

"Fine. How about pink?"

"Pink it is." His voice had dropped into a rumble that sounded like it was coming from the belly of a volcano. "Tell me what to do. I'm all yours."

"Get your hand off your cock and lie down."

"Yes, ma'am." He dropped onto the bed, spread his legs and raised his hands above his head.

Panic swept through her at the broad grin on Drew's face. Clearly, he thought that by allowing her this much, he retained control. The moment of self-doubt fled. She could do this. The handcuffs were under the pillow. She had the element of surprise on her side. One move and she'd have him secured to the headboard before he knew what happened.

Bree loosened her sarong and tossed it in the direction of the closet. She put one knee on the mattress, then the other, and slowly worked her way to the head of the bed and into Drew's line of sight. His head turned to follow her progress. She knew the moment he realized the promise he made was going to be more difficult to keep than he'd thought. All humor in his smile vanished, replaced by a mask of pure hunger. Bree recalled how much she'd enjoyed watching Drew handle his cock, and wondered how he would react if the tables were turned. She brought one hand up to cup her breast, while the other slid beneath the scrap of fabric covering her mound.

His chest began to rise and fall at a rapid pace as his breathing escalated. His cock twitched, and his hips undulated against the smooth white sheet.

"Uh-uh. No moving." His hips stilled. "Want to see more?"

Drew nodded. He wasn't sure she wanted him to answer, and he wasn't sure his voice would work if he tried. Christ. What had he gotten himself into? Bree was there, all soft and warm, make that hot, and he could smell her arousal not a foot away from his face. His cock hurt so bad it was all he could do to keep his hands off it. If he couldn't sink into Bree's hot, wet body, he needed to find some kind of relief.

She hooked her thumbs under the waistband of her thong and slid it over her hips, and off. The patch of red curls, now revealed, drew his gaze like a lodestone. He swallowed hard as saliva pooled in his mouth. Much more of this and he'd be begging, just like she'd predicted, or worse yet, he'd touch her and end up in cuffs.

He clenched his hands into tight fists and watched helplessly as Bree's hands returned to their tasks. She tweaked her nipples into tight little buttons, then shifted her position so one tiny little foot rested on his chest, opening her to his view. When she used both hands to spread her swollen folds, revealing her hard clit and the pink heaven she'd all but promised him, he had to call on every bit of training he'd been given to keep from grabbing her hips and dragging her down to his face.

"I'm wet, Drew. See how my body is ready for you?" One red-tipped finger disappeared into heaven and came out slicked with her juices, which she used to lubricate her clit. "Ahh, that's better." Her fingers began to work her clit in circles, pressing and pinching and tugging. She flexed her hips, bringing a wave of her scent his way. He inhaled like a junkie at a pot bonfire and got twice as high.

He'd never been a druggie, but he knew the danger of addiction, and he was very close to being addicted to Bree Stanton. He needed her. Needed to taste her, to bury his face, and then his cock into her sweet body. Without thinking, his hands unclenched and moved toward her. Before his fingers made contact with her silky skin, she fell on him, stunning him when her pillow soft breasts mashed against his chest. A faint click sounded near his ear, then another, and just like that, he fell into her trap.

"Shit!" He bucked and yanked hard against the restraints. All he got for his efforts was sharp pain shooting from his wrists to his shoulders. Drew scrunched his eyes shut, clenched his jaw and fisted his hands around the short chain anchoring the handcuffs to the headboard. He was strong, but he doubted he could pull the headboard loose, not without causing himself some serious injury.

"Let me go." He stilled and concentrated on regulating his lung function. Breathe in. Breathe out. "Please, take the cuffs off." God, he hated the weakness in his voice, hated the cowardly plea. It wasn't like he was in any real danger. This was Bree. Sure, she had the upper hand right now, but would that be so bad?

Soft hands stroked along his shoulders and down his chest, over his ribs and across his stomach. His cock twitched, still amazingly hard despite his brief moment of panic. "Shh. Relax, Drew." A sharp fingernail scratched lightly on his balls and traveled up the length of his cock, drawing his attention away from his cuffed wrists. His hips strained toward her, begging for more of her touch.

"It's just me. I'm going to take care of you." Her voice flowed over him like honey on a hot biscuit. She cupped his balls, hefting their weight with a gentle touch. "Use your safe word if you need to."

Safe word? Dear God, he could hardly remember his name. To prove he could, he dredged up his name, rank and serial number and set the information up on a loop running through his mind. Like white noise, it helped drown out extraneous sound, but did nothing to distract him from her touch.

A wet fingertip followed the path her fingernail had taken a moment earlier, soothing and igniting a fire. Even with his eyes closed tight, his flared nostrils told him where the moisture came from. God, she was going to kill him.

"You'll beg again, but it won't be the same. Next time you beg, it will be for me to let you come."

That very plea was on the tip of his tongue. He swallowed hard, willing strength where he had none.

Her hands moved over him, soft but strong, kneading, soothing until he began to relax. "Focus on my hands, not on the restraints."

Like he could do anything else now.

She pressed her lips to his left nipple and tongued the tiny peak. "Focus on my mouth. Focus on what I'm doing to you."

Ah, Christ. She repeated that lips and tongue thing on his other nipple, and every rational thought he'd ever had fled. There was nothing but Bree, her scent, her touch.
Her
. Tangled up with want, with need, with heat.

His hips came off the bed, his cock desperate to find heaven. Instead her hand slid below his navel, brushing beneath his erection to press him back to the mattress. Stars formed behind his eyelids at the small contact. Instinct told him to fight, to use his body to outmaneuver her and somehow get her beneath him. Hands or no hands, he could overpower her and slake this raging need.

Fuck! The woman was a sailor's nightmare, a siren, a seductress, luring him to his fate, and he wanted desperately to answer her call.

Her mouth followed her hand, branding his torso with tiny bites, followed by soothing kisses that drove him fucking out of his mind. His fingers dug into the chain, and his arms ached to grab her and drag her mouth down to the one place he needed it most. Now.

"Shh." She crooned against his navel, so close to the head of his cock her breath teased it.

Christ almighty, at this rate his teeth would grind to dust before she was through with him. Her fingernails scratched lightly against his stomach, bringing her knuckles up against his cock. Curses, hoarse and unintelligible, flew from his mouth as blood surged painfully through his cock. He'd never hurt so badly in his life, not even when he'd taken a bullet in the back in that Eastern European hellhole. At the time, death had looked good, but he hadn't wanted it. Now he'd welcome it over this torture at Bree's hands. Hands that inflicted mind-searing punishment one second and promised heaven the next.

The hand on his stomach slipped between his legs and cupped his balls, tugging gently until he spread his legs like a masochist inviting her to hurt him more. She tugged again and at the same time, her lips opened over the head of his cock and took him in.

Deep. Hot. Heaven. He bucked in an effort to shove his cock as deep inside her as he possibly could, and stopped short when she yanked him back by his balls.

Fire shot from the small of his back and through his testicles. He was going to come. Now. In her mouth.

Cold air swept over his wet cock and the rocket ship that had just left the launch pad crashed in a smoldering heap. His heart raced, and his lungs worked like broken bellows trying to provide the oxygen he so badly needed. Where her mouth had been a second, a lifetime ago, only pain remained.

"God, you are magnificent."

Her voice, tinged with awe, made him open his eyes. It took a moment to clear the haze. Then they homed in on the length of purple ribbon sliding through her fingers. "Something that perfect, that regal, needs adornment, don't you think?"

 No, he didn't think. The protest rose in his throat, but died there as she took him in hand, looped the ribbon beneath and around his balls, pulled them taut, and began to wrap his cock from the base up in purple satin ribbon. The ends of the ribbon slid across his thighs and stomach as she wound them carefully, around and around until the two ends met beneath the glans. He couldn't tear his gaze away from her small hands at work, or his cock slowly disappearing beneath the smooth fabric. It wasn't tight, but it wasn't loose either. His balls thrummed, pulled up tight in their neat ribbon package. He was fascinated as she tied the two ends in a perfect bow and sat back to admire her work.

His cock and balls were trussed up in purple ribbon, and dear god, he couldn't look away from the sight. The distended head rose above the satin-wrapped length, almost the exact same shade of purple as the ribbon. Christ, he'd lost his mind if he thought there was anything erotic about this, but hell and damnation, he couldn't quit looking. If he got any harder, which he didn't think was possible, the ribbon would strangle him.

Bree wrapped her hand around him, ran her fingers over the strips of cloth. Drew ground his teeth and let his head drop back to the pillow as his cock strained against the ribbon cage.

It was all he could do to absorb the throbbing pain between his legs, so he didn't register her movement until something brushed along his inner thigh. His eyes flew open.

In the mirror above the bed, Bree knelt between his legs, paintbrush in one hand and a bowl in the other. A dark line swirled near his groin. The scent of chocolate wafted on the air. Before he fully comprehended what she was about, she dipped her head low. Her tongue swiped along the line she'd drawn, sending a blast of heat straight to his trussed up crotch. She repeated the process on the opposite thigh. Drew fought the need to close her head between his thighs, to trap her mouth where she couldn't ignore his need. Instead, he forced his legs open wider, inviting, exposing himself for her next assault on his sanity.

She didn't disappoint. Her wicked brush coated his balls, his nipples, lined the ridges of his abdomen, and coated the strangled head of his cock. Her tongue followed every brushstroke, and Drew slipped closer to hell with each tantalizing swipe. She said not a word as she worked him into a crazed state. He'd long since forgotten his name, rank and serial number. His mind barely had room for the sensations, the all-encompassing need, the exquisite torture Bree inflicted each time she touched him. He'd long since sealed his eyes shut. The visual stimuli from the overhead mirror was too much to process along with the tactile stimuli.

Nothing, no one, had ever captured him so thoroughly, or taken him to a place like this—a place where he was helpless to resist, but craved the next touch, the next drugging sensation as if his life depended on it. When she commanded he open his eyes, he reluctantly complied.

"Watch," she ordered. Then she bent and took his swollen, aching head in her mouth and sucked it clean. Disciplined now to remain still and accept her ministrations, every muscle in his body clenched and froze, except one. Blood surged to the already painfully restricted tissue. Then she pulled the ribbon bow loose. Her mouth followed the ribbon as it fell away, one inch at a time. As the ribbon slid away, freeing his balls, he lost it. He thrust his hips up, drove his cock as deep as he could, and exploded.

Bree released him, climbed up his body and pressed her curves to his exhausted, aching torso. She freed his hands, and he peeled his fingers from their death grip on the chain above his head. As his body cooled and oxygen returned with blood flow to his brain, he closed his arms around the woman draped over him, and drifted into a deep sleep.