«That’s better,” he breathes and leans behind me once more with the cuffs. I resist touching him but inhale his glorious Christian scent, still fresh from last night’s shower. Hmm… I should bottle this.
I expect him to cuff my wrists, but he attaches each cuff above my elbows. It makes me arch my back, pushing my breasts forward, though my elbows are by no means together. When he’s finished, he stands back to admire me.
«Feel okay?» he asks. It’s not the most comfortable of positions, but I’m so wired with anticipation to see where he’s going with this that I nod, weak with wanting.
«Good.» He pulls the mask from his back pocket.
«I think you’ve seen enough now,” he murmurs. He slides the mask over my head, covering my eyes. My breathing spikes. Wow. Why is not being able to see so erotic? I am here, trussed up and kneeling on a table, waiting—sweet anticipation hot and heavy deep in my belly. I can still hear, though, and the melodic steady beat of the track continues. It resonates through my body. I hadn’t noticed before. He must have it on repeat.
Christian steps away. What is he doing? He moves back to the chest and opens a drawer, then closes it again. A moment later he’s back, and I sense him in front of me. There’s a pungent, rich, musky scent in the air. It’s delicious, almost mouth–watering.
«I don’t want to ruin my favorite tie,” he murmurs. It slowly unravels as he undoes it.
I inhale sharply as the tail of the tie travels up my body, tickling me in its wake. Ruin his tie? I listen acutely to determine what he’s going to do. He’s rubbing his hands together. His knuckles suddenly brush over my cheek, down to my jaw following my jawline.
My body leaps to attention as his touch sends a delicious shiver through me. His hand flexes over my neck, and it’s slick with sweet–smelling oil so his hand glides smoothly down my throat, across my clavicle, and up to my shoulder, his fingers kneading gently as they go. Oh, I’m getting a massage. Not what I expected.
He places his other hand on my other shoulder and begins another slow teasing journey across my clavicle. I groan softly as he works his way down toward my increasingly aching breasts, aching for his touch. It’s tantalizing. I arch my body further into his deft touch, but his hands glide to my sides, slow, measured, in time to the beat of the music, and studiously avoid my breasts. I groan, but I don’t know if it’s from pleasure or frustration.
«You are so beautiful, Ana,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky, his mouth next to my ear. His nose follows along my jaw as he continues to massage me—beneath my breasts, across my belly, down… He kisses me fleetingly on my lips, then he runs his nose down my neck, my throat. Holy cow, I’m on fire… his nearness, his hands, his words.
«And soon you’ll be my wife to have and to hold,” he whispers.
Oh my.
«To love and to cherish.»
Jeez.
«With my body, I will worship you.»
I tip my head back and moan. His fingers run through my pubic hair, over my sex, and he rubs the palm of his hand against my clitoris.
«Mrs. Grey,” he whispers as his palm works against me.
I groan.
«Yes,” he breathes as his palm continues to tease me. «Open your mouth.»
My mouth is already open from panting. I open wider, and he slips a large cool metal object between my lips. Shaped like an oversized baby’s pacifier, it has small grooves or carvings, and what feels like a chain at the end. It’s big.
«Suck,” he commands softly. «I’m going to put this inside you.»
Inside me? Inside me where? My heart lurches into my mouth.
«Suck,” he repeats and he stops palming me.
No. Don’t stop, I want to shout, but my mouth is full. His oiled hands glide back up my body and finally cup my neglected breasts.
«Don’t stop sucking.»
Gently he rolls my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, and they harden and lengthen under his expert touch, sending synaptic waves of pleasure all the way to my groin.
«You have such beautiful breasts, Ana,” he murmurs and my nipples harden further in response. He murmurs his approval and I moan. His lips move down from my neck toward one breast, trailing soft bites and sucks over and over, down toward my nipple, and suddenly I feel the pinch of the clamp.
«Ah!» I garble my groan through the device in my mouth. Holy cow, the feeling is exquisite, raw, painful, pleasurable… oh—the pinch. Gently, he laves the restrained nipple with his tongue, and as he does so, he applies the other. The bite of the second clamp is equally harsh… but just as good. I groan loudly.
«Feel it,” he whispers.
Oh, I do. I do. I do.
«Give me this.» He tugs gently on the ornate metal pacifier in my mouth, and I release it. His hands once more trail down my body, toward my sex. He’s re–oiled his hands. They glide around to my backside.
I gasp. What’s he going to do? I tense up on my knees as he runs his fingers between my buttocks.
«Hush, easy,” he breathes close to my ear and kisses my neck as his fingers stroke and tease me.
