"You were in there a very long time, Ms. Jensen," Lucas muses, startling me, as I pad out of the bathroom. When had he come back to the room? He's sitting in the seat he'd bound me to a couple hours ago, quietly strumming his guitar. Heat floods my body because I can't help thinking about how his mouth had teased my body. How he'd warned me not to come. How he'd left me wanting more, wanting him to finish.
"I was dirty from - "
"You were fucking yourself."
He's not asking me, he's telling me what I've been doing. Before I can think of something witty to say, I blurt, "You refused to finish."
"And that's what you want now. For me to finish. For me to keep fucking you."
"Yes," I whisper.
"Yes, what?"
"Sir."
"There aren't any more barriers between us," he says, his words hovering somewhere in between a question and a statement. I nod my head.
He rises to his feet, placing the guitar to the side of the bed. Now, I've got his full attention. Static runs through my body, making every inch of me feel as if it's been electrocuted. "Turn around and put your forearms and hands flat on the desk," he says.
"Why? So you can spank me like a little kid?" I demand, recalling some of his earlier threats. There's a sarcastic edge to my voice - one that lures a slow spreading grin from Lucas. God, why does he have to look so beautiful, so perfect, and yet so sinfully dangerous?
"Not at all like a child," he says.
Shivering, I face the desk and bend over in the position he's instructed. I would be stupid if I said I wasn't the tiniest bit frightened, but the other feelings that course through me - blurry and wonderful and intoxicatingly confusing - trump the fear.
I feel sadistic and crazy for wanting him and this.
I feel so fucking alive it burns.
Lucas removes the white robe from my body, leaving me bare. His fingers are feather soft against my skin as he guides my hips further away from the desk and bows my back so that my bottom is jutted up at him.
Gliding his fingertips down my damp skin - down my hips, past my thighs - he squats down behind me. Carefully, he spreads my legs apart and repositions my feet so that there's a wide space between them. When he stands up, his hard body slightly skimming mine along the way, I moan. "Lucas . . ."
He swats my left ass cheek with the palm of his hand, the same palm that was playing such beautiful music only minutes ago. It's not hard enough to bruise, but the sting is enough to make me shiver.
In pain.
Anticipation.
Need.
Punishment lasts for approximately two more swats, one for each side of my bottom and then Lucas presses his lips to the base of my neck. My shoulder blades arch together. For a moment, I feel him go completely still. "You're so fucking sweet. So beautiful."
The dark cotton blindfold drapes over my eyes.
My breath catches in my throat.
I feel bare, deliciously blinded to the world around me. On the outside, I'm patient as I wait for his next move, but my heart is throbbing. My breath is coming out in short, choppy wisps.
Please . . .
Running one of his hands down my arm, he intertwines my fingers with his and tugs me around to face him. "Do you want me, Sienna?"
I know what he wants from me. And I'm strong enough to give it to him. When I say the words, a ripple of pleasure flows through me. It settles into the pit of my belly. "Please . . . sir." I sound submissive and confident, all at once.
I gasp as he lifts my body effortlessly and slides my bottom onto the wide desk behind us. There's part of me that's dying to see the expression on his face - whether or not his hazel eyes have darkened or if he's staring at me with animalistic lust - but I love the way my senses seem heightened. The way my skin tingles in some places before he even touches me, almost as if it's sensing his next move.
He slides his hands between my thighs, splaying his rough fingertips on my smooth skin. Slowly his fingers move up, and I feel one - no, two . . . three - slide inside of me, delving into the wetness. My knees buckle together. He opens them back apart and positions his body between them.
I grind my teeth together to keep from moaning, and I feel a tiny sting across my right breast, as he flicks me with . . . something. Momentarily surprised, I gasp. Then, I wiggle my hips against his hand.
His fingers push and pull, filling me, taking me under. I arch my back. "Please," I say, barely recognizing my own voice and he gives a raw chuckle.
A second later, I get the sweet release he refused to give me a couple hours ago.
I pray he's nowhere near done.
Lucas tugs the blindfold down. I blink rapidly as my eyes adjust to the light. When they finally focus in on him, he brings his fingers to his mouth. Teasingly, he flicks his tongue over the tips, tasting me. I groan and reach out to him. He captures my fingers in his, kissing them, tasting them too.
When he guides my hand to his cock, I'm hesitant at first. What if he's only wanting to tease me again and has no intention of fucking me? What if -
He nods his and closes my grip around his shaft.
I run my hand up and down the length of his hardness, slow at first, and then faster, tighter until he's moaning. He shoves away from me for a moment, staring down at me with a look that's enough to make me come without even being touched. Then, lifting me up and off the desk, he cups my bottom in his hands. His cock slides inside of me in one breathtaking thrust.
The room seems to tilt on its side.
He shudders when I tighten around him - my arms circling his neck, legs locked together around his waist and the length of him clenched deep inside of me.
And suddenly, my back is to the wall and his hands have left my ass to tangle into my long red hair. He drives his cock into me, slides my body up so that I lose him, lose this. Then he grinds his hips up.
He's inside of me again.
Out.
In.
Gritting my teeth, I say, "Oooh, Lucas" - another sting, this time my left breast - "I want to fucking come again."
Shaking his head, he crushes his lips to mine. I taste wine and menthol and myself. His tongue and cock seem to be working in unison, exploring and demanding until I'm incoherent.
Until I'm begging him.
Then, he lets go of my hair. It spills between our faces, clinging to our slick skin. His hand squeezes between our bodies, and he rubs my clit between his thumb and forefinger. Crying out, I squeeze my legs around him.
I'm falling.
Hard.
Fast.
And in more ways than one.
A moment later, he shivers, and presses his hands into the perspiration at the small of my back. Keeping himself inside of me, he carries me into the bathroom. When he unravels our bodies, he kisses the tips of my fingers.
His eyes never leave mine.
Not when he starts the shower and we wash each other's bodies.
Not when we towel each other off.
And not even when we lay facing each other, exploring, squeezing. Tasting.
It's only later - after he's asleep - that I find the object he flicked my breasts with whenever he caught me grinding my teeth in the palm of his hand.
It's a black and red guitar pick.