His left eyebrow lifted, very slowly, as he watched me struggle for words, his lips twisting a bit to the side.
Finally he prompted, “Annie, what do you think we’ve been doing so far?”
“I guess—I guess I thought we were—” I sighed, blinking at a spot over his shoulder. “I thought you just liked things to be intense during…and I like it, too. But I wouldn’t call tying me up or blindfolding me BDSM.”
“It is and it isn’t. What we’ve been doing is what I like—restraint, dominance, and submission. I’m not keen on sadomasochism. I don’t get off on hurting people, but I do like to be in control.”
“Dominance and submission?” My voice cracked again, and I felt a little breathless, excited by the labels.
“Yes.” He inclined his head, studying me thoughtfully. I watched him with wide eyes as he nonchalantly plucked my scarf from the dresser and strolled back over to where I sat perched on the edge of the bed. He hovered above me for a long moment, his dark eyes hot as they unapologetically stared down the front of my shirt. My insides did a somersault and heated, rearranging themselves, burning beneath his suggestive stare.
Ronan took a deep breath then knelt, situating himself between my legs. His hands slipped under my skirt, inching upward and spreading my thighs, still holding the scrap of fabric. He tickled me with it. The silky softness sent a shock of goosebumps along my skin, spreading heat up my chest and neck and searing arousal between my legs.
“I like,” he whispered, his gaze holding mine. “I like deciding what happens and when. I like having control and being responsible for your loss of control. I like taking care of you, all of you. I like your trusting me, implicitly and explicitly.”
Ronan’s thumbs were rubbing light circles on the skin of my thighs just below my apex. Instinctively, I inched closer, my legs opening wider. I reached for his shoulders and tried to pull him toward me. I needed his touch a few inches higher, but he retreated. He withdrew his hands, his fingertips skimming my bare skin, sending a shiver to my center.
“Do you trust me, Annie?” He leaned back, his eyes still holding mine as he unbuttoned my shirt and meticulously pushed it down my shoulders, all the while holding my scarf.
“You know I do.”
“What if I tied you up?” Ronan discarded my shirt and then unclasped my bra. His question was soft, curious.
“You’ve done that.” I helped him by withdrawing my hands from the bra straps. “You know I-I like that.”
“But what if I tied your legs, too, spread them, and you were face down on the bed? What if I blindfolded you? What if I used toys?”
I blinked at that, instinctively covering my chest with my arms. “T-toys? What kind of toys?”
“Only toys that would make you feel good.” Ronan took one of my hands, then the other, from where I crossed them over my chest; he looped the now-twisted scarf around my wrists and tied a secure knot, his thumb and gaze lingering on the vulnerable skin.
“Would it hurt?” I managed to whisper.
His eyes darted back to mine, and he answered immediately, “No. Like I said, I crave submission, control. I’m not a sadist. I don’t like hurting people, and I would never want to hurt you. I want your surrender.”
I exhaled an unsteady breath as Ronan pulled off his tie, his fingers moving to the underside of my knee, the barest touch; but it initiated spikes of heady, aching longing between my thighs. He slid them down the back of my calf to my ankle and gently, reverently slid my foot out of my terrycloth slipper. I thought he was going to wrap the tie around my ankle, but instead he brought my foot to his mouth and ran his tongue along the base of my toes, making my leg jerk and spasm.
It was ticklish, but it was more than that. It was carnal. Sinful. Overwhelming. My sex pulsed, and my bound hands balled into fists.
I cried out, “Ah, Ronan!”
His grin was devilish, pleased, as he lowered my leg and knotted his fancy tie around my ankle.
“Will you submit to me, my darling? Hmm?”
“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do.”
“You say yes and you say please and you beg me for more.”
I blushed a little as I pointed out, “I already do that.”
“So you do.” Ronan nodded, looking dangerously pleased, and added, “But if we’re going to really do this, if you’re really going to give up control, you’ll need a safe word.”
My mouth parted in alarm and surprise; I stared at him for a moment. “A safe word?”
“Yes. How about ‘peppermint’?”
“To make you stop? If I say ‘peppermint,’ then you’ll stop?”
“That’s right. I can’t take control you’re not willing to give.” Ronan unbuckled his belt, slid the leather strap from his waist.
“But….” I struggled to form a coherent thought now that I was faced with a belt. “What are you going to do with that?”
He took my hands and looped the belt through the knot made by the scarf. “Get on your stomach, face down on the bed, and lift your arms over your head. I’m going to secure the belt to the headboard so you can’t move.”
I licked my lips, thinking this over, then asked, “How are you going to restrain my other leg?”
His eyes moved between mine, and his mouth widened in a slow smile. “If you must know, I have another tie”—he nodded to the closet—“in there.”
“And you’re going to tie me to the end of the bed? So I can’t close my legs?”
“Yes. So you’re open to me. So I can touch you however I like, for as long as I like, wherever I like.”
I stared at him, my heart racing, but I knew I was going to do this. If I enjoyed it half as much as I loved the idea of it, then I was pretty sure Ronan Fitzpatrick was going to ruin me for all other men.
Ronan stood smoothly, his mouth twisted to the side in a faint smile, and offered me a hand. I placed both of mine in his, and he helped me stand. I hesitated for a fraction of a second and then turned and walked on my knees to the middle of the bed. I lay down and did as he instructed, my arms over my head, reaching for the headboard.
“Such a good darling,” he praised me. I felt the bed depress behind me and realized he was straddling me. He looped the belt into the headboard and tugged, making sure it was reasonably sturdy. Then I felt him move behind me and tie my ankle to the footboard.
He bent over me, his hot breath against my neck. “Don’t move.”
I nodded, blinking at the drapes and the comforter and wall filling my vision.
He left, but then I heard him return at once. I closed my eyes, and he secured my right ankle as he’d done my left. I felt my skirt hike up the back of my thighs as he opened my legs to tie me to the bed.
“Oh, wait, my skirt. Shouldn’t I—?”
“Shh….” He cut me off with a soft hush, the tip of a single finger sliding from my heel, along the back of my leg, to just under the hemline. “From this point forward, you are only allowed to say four things: ‘yes,’ ‘please,’ my name, and ‘peppermint’ unless I instruct you otherwise. Do you understand?”
I nodded and acquiesced quietly. “Yes…Mr. Fitzpatrick.”
He stilled, like I’d surprised him. But then I heard him chuckle, his finger drawing my skirt higher up my legs. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”
He used just his mouth at first, biting me, tasting me, licking and devouring the bare skin of my neck, shoulders, back, and legs. It felt divine, and I was melted, became rubber. He was still fully dressed, yet somehow that made it even hotter.
Then I heard a buzzing sound, and I stiffened, my eyes opening wide with alarm. His hands moved beneath my skirt, lifted it slowly until my white lace panties and bottom were exposed. The buzzing became louder; and I tried to press my knees together, but I couldn’t because my ankles were tied. A spike of fear, but also anticipation, pulsed through me.
He bent over me, tongued my ear, and then whispered in a fall of hot breath, “This will be one of your favorite toys.”
The next thing I knew, he’d lifted my hips slightly from the bed so my bottom was in the air, and he pressed a vibrating something to my center. He moved it back and forth over the lace panties with aching slowness, from my clitoris to my opening, and I cursed the scrap of fabric separating my body from his mystery device.
“Oh….” I rocked my hips, arching my back, straining, loving the exquisite torture.
He moved the delicious vibration away. “Ah, now. Say ‘please.’”
“Please….”
“Say my name.”
“Please, Mr. Fitzpatrick.”
I heard him give a short growl of appreciation, and then the toy was back. This time he moved my panties to one side and entered me with his fingers while he pressed the vibrator to my clit.
I sucked in a sharp breath, my hips bucking and pressing backward, needing him to be harder, needing the vibration higher. But he continued to tease me. He bit my bottom then licked the spot, tracing his tongue from my left butt cheek to my lower back.
“You’re so wet for me, Annie. You want me to fuck you, don’t you? You want my big cock inside you. You want me to surround you and fill you up.” He removed his fingers and his toy, and I cried out, my sex clenching with no purchase.