Reaching across the dining table, I grasp his hand, turn it over, and skim my index finger over his palm. “I’d like you to touch me with this.” I run my finger up his index finger.He shifts in his chair. “Just that?” His eyes darken and heat at once.“Maybe this?” I run my finger up his middle finger and back to his palm. “And this.” My nail traces his ring finger. “Definitely this.” My finger stops at his wedding ring. “This is very sexy.”“Is it, now?”
“It sure is. It says this man is mine.” And I skim the small callous that has already formed on his palm beneath the ring. He leans forward and cups my chin with his other hand.“Are you seducing me?”“I hope so.”“I’m a given.” His voice is low. “Come here.” He tugs my hand, pulling me onto his lap. “I like having unfettered access to you.” He runs a hand up my thigh to my behind. He grasps the nape of my neck with his other hand and kisses me, holding me firmly in place.
He tastes of white wine and apple pie and him. I run my fingers through his hair, holding him to me while our tongues explore and curl and twist around each other, my blood heating in my veins. We’re breathless when he pulls away.“Let’s go to bed,” he murmurs against my lips.“Bed?”He pulls back further and tugs my hair so I am looking up at him. “Where would you prefer?”My inner goddess stops stuffing her face with tarte Tatin. I shrug, feigning indifference. “Surprise me.”
He smirks. “You’re feisty this evening.” He runs his nose along mine.“Maybe I need to be restrained.”“Maybe you do. You’re getting mighty bossy in your old age.” He narrows his eyes, but can’t disguise the latent humor there.“What are you going to do about it?” I challenge.His eyes glitter. “I know what I’d like to do about it. Depends if you’re up to it.”“Oh, you’ve been very gentle with me these last couple of days. I’m not made of glass, you know.”“You don’t like gentle?”“With you, of course. But you know . . . variety is the spice of life.” I bat my lashes at him.“You’re after something less gentle?”“Something life-affirming.”He raises his brows in surprise. “Life-affirming,” he repeats, astonished humor in his voice.
I nod. He gazes at me for a moment. “Don’t bite your lip,” he whispers then rises suddenly with me in his arms. I gasp and grab his biceps, fearful that he’ll drop me. He walks over to the smallest of the three couches and deposits me on to it.“Wait here. Don’t move.” He gives me a brief hot, intense look and turns on his heel,stalking toward the bedroom. Oh . . . his barefoot. Why are his feet so hot? He’s back a few moments later, taking me by surprise as he leans over me from behind.
“I think we’ll dispense with this.” He grabs my t-shirt and drags it over my head, leaving me naked except for my panties. He pulls my ponytail back and kisses me.“Stand up,” he orders against my lips and releases me. I comply immediately. He lays a towel out on the sofa.Towel?“Take your panties off.”I swallow but do as I’m told, discarding them by the sofa.“Sit.” He grabs my ponytail again and pulls my head back. “You’ll tell me to stop if this gets too much, yes?”I nod.“Say it.” His voice is stern.“Yes,” I squeak.He smirks. “Good. So, . . . by popular demand, I’m going to restrain you.” His voice drops to a breathless whisper. Desire streaks through my body like lightning simply at those words. Oh, my sweet —on the sofa?“Bring your knees up,” he commands softly. “And sit right back.”
I rest my feet on the edge of the sofa, my knees up in front of me. He reaches for my left leg, and taking the belt from one of the bathroom robes, he ties one end above my knee.“Bathrobes?”“I’m improvising.” He smirks again and fastens the slipknot above my knee and ties the other end of the soft belt around the finial at the back corner of the sofa, effectively parting my legs.“Don’t move,” he warns and repeats the process with my right leg, tying the second cord to the other finial.Oh my . . . I am sitting up, splayed out on the sofa, legs spread wide.“Okay?” He asks softly, gazing down at me from behind the sofa.I nod, expecting him to tie my hands, too. But he refrains. He bends and kisses me.“You have no idea how hot you look right now,” he murmurs and rubs his nose against mine. “Change of music, I think.” He stands and strolls casually over to the iPod dock.
How does he do this?Here I am , trussed up and horny as hell, while he’s so cool and calm. He’s just in my field of vision, and I watch the flex and pull of the muscles of his back under his t-shirt as he changes the song. Immediately, a sweet, almost childlike female voice starts to sing about watching me.Oh, I like this song.He turns and his eyes lock on mine as he moves around to the front of the sofa and sinks gracefully to his knees in front of me.Suddenly, I feel very exposed.
“Exposed? Vulnerable?” he asks with his uncanny ability to voice my unspoken words. His hands are on his knees. I nod.Why doesn’t he touch me?“Good,” he murmurs. “Hold out your hands.” I can’t look away from his mesmerizing eyes as I do what he asks. He pours a little oily liquid onto each palm from a small clear bottle. It’s scented—a rich, musky, sensuous scent that I can’t place.
“Rub your hands.” I squirm beneath his hot, heavy gaze. “Keep still,” he warns.Oh my.“Now I want you to touch yourself.”Holy cow.“Start at your throat and work down.”I hesitate.“Don’t be shy. Come. Do it.” The humor and challenge in his expression is plain to see along with his desire.The sweet voice sings that there’s nothing sweet about her. I place my hands against my throat and let them slide down to the top of my breasts. The oil makes them glide effortlessly over my skin. My hands are warm.“Lower,” he murmurs, his eyes darkening. He doesn’t touch me.My hands cup my breasts.“Tease yourself.”Oh my. I tug gently on my nipples.“Harder,” he urges. He sits immobile between my thighs, just watching me. “Like I would,” he adds, his eyes shining darkly. My muscles clench deep in my belly. I groan in response and pull harder on my nipples, feeling them stiffen and lengthen beneath my touch.“Yes. Like that. Again.”
Closing my eyes I pull hard, rolling and twisting them between my fingers. I moan.“Open your eyes.”I blink up at him.“Again. I want to see you. See you enjoy your touch.”Oh fuck. I repeat the process. This is so . . . erotic.“Hands. Lower.”I squirm.“Keep still. Absorb the pleasure. Lower.” His voice is low and husky, tempting and beguiling at once.“You do it,” I whisper.“Oh, I will—soon. You. Lower. Now.” Exuding sensuality, runs his tongue along his teeth Holy fuck . . . I writhe, pulling on the restraints.He shakes his head, slowly. “Still.” He rests his hands on my knees, holding me in place. “Come on—lower.”My hands glide over my stomach down over my belly.“Lower,” he mouths, and he is carnality personified.“please.”His hands glide down from my knees, skimming my thighs, toward my sex. “Come on. Touch yourself.”
My left hand skims over my sex, and I rub in a slow circle, my mouth an O as I pant.“Again,” he whispers.I groan louder and repeat the move and tip my head back, gasping.“Again.”I moan loudly, and he inhales sharply. Grabbing my hands, he bends down, running his nose then his tongue back and forth at the apex of my thighs.“Ah!”I want to touch him, but when I try to move my hands, his fingers tighten around my wrists.“I’ll restrain these, too. Keep still.”I groan. He releases me then eases his middle two fingers inside me, the heel of his hand resting against my clitoris.“I’m going to make you come quickly. Ready?”“Yes.” I pant.He starts to move his fingers, his hand, up and down, rapidly, assaulting both that sweet spot inside me and my clitoris at the same time. Ah! The feeling is intense—really intense. Pleasure builds and spikes throughout the lower half of my body. I want to stretch my legs, but I can’t. My hands claw at the towel beneath me.“Surrender,” he whispers.I explode around his fingers, crying out incoherently. He presses the heel of his hand against my clitoris as the aftershocks run through my body ,prolonging the delicious agony. Vaguely, I’m aware that he’s untying my legs.
“My turn,” he murmurs, and flips me over so I am face down on the sofa with my knees on the floor. He spreads my legs and slaps me hard across my behind.“Ah!” I yelp and he slams into me.“Oh” he hisses through clenched teeth as he starts to move. His fingers grip me hard around my hips as he grinds into me over and over. And I’m building again. No . . . Ah . . .“Come on!”he shouts, and I shatter once more, pulsing around him and crying out as I come.“Life-affirming enough for you?” he kisses my hair.“Oh, yes,” I murmur, gazing up at the ceiling. I am lying on my husband, my back to his front, both of us on the floor beside the sofa. He’s still dressed.“I think we should go again. No clothes for you this time.”“Christ. Give a man a chance.”
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