Bound (Forbidden #1)(18)
Author: Melody Anne

“I’ll let you lie to me for now,” he said with a knowing smile. “But I watched you all day, and I know that your body has been in a constant state of arousal from the moment you inserted that toy. I know that you are dripping wet and ready for me to plunge deep inside your heat.” He put his hands on the back of the couch and leaned in, letting his warm, sweet breath wash over her face. “And, Jewell,” he added, making her barely able to hold the gasp back, “I’m going to fuck you hard tonight.”

He moved away and, removing his hand-tailored jacket, dropped it carelessly on the arm. His white fitted shirt showcased every muscle in his back as he unconsciously flexed his arms. Next, he removed his cuff links and was rolling up his sleeves when he turned back around to find her staring at him, stunned.

She felt as if she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. This man had nearly made her reach orgasm again with just his words and the caress of his breath on her mouth. She only hoped she’d be able to survive her week with him, because right now she didn’t know how that was possible.

“Go upstairs and put this on.” He sauntered toward her, a bag in his hand that he’d previously deposited, along with his briefcase, right inside the living room.

Jewell took the bag without question, though she was hardly eager to learn what he was going to inflict upon her next. She rose and ascended the stairs with as much grace as she could muster, cursing her body when she felt new moisture flood her lower regions, and her nipples jut straight out in the telltale sign of arousal. They’d been hard most of the day, but they’d somehow become even harder.

When she reached her room and emptied the bag’s contents on her bed, she groaned. There would be nothing she could hide from him in this getup. He knew that, and he’d doubtless enjoy every second of her torment.

Discarding the clothes she had on, she slipped on the itsy-bitsy skirt — it barely covered her behind! Of course there were no panties to go with it. Was this another way for him to keep control? To keep her uncomfortable? To keep her vulnerable?

Next she fastened the bustier, shoving her breasts up high, her nipples on full display from the garment’s daringly low-cut front. After slipping on the five-inch red heels, she turned and gazed at her reflection in the mirror.

Her skin was already flushed, her eyes bright with the pleasure she’d been receiving all day, and her body trembling just slightly. The outfit did nothing to hide any of this. He would know that each step she took sent shudders through her, know that when his breath brushed her skin, she grew more aroused. He would know that she didn’t need to fake anything with him.

Should she even try? What point would there be to try to hide her reactions? Maybe it would be better if she just walked up to him, told him she was ready, and got the sex over with. Maybe after she was free of the stupid device, she would go back to normal. And maybe his game would be over once he possessed her.

Maybe she would be the next Olympic gold medalist in the category Lying to Oneself.

Carefully descending the stairs — she didn’t want to put her insides into any more turmoil than she had to — she paused halfway down when she heard the doorbell ring. She felt trapped, not sure which way to go. Blake doubtless hadn’t heard her yet, and she didn’t want to be anywhere near the living room or kitchen if someone entered the apartment. As quietly as she could, she retreated up the stairs, and just as she reached the top, another orgasm pulsed through her core, causing her breath to rush out in awed celebration. She couldn’t hold back the whimper of pleasure, but she bit her lip to prevent any further sound from giving her away.

Collapsing onto the upstairs landing, she waited for the shudders to subside and prayed no one had heard her. When Blake appeared below, his eyes dancing with desire, she knew the cat was out of the bag.

“Come down,” he ordered, and began unbuttoning his shirt.

Holy hell! That chest of his was something dreams were made of. He was far too perfect looking to be the emotional mess that he obviously was. No mere mortal should possess such looks, such poise, such money. He had it all, and it wasn’t fair to the people he trampled under his feet.

“Give me a moment,” she said. She was afraid she might not be able to walk yet.

“Now!” His tone was firm as he made a show of letting his shirt land at the foot of the staircase.

With a defiant pursing of her lips, she gripped the banister and pulled herself to her feet, though her legs were still weak. She knew it was going to send sharp pains through her body to move this soon after another orgasm, knew that each step would be torture, but she didn’t want him to come up and get her. She had no idea what would happen then. Of course, she also had no idea what would happen if she met him down there at the bottom of the stairs.

Taking the steps slowly, she tried to blunt the impact of the toy rubbing her swollen walls. She forced herself to focus on anything else than that. This was going to be a long evening if he made her keep the damned thing in the whole time.

“Sit.”

“What?” She was confused. She had four stairs to go.

“I said sit.”

Gladly, she thought as she sat with her knees together, squeezing her thighs tight, trying to give her body some needed relief. “Is someone here?”

“No. Our dinner was delivered. The woman who brought it is gone.”

That’s a relief, Jewell thought.

“Open your legs.”

Her eyes almost bugged out. She wasn’t wearing panties, and he couldn’t help but see the moisture coating her womanhood. She also knew that to argue would be pointless.

Leaning her head back, unwilling to make eye contact when she was in such a vulnerable position, she spread her legs, then braced her heeled feet on the stairs and moved her thighs even farther apart.

A gasp of honest appreciation from him brought on an extra surge of moisture, and she hoped like hell she wasn’t dripping onto his polished wooden staircase. So mortifying. But constant humiliation seemed to be the name of his game.

“Damn, you are glorious,” he whispered reverently.

Okay, so that wasn’t exactly humiliating. With her eyes closed, and trying her best to do her job, she didn’t hear him move, but suddenly she felt his finger rubbing from the top of her core, along her swollen clit, down her slick folds and then back up again.

“Push your hips forward, and grab the railing,” he whispered huskily, and Jewell couldn’t do anything other than comply.