Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 94076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
“Then no, Inara.” He sets his hand on my back, between my shoulder blades. Over my bra strap I can feel how large his hand is. I was right. He is a giant.
This is the first time he’s touched my skin. The gloves mask some of the heat of his body. It’s like nothing else—the strength of his fingers stroking down my back from shoulder to hip. He’s gentle over my marks, but I find myself twisting when he gets close to the single mark he left on my love handle.
He avoids it now, soothing me. “Shhh. No more pain. Just feel.” He glides his hand carefully over the curve of my ass and all the way down my legs. His touch awakens a deep ache inside me.
The pain seems to pulse from point to point, from hip to foot to foot. A red-hot trinity painted on the canvas of other sore places from our last night. But there’s also arousal surging in my core. Each pass of his hands melts the tension from my limbs while also stoking the smoldering sparks between my legs.
I flex my fingers, straining against the rope, but I’m relieved I can’t get away.
Because if I could, I would run. Fast and far. I’d regret it later when I was lying in my bed, but right now, I’m reminded of why I usually request no touching. It’s dangerous.
It’s not that I don’t feel, can’t feel. It’s that I feel too much. And I don’t know how to filter, how to stop it. So, I shut everything out.
Even in the gloves, his hands on me feel so good I want to cry. Cry with happiness and cry knowing how much I’ll miss them when they’re gone.
He braces behind me, his body covering mine with mere inches between us. I revel in how big he is—tall enough to plant his hands high on the cross so his arms blanket mine. His shirt sleeves brush the rope bracelets ringing my forearms. I can’t feel it, but I hear the soft fabric sound.
“I want you to come for me.”
My breath shudders out of me. A half sob.
“Would that be okay?”
I’m too limp to speak. I nod against the cross.
“I don’t have to use my fingers if you don’t want me to.”
I make a non-committal noise. His hand slides along my midriff, covering my belly in such a way that his fingers brush the soft swell of fat under my belly button.
“I could just stroke you here.” His voice is a deep rumble, barely audible. The sound, combined with the reverent touch above my mons, is fine whiskey in my veins. Intoxicating. I could close my eyes under the blindfold and drift away.
His fingers press a little closer to my sex, sinking deeper to rub my pelvic bone. The movement makes my insides quiver. “Do you like that, little bird? Is it working?”
My sex is a ripe fruit, bruised and aching, cracking open, dripping nectar. His touch is so good.
It’s not enough.
I push into his hand.
“Ah, ah.” His hand retreats. “You’re not in control.”
I bite back a curse.
“You want to come for me?” Now his hand is at my lower back, fingers trailing across my ass. Making me unbearably wet. “You want me to touch your sweet little pussy, make you squirt?”
I don’t move or speak, too focused on the sensations his touch awakens. He blows on my ear, and I moan.
“You’re beautiful like this, little bird. And you’re getting closer. I can tell. The way you quiver. The little furrow in your brow. You don’t have to work for it. It’s right here for you.”
I tip my head back, seeking contact with his chest. It feels so good to be bound like this, safe and secure between his body and the cross. It feels like being held.
Something tickles my sex. Not his fingers—something else. I scrunch my nose and squirm.
“You don’t like that?”
What the fuck is it? I screw up my face and shake my head, rubbing it against his shirt.
“No feathers. Got it.”
The tickling tendrils disappear.
“What about this?”
Something soft and silky brushes against my belly. Fur.
What, did he stuff his pockets with a bunch of sensory implements before using the crop on me?
I like the fur sensation better than the feather, but when he rubs it lower, he avoids my pussy and strokes the tops of my thighs instead.
I grumble deep in my throat.
“Too soft?” His chuckle makes me want to purr and scream. “All right. My little bird likes it rough.” The fur disappears, and his gloved fingers are back, ghosting over my labia.
Finally!
“If you were my sub, I’d give you my fingers or maybe my knee. Make you grind yourself on me to get relief.”
I hum. That sounds awesome.
“But that’s something I like to negotiate beforehand.” He sets something smooth and hard against my inner thigh. “How do you feel about vibrators?” The toy buzzes to life.