“Ricco.” She hissed his name. A demand. A plea.

He lifted his head to smile up at her. “You taste delicious.”

She wanted to scream when he went back to his tying, leaving her on fire. There was no way to rub her thighs together, he was wedged between them as he worked. His hair brushed her inner thighs, the sensations keeping that tension inside of her winding tight until she thought she would go insane with desire. Then he was moving her, pushing her down to the floor, spreading her legs even farther apart.

He drew up her left leg and deftly wove rope from her shin to her upper thigh. He did the same with the right, forcing her knees up with her legs wide apart. He wound the rope around one of the bedposts and slipped it into the loop of the tie on her right and then did the same with the left. His eyes on hers, a small, very wicked smile on his face, he cinched the rope, and she gasped as it drew her left leg wider apart. He cinched the other rope and her right leg was pulled wider.

He stepped back to survey his work, his gaze burning on her wet, needy sex. All she could focus on was the bulge at the front of his trousers. She licked her lips. He stepped closer, right between her legs. Her head was tilted up, and if he had been naked she would be at a perfect angle to get what she wanted, and suddenly it was all that she wanted.

“What is it, farfallina mia?”

She hadn’t realized she was making frantic little mews. “You.” He just stood there, looking down at her, stretching her need out until she wanted to scream. “Your cock. In my mouth. Right. Now.” The last was a demand, nothing less, because if he didn’t give her what she wanted, she was going to lose her mind.

He reached for the last two buttons of his jeans, undid them and began to slide the material off his hips. He seemed to move in slow motion. Every cell in her body focused on him. His hands. His skin. The slow revelation of his beautiful cock. Full. Hard. Long and thick. All hers. All for her. He stepped away from her and she cried out, straining in the ropes toward him.

He shimmied out of the jeans, turned and placed them over the back of a chair and reached for the camera.

“Ricco.” Now it was a plea. Her body needed. Craved. Was obsessed with having him. She had to be touched. Her skin burned for his touch. Her sex wept with need and there was no way to hide it from him with her legs drawn apart. She supposed she should have been ashamed, humiliated, that he could see her need of him, but instead, she wanted him to see his effect on her.

“You look so beautiful. Your throat.” He trailed his hand down her throat. “Your breasts.” The position of her arms had her breasts jutting out toward him, nipples, twin tight peaks, desperate for his attention. He massaged first one and then the other. In one motion, he suddenly shredded the delicate lace, leaving both breasts bare, framed by red lace and hemp.

He stepped back and took several pictures from several angles while she panted, her breath so ragged, her sheath on fire. Everything he did inflamed her body more.

He came closer again and leaned down, once again, his hand on her throat, feeling her heart beat into his hand while his wicked fingers and thumb tugged at her nipples. Then his mouth was there, hot and demanding. She was helpless, unable to move or touch him. She realized just why some women and men found the ropes so erotic. The sexual tension built beyond anything she could ever have conceived. His mouth on her breasts had her shuddering with desire. Her sex clenched and throbbed, burning in need.

He took several pictures of her. She couldn’t see her breasts but she knew his marks were there. He knelt, his hand going low, sliding between her legs, finger moving the lace aside to brush over her clit, making her entire body ripple with pleasure. The pleasure was so intense it bordered on pain. His finger probed deep and her needy body clamped down instantly, trying to draw him deeper. Her muscles were tight and they held him inside her, where he could feel the fiery heat. His finger moved and she cried out, moving her hips, desperate for release.

He removed his finger, licked, then sucked, his eyes on hers. Another small cry escaped and he smiled and reached down, once again ripping lace. The action nearly sent her over the edge, her orgasm so close she reached for it with everything in her. He moved back, just out of her reach and she moaned with the loss.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, and snapped several pictures.

“Ricco. Please.” She couldn’t manage anything else. She hadn’t known a woman could be so aroused.

He set the camera carefully down and once again moved between her legs. His hand circled his cock, his thumb sliding over the head to smear the pearly drops all over. Her gaze was riveted there. Her tongue went out to moisten her lips. She couldn’t move her head forward the scant inch to reach him. She could only watch as his fist did a slow slide up and down.

“Is this what you want?”

She tried to say yes, but it came out sounding like a sob. He smiled and stepped that inch closer, the head of his cock sliding over her lips. She opened her mouth but he just traced her lips, just enough that she had the hot masculine taste of him setting up the addiction. His hand slid into her hair, fisted there. When he pulled her head farther back, every rope on her body vibrated, sending shock waves through her.

She cried out as her body reacted, the nerves going wild. His cock slid into her mouth and she closed her lips around him, drawing him in, grateful she had something to concentrate on instead of the need raging through her like a firestorm. She’d read books, learned technique by practicing on a banana or cucumber. It had been a silly idea, but she was so glad she had. She used everything she’d learned, flicking her tongue. Dancing it. Fluttering it against the spot right beneath the crown that sent shudders through his body.

His hips began to move, a slow, gentle rhythm. She didn’t understand how he could be so gentle when she felt wild and out of control. She suckled strongly while he did the work. She couldn’t move her head so he set the speed. She should have been afraid, but when he slipped deeper, she welcomed him, trying for more.

She wanted to swallow him down. Take him deep into her. Surround him with the damp heat of her mouth the way the ropes surrounded her. Her eyes never left his face. She needed to see the desire there, the way his breath hitched. The shudders running through his body as she worked him. She was powerless in the ropes and yet at her most powerful. This man trembled before her.

“Farfallina mia.” He began to withdraw slowly.

She clamped her lips tighter with a small cry of dissent. She could feel him swelling even more, growing thicker and hotter. Drops of his essence leaked into her mouth and she eagerly swallowed them down, taking his length deeper still.

“I’m not going to be able to stop and you’ll have to swallow,” he warned.

She suckled harder. Her tongue teased and danced, fluttered up and down his shaft as she worked him. His hips thrust deeper. The fist in her hair tightened on her scalp, setting the ropes in motion so they flicked her skin with tiny bites and flares of heat. She kept her eyes on his. The lust there. The love. The need in him matching the hunger in her.