He steps back and takes me in. The bra is strapless, black lace demi-cups that lift my breasts until they threaten to spill out. The panties—what there is of them—are a thong in matching black lace. Their fine lace straps sit in a sharp V high on my hipbones.

A ringlet of hair escaped my up-do, and he takes it between his fingers and twirls it around. I deserve a medal for not melting right here at his feet.

He hooks his index finger under the black bow between my bra cups. “Did you wear this for me?” His voice is a husky whisper that I can’t deny.

“Yes.”

His fingers skim my belly, trace over my hip, following the lace of my thong behind me to where the straps meet at the small of my back. My breath catches as he takes the fabric path over the curve of my tailbone and down, his fingers bringing every nerve ending to life as they pass. Electric pleasure whips through me.

“Fourteen months since I’ve touched you,” he says. “Fourteen months since I’ve gotten to hear the way you breathe when you’re turned on, since I’ve gotten to listen to you scream as I make you come. Tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

“I’d be lying.”

“Don’t lie,” he says, eyes hot and intense. “Just tell me you want me.”

“I want you.”

He kisses his way down my neck, slowly at first, then his mouth is hot, open, hungry at the juncture of my neck and shoulder, and he’s taking both of my hands behind my back, cuffing them in one of his. He steps forward, parting my thighs with his knee and positioning his leg between them.

When his mouth drops to my breast and sucks my nipple through the lace of my bra, I arch my back to bring him closer. I pull at my hands and find them already bound behind my back, and I gasp.

He lifts his head. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Isn’t this why you’re here?” His eyes are darker than before, but they’re also seeking permission. I could say no. I could ask him to untie me. I don’t want to end this. I want to give him the control he craves.

“I—” Can’t breathe for wanting you so much. For wanting this. Slowly, I trail my gaze down his chest and to his belt. “How am I supposed to unbutton your pants?”

He groans but doesn’t take the hint. Instead, his hands find my breasts and tease my nipples, making them tight, aching peaks that he watches intently. Not being able to touch him is pure torture—I want to feel the hard planes of his chest under my fingers, want to find my way down to his belt and cup him through his tux pants.

His mouth opens against the bare curve of my shoulder and he nips at the skin and nibbles a path toward the peak of my breast. I whimper at the pain-laced pleasure and take two steps back. He’s breathing hard. His hands are clenched at his sides, as if he has to keep himself from coming after me.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks.

I answer him by dropping to my knees. “I need you in my mouth,” I whisper. He stares at me, eyes dark. “I’m waiting.”

* * *

Sam

Liz Thompson on her knees in front of me, hands bound behind her back as she waits for my dick in her mouth. This is it. The fantasy. The basic facts of this situation have me so impossibly aroused I can’t wait to free myself from my briefs and feel her tongue on me.

She’s so fucking beautiful. Those blond curls have fallen in soft wisps around her neck, and the way I have her hands bound behind her thrusts her breasts out toward me, those sweet pink nipples visible through the sheer black lace. I can’t resist the request in her eyes.

Stepping forward, I slowly unbuckle my belt and pull it from my waist. The metal buckle clunks as it hits the floor, but she doesn’t flinch. Her eyes are full of trust and need. I take another step, release the button on my pants, and free my dick from my boxer briefs. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips at the sight, and I about lose my shit.

Keep it together.

A final step, and her mouth is right there, a breath from my cock. Her lips part.

“Open wider for me, Rowdy.”

She obeys, parting those plump, pink lips for me. But more than knowing what’s about to happen, I’m turned on by the pulse thrumming wildly at the side of her neck as she waits for me. I love how much being bound turns her on. “Please?” she asks.

More blood pulses into my already impossibly hard dick. I wrap my fist around the base of my shaft and guide it toward her lips.

She leans forward, closing the distance and pressing her open mouth against my hip. She licks her way to the other side, dipping down toward my cock in the middle, only to come back up again. “Your body is so gorgeous,” she whispers.

I can’t reply because she’s found me with her mouth, her tongue stroking along the underside of my cock. I fist my free hand at my side, determined to let her take her time. She licks the head, pressing her tongue against the bead of moisture at the tip. Her moan buzzes pleasure through me, and when she opens and slowly takes me deeper, I release my grip on my cock and my hands find their way into her hair. Her moan vibrates against me.

Giving head turns her on—or maybe giving me head. I can see it in the flush of her cheeks, feel it in the way her throat opens to take more of me, the way her body sways toward mine, wanting to get as close as possible. She’s damn near the base of my cock, and I tug lightly on her hair, urging her back. “You don’t have to go so deep, baby.”

She sucks in response. Hard. Damn hard. And instead of moving her back, I’m bucking my hips and giving her more. My control snaps and I rock into her face, fucking her mouth. She moans her approval and sucks harder, working me over with her lips and tongue with every stroke.