Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 88228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
The knots in the rope are art. They remind me of a macramé planter. There is beauty in their simplicity, but the real beauty is the woman bound by them.
She’s looking up at someone.
The photographer, of course. As a photographer myself, I know this. But that’s not what this photograph is supposed to show its observer. She’s looking up to the person who bound her. Her lips are slightly parted, full, and painted dark. Dark red, I assume, though the photo is in black and white. That’s the beauty of black and white. It forces the observer to imagine, to see in her mind’s eye.
And what I see is a woman, bound and eager to please whoever bound her.
My nipples harden against the softness of the robe.
I’m not sure why. Sex is impossible in this position.
Except that it’s not.
Her mouth is completely available to be fucked.
Absently, I trail one hand under the robe and cover my warm breast, flicking the nipple lightly.
Then, with my other hand, I turn the page.
Another naked woman, this time in color. She’s on the floor—hardwood of some kind—and she lies in a mermaid position, her ass to the camera. She leans on one arm, and the other arm is bound tightly, upper arm to forearm, in an intricate knotted cuff. The cuff is attached to a braided rope that goes around her waist. Her calves are bound as well, also intricately, ending around the stiletto heels of her black pumps, which, other than the rope, are all she wears.
I give my nipple a quick pinch, and shivers rack through me, my skin tingling. I’m getting wet. I can feel it.
Has Braden ever bound a woman like this? Or does he just appreciate the art of the binding?
I turn the page once more.
Then—
“See anything you like?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Braden.
I close the book quickly, my cheeks and chest warming. “I wasn’t…”
“Yes, you were. Don’t lie to me, Skye.”
I look down at the book lying on the floor. “Your library is beautiful.”
“Thank you. I like it.”
“So…I guess I should take a shower.” I rise.
“I don’t think so,” he says. “I think I’d like to fuck you right here in my library, among all these books.”
I part my lips, my body on high alert.
“God, you have the sexiest mouth I’ve ever seen.”
The urge to smile overwhelms me, but I hold my lips in their parted position. For some reason, my lips drive Braden wild, and right now I want him madly wild and passionate.
He yanks the bathrobe off me, and in a second, it’s a white puddle on top of the Turkish rug.
“I’ll answer all your questions, Skye, but first I’m going to take what I need. Do you have any idea what it does to me to see you caressing your breasts while looking at that book?”
Am I supposed to answer? I already know. The book did the same to me. My nipples are erect and ready, yearning for attention.
“Yes,” I say.
He grabs my hand and leads it to the bulge inside his trousers. “I haven’t slept in twenty-four hours, and I’m exhausted. No other woman could get me hard under these circumstances. Do you know that?”
“No. I mean… Yes, I guess.”
“You guess?” He pushes my hand farther into his crotch. “Do you seriously think I could be lying to you?”
“No. Of course not.”
“On your knees,” he says gruffly. “Take out my cock and suck it.”
His command turns me on more than he even knows, given the first image I saw in the book. For an instant, I wish I were bound like that woman in black and white, so that all I can do is suck him. I drop to my knees quickly and unbuckle his belt. I slide his pants and boxer briefs over his hips, and his dick springs out. I lick the tip and savor the salty drop of liquid.
He groans, and I look up at him. His gaze is blue fire.
“Do you do those things, Braden?”
“Damn it, Skye. We’ll talk later. Right now, I want my cock in your hot little mouth.”
I don’t question him. My body has already burst into flames, and I want this as much as he does. I take him into my mouth about three-quarters of the way before I pull back.
His groan fuels my desire, and when he grabs my hair and shows me the rhythm he prefers, I don’t hesitate. This isn’t a blow job. This is him fucking my mouth. I never realized there was a difference until now. With a blow job, I’m in control. With a mouth fuck, he is.
The soft sucking and slapping sounds dance around me. I’m hyperaware of them after Braden’s lesson in hearing. His cock head hits the back of my throat with about every other thrust, and I take it. I take it because it’s what he wants. Because I want what he wants.