“Must be fate,” he said, lightly dragging his nails down the tops of her thighs before easing them open.
His fingers brushed her center, making her gasp and open her legs wider.
“Are you going to make love to me now?” she said, barely able to speak above a whisper as he pushed her onto her back.
“No.” His voice came from above her as the bed shifted beneath his weight. “But I might fuck you.”
Chapter Ten
Still blindfolded, Jenna lay naked on the bed as Warren finished tying her arms and legs to the head- and footboards. She was completely bound. She couldn’t touch herself to relieve the pressure, couldn’t touch him, and couldn’t push him away if she’d had too much. This was the ultimate trust.
“I wouldn’t have had to tie you up if I could trust you not to make yourself come before I’ve given you permission,” he said, his voice traveling around the foot of the bed.
Of course he had used her phone sex disobedience against her. Then again, if she had learned nothing else tonight, she had learned that a Dominant would use whatever reason a submissive gave him to justify his or her special brand of punishment, even if it meant creating rules that went against the norms of society.
A drawer opened and closed, followed by the sound of soft metallic clinking, like he’d picked up a pair of necklaces, and the pendants were swinging and hitting each other.
The bed dipped beside her, and a moment later his tongue lashed her nipple. She gasped and jerked harshly at the unexpected invasion of her personal space.
She had never felt so completely vulnerable . . . and yet so incredibly alive. Being robbed of her sense of sight had heightened her other senses in ways she hadn’t expected, creating a hyperaware state that kept her on edge from one second to the next.
It was like watching a scary movie and knowing that the killer was going to jump out from his dark, secret hideaway and claim another victim at any second. You know it’s going to happen. You know that the young, hapless couple having sex in the loft of a barn or in the boathouse is about to be slaughtered, and you want to scream at them to leave, run, flee while they still had a chance. But despite knowing what’s coming—despite every promise you’ve made to yourself that you won’t jump when the murderous fiend leaps out from behind a bale of hay, a boat, or even out of the water—you jump anyway. Maybe even scream.
That was the mental state Jenna found herself in now. That was where Warren had taken her. She couldn’t anticipate what he was going to do to her next, couldn’t see where he was going to touch her, couldn’t read his face to know what he was thinking, couldn’t see what he’d brought back to the bed with him. Was she even allowed to ask? She couldn’t remember if that was one of the rules or not.
He blew cool air over her breast. Her whole body jerked. She couldn’t help it.
“Mmm . . . you’re so keyed up,” he murmured. “That’s good. That’ll make it better.”
Make what better? she wanted to ask him. But before she could, he took her taut nipple into his mouth and swirled his tongue in slow, sweeping circles, obliterating any chance she had of forming a rational thought.
Moaning, she rolled her head back, pulling in vain against the ropes that bound her to the headboard. She wanted to hold his face against her breast, dig her fingers into his hair, and urge him closer. But all she could do was lie there and let him do as he pleased. The nervous frustration alone was enough to ramp up her excitement even more.
As he continued laving her breast and teasing her nipple into a hardened peak, his hand stroked slowly up her inner thigh, his fingers stopping to squeeze her flesh inches from her core before loosening again and creeping higher. When his fingers stroked with featherlight ease through her slickness, her whole body stiffened.
The ropes binding her creaked as she strained against them.
“I think you’re ready,” he said, with a smile in his voice.
“Ready?” she asked, breathing hard. “For what?”
The bed shifted as he pulled away. She wanted to yell for him not to stop. To stay. To keep touching her. To make her come.
The pressure between her legs was already close to unbearable. She had endured two hours of watching naked men and women living out her fantasies, fucking, flogging, licking, sucking, and being tied down. Now she herself was tied down, with God only knew what about to happen to her. She’d been in a state of arousal all night and didn’t want to wait another moment for the tension that had been building inside her since she had arrived—feeling like Cinderella showing up at the naughty ball, no less—to be released.
“I thought we would get right to testing your limits.” His tone was slightly sinister. “I’m going to show you what genital clamps can do.”
She sucked in her breath, not sure she wanted to test her limits with those during her inauguration into the lifestyle.
“Don’t those hurt?” She tried to close her legs, only for them to stay exactly how he’d bound them: wide open and offering her no protection.
“Yes, but I’ll be gentle.”
He had given her a safeword, but she didn’t want to use it before things even got started. That would make her look like a poser. Like she didn’t belong here and didn’t have what it took to be a submissive. She would never be able to show her face in the club again if she stopped him now.
“I don’t want it to hurt,” she said.
He chuckled. “Then you’ve come to the wrong place, Jenna.
