The sound of applause and Russian catcalls caught and spread, rising in volume behind them in a bedlam of jubilant noise. Ryan raised a hand to wave an acknowledgement. Kat had been lost in the magic of the kiss, but started giggling against his lips, then pulled away as they both started laughing. She looked up at him and he drank in the sight of her laughing so hard she could barely catch her breath.
* * * * *
Back at home he unwrapped the rope from her hips and crotch, smoothing his hands over the red lines the ropework left behind. They didn’t worry him. They would fade. He ran his fingers over the knot that had been pressed to her clit and the rope that had nestled between her pussy lips, looking up at her lasciviously. “Soaked. Just soaked. You’ll have to clean this rope later.”
“Yes Sir,” she murmured with a guilty grin. He thought she would agree to anything in the mood she was in right now. But then, so would he.
On the way home Kat had showed him the wedding invitations she wanted, lightly speckled artisan paper with ornate script in English and Russian. At the top of each invitation, she planned to affix a miniature paper crane.
At first he had run cold on the idea. He told her he thought the invitations would be better without them. She had grown silent, accepting his opinion, but he knew she was disappointed. So he had asked, “Why?”
“Why?” Kat looked confused. “Because those cranes went through a lot of ups and downs with us.”
“I know, Kat. But that night—”
“That night was just one night. I remember a lot of other nights looking up at those cranes in the corner of your bedroom. Thinking about…”
“Thinking about what?”
Kat considered a moment. “Possibilities.”
Possibilities. They certainly had plenty of those now. He had ultimately okayed the invitations—her happy smile had been worth it. And really, all that mattered to him was getting his ring on her finger. The rest of it—the wedding, the parties, the white dress—that was for Kat and her family, and his parents. The honeymoon was for him. He felt as if he was already on it as he nudged Kat toward the bed. He pushed her onto her back, then opened her thighs and lowered his lips to kiss her wet slit as she arched beneath him. He fed on her familiar taste, enjoying her tiny shivers and shudders and the way she clutched at his hair. He stopped before she got too far along and flipped her over, pulling her hips up so he could slide into her wet pussy. He pushed her shoulders to the bed, taking his time, enjoying the delectable view and the sensations.
“Hey, doll,” he said in a low voice. “Exactly who is going to fold all those little paper cranes? You have a huge family.”
She looked back over her shoulder at him with an impish grin.
“Oh, hell no,” Ryan chuckled. “Think again. I’ve already folded more than my share.”
She twisted her hips with a sigh as he fell forward and reached beneath her to stroke her breasts and tug on her nipples.
“Ohhhh…” she sighed. “I think…I think we can fold them together. Together…”
Together, Ryan thought. Kat was already tensing, nearing orgasm, the result of several hours of foreplay.
“Sir, can I come? Please may I come?”
“Wait for me, baby,” he said in a gruff voice, laden with emotion. God, how he loved her. His deepest wish. His good fortune. However he earned it, it was right there clasped beneath his hands. “Let’s come together, Kat,” he said against her ear.
Together. He would fold a million cranes with her if she wanted it. A billion. Yes.
About the Author
Annabel Joseph is a writer of erotic fetish novels that explore the drama, romance and beauty of power exchange. She especially loves to craft stories that take place in the world of the arts; her characters are often artists, dancers, writers or performers, with all the creative energy that entails. Most of all, she strives to build deep relationships between characters and deliver those moments that make readers laugh or cry.
Annabel loves to hear from her fans via her website or email, and she can also be found on Twitter. Besides writing, Annabel enjoys walking, hiking, dancing, making art, shopping at Anthropologies, playing Rock Band and wearing vampy lipstick.
Annabel welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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Also by Annabel Joseph
Deep in the Woods
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