Billionaire Romance Boxed Set 2(92)

“Good enough.” He patted her hand. “His ties are well done, are they not?”

The man turned the girl around and revealed his handwork. A beautiful corded braid ran from her hands, through the binding across her back, and crisscrossed in an intricate pattern along her spine.

“It’s beautiful,” Syria breathed. She took another sip of the drink, bigger this time, and set the drink next to the other. “Can I try to tie it?”

The man nodded. “Shall I untie her?”

The girl still had her eyes closed. Syria turned around. “Can I try it on Erik?”

Erik’s eyebrows lifted. “Are you propositioning me?”

Syria felt a laugh building within her. She already felt more loose. “You don’t have to get naked. Turn around.”

Erik shifted to the end of the chaise where he could present his back to her. She took one arm, then the other, and lifted them behind his head. “May I borrow a rope?” she asked the man.

He reached into a canvas bag on the floor and produced a long length of black.

“So first around the chest, right?” Syria wrapped her arms around Erik, feeling the muscles across his chest and torso as she pulled the rope around.

“Yes, my mistress.”

Huh. His mistress. Interesting. Syria brought the rope back around in a standard double column. “Then around the wrists.” She formed another double column, then leaned around to Erik’s face, closer than she’d dared get other than when they’d danced. “I’m skipping the clit knot, if that’s okay.”

He laughed in a low rumble. “Probably for the best.”

“So what now?” Syria asked. “How do you make the braid? Her fingers were getting increasingly fumbly, but her proximity to Erik, and her ability to touch him freely was starting to make her tingle as much as the clit knot had on the girl.

“Like this,” the man said, showing her the pattern.

But her hand got more and more disconnected with her brain, and instead, she laid her head on Erik’s shoulder. “I like having you at my mercy.”

“I enjoy it too,” he said.

“Let him go,” Syria said. “I think I’m no longer in top tying form.”

The man swiftly released Erik from the bonds.

“Did you want to be tied?” Erik asked. “It seems to be one of your interests.”

The image of bondage on her body made her think of Tyson, so she picked up the loaded drink and took another gulp. “I would.”

Erik stood next to her. “Such a lovely dress. It would be a shame to damage it with the rope.” He reached around her. “May I just unzip it?”

Syria’s throat was thick, her heartbeat thumping between her legs. She nodded.

The dress loosened. Beside her, the man worked on the pale girl, gripping the ropes on her back, and making the knot move against her clit. The girl’s head fell back and she moaned again, unable to move, but standing freely, legs wide. The man reached for a breast, tweaking her nipple, and the sounds of the girl’s pleasure made Syria thrum with need.

The dress slid down her body like cool sheets. She closed her eyes, feeling Erik’s light touch on her skin. “You are so beautiful, Syria,” he said.

She knew the man was in the room, and the ghostly girl, but she didn’t care. Outside the curtain, others were in varying states of undress and passion. She wanted to be one of those people. She wanted not to care about anything but the pleasure of the moment.

Erik lifted her knee so she could step out of the dress, one, then the other. His hands lingered on her calf, her inner thigh. “May I see the rest of you?” he asked.

Syria opened her eyes. The pale girl was breathing fast, and her cries grew louder. Syria watched her, fascinated, as her body bloomed pink with the blood flow to her belly, thighs and breasts. The man worked her carefully, with precision, and then the girl was over the top, shuddering, crying out. The man gathered her in his arms, letting her subside, and began to unbind her.

Syria shifted back to Erik, who waited patiently for her answer. One hand rested on her hip, the other lightly on her back. He had such perfect control. She wanted to drive him mad, to make him want her, but to be forced to hold to his promise. If he could test her, she could test him also.

“Yes, please.”

He reached for the hook of her bra, and she was released, the scrap of lace falling on the chaise with her dress. “May I touch you?” he asked.

She nodded, the burn so fierce that she could not possibly say no. His thumb grazed her nipple, and she moaned out loud, so caught by the moment, their private space, the pale girl coming out of her bindings. Erik bent then to press soft kisses into her neck, then down across her collar bone. Syria agonized, waiting for him to arrive at his destination, but then, he was there, drawing her breast into his mouth, and now she rushed with so much wetness that her panties were damp.