His Gift 2(2)

Then he bent his head and sucked on my nipple. I swear, I almost came right then from the thought of his mouth on another one of my aching nubs. The thought of him doing what he was doing with his tongue—long, slow swirls—between my thighs. Oh, God, it was almost enough.

Almost.

Jake paused for a moment, his teeth grazing my nipple on top and bottom. I arched slightly, wanting him to suck harder. Even just a little harder, and I would be there. But no. His teeth slid lightly, teasing, torturing.

He slid his fingers down over my panties, brushing my swollen, aching nub so gently that I screamed with desire behind the gag. I couldn’t distract myself; with the blindfold on, there was only him. He kissed me on the underside of my breast, his tongue lapping at the curve from my armpit to my sternum.

Light kisses, like a paintbrush dabbing airily at my skin. He kissed my shoulder, my arms, pressing these impossible soft lips against my wrist, retreating if I moaned.

He kissed me everywhere but where I needed him.

All the while, his fingers slid on both sides of my panties, teasing the hemline. I was soaking wet and God, I had never thought much about losing my virginity but at that moment I would have given it to anyone who promised a quick, hard finish.

Jake brushed against me and I whimpered, needy and stupid, whimpering like a little girl. I’d always been a tomboy, always been tough, but this was too much.

He brought me to the edge and then held me there, torturing me with the promise of another mind-blowing orgasm.

But relief never came.

I felt Jake’s fingers retreat, and I nearly cried.

He took off my gag. The silk fabric dropped away from my mouth. I tried to speak, but my mouth was too dry. I coughed, my tongue screaming for moisture.

“Please,” I rasped. “Please.”

I never begged, but here I was, begging. He had turned me into a sputtering mess of emotion. I hated the way he toyed with me, but I needed him to do more.

“No,” he said.

It was then that I understood. He wasn’t going to take me. He wasn’t going to have sex with me.

And that was the punishment.





Chapter Two



The cuffs around my wrists came off, Jake’s fingers touching my wrists as he undid them. I had to struggle not to reach down and finish myself. My body pulsed with desire between my thighs.

Still blindfolded, I bit my lip and breathed like Steph had taught me when she had started her newest yoga class.

Breathe in. Feel everything around you. Feel your body.

Well, I felt my body, alright. My body was burning.

Breathe out. Relax.

My heart was racing, but I did my best to breathe slowly. Knowing that he was torturing me gave me strength to fight the deep urge that was burning at my core. I wouldn’t let him beat me. This was a game of will, and I had willpower to last forever if I needed to.

God, I hoped I didn’t need to.

“Don’t move,” Jake said, as if he needed to tell me. “Don’t take off your blindfold.”

“Where are we?” I whispered. I hadn’t really been curious before. I’d supposed that I was on his bed, in his bedroom. But the way he spoke the order made me doubt it. Now curiosity tingled, and I licked my lips.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

His strong arms came around me and I felt him carry me. I couldn’t make out anything from under the blindfold, and after a few steps I gave up, nuzzling my head against his strong chest. I tried not to think about the ache between my legs, about the way his lips had danced across all of my skin.

One door opened and closed, and then another. His arms set me down on another cushioned surface.

He took off the blindfold. Seeing his dazzling emerald eyes above me made me hate him and want him even more. He looked pleased with himself.

I looked around. We were in a bedroom for sure, this time. The decor matched the rest of the penthouse apartment that I’d seen. Plush carpet lined the floors, with thick braided rugs elaborately embroidered. More paintings, vintage oils framed in gold, hung on the walls.

This bed was covered in pillows that felt like down against my back. The bed itself was a four-post canopy, with rich oak posts at all its corners.

In my history classes in middle school, I remembered seeing a picture of fourteenth century Versailles. The palace that was so lavish it made the peasantry rise up and revolt. If Jake Carville had lived back then, I thought idly, he would most certainly have gone to the guillotine.

And outside of the bedroom window, I could see the rest of New York City, bright and shining in the night’s darkness.

“Where are we?” I asked, the breath coming back to my lungs. Now that I had seen his expression, I certainly wasn’t going to be touching myself, even though there was still a dull pulse of desire. I crossed my arms over my bra. My panties were soaked with desire and it was starting to cool now that he had stopped touching me. I shivered.