I’m ready.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“One fucking minute,” Jared repeats. “You say that, and this is over.”
I nod, my nose detecting his rich and musky scent beneath the fabric of his slacks.
“My pants are next, Grace. You don’t have your hands, but you can use your mouth.”
I open my mouth, leaning forward slightly until I find his trousers open at the clasp but still hanging on his hips. My lips find the fly and then the zipper behind it. I grip the metal pull between my teeth, teasing it down the length of him.
His cock bulges next to my cheek but I ignore it, tugging at the zipper until I hear the swish of material as his pants drop from angular hips. I hear him step out of his slacks, kick them aside.
“Keep going.”
My nose connects with soft cotton and I inhale his scent, then I search with my nose and lips until I find the waistband for his boxers. I slip my tongue under the edge until my teeth grasp the elastic, then I tug and twist, pulling them down his legs.
But the elastic is caught on his cock and I struggle, bound and blind, to figure out this challenge. Jared’s hand cups my chin. “I’ll help you with the rest.” My ears detect the soft sound of his boxers hitting the floor.
And then I wait.
He makes me wait and wonder, until my body vibrates with need.
I imagine what he could do to me like this, and my breath hitches. There’s no feedback—no sound or touch to indicate what’s next.
“Swallow me,” Jared commands. “Let me fuck your mouth the way I’ve imagined it all week.”
I open my mouth and the tip of his cock brushes my cheek. I turn toward him, my tongue flicking the bead of moisture at the tip and my lips moving smoothly over his head. I stop at the ridge, my tongue circling him, my teeth offering just enough pressure, like fingernails scraping sensitive skin.
His chest rumbles with a satisfied noise. I breathe deeply, my jaw relaxing as I take him in. Blindfolded, I am moving forward with just my lips and tongue to guide me. With my hands bound, I can’t touch him anywhere else, can’t tickle his sac or press his seam. But I can feel the softness of his curls as I draw him deeper, and I detect the hardness of his stomach as he tenses and quakes.
I pace my breath against his thrusts, letting my throat open to take more of him. I blink back tears behind the blindfold when it’s almost too much, when I feel like I’m drowning in his scent and taste and the fullness of him inside my mouth.
His hands touch my cheek and I feel him pulling back, sliding from my mouth.
I’m stunned. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Hardly. I’m not done with you yet, Grace.” I feel Jared’s hardened arms behind my shoulders and beneath my ass, and then he’s carrying me in easy strides toward my bedroom. He places me gently on my side, my hands still bound behind me, and I hear rustling and drawers opening and closing.
Jared’s breath washes over me as he returns and unbuckles the belt on my wrists.
Disappointment floods me. It’s over?
“Tell me about what you want, Grace. You want to be tied?”
I feel him squeeze my wrist, massaging where the belt bit into it.
“Yes,” I whisper. He stripped away my control over this situation, but it’s freeing. I thrill to his control, his demand, the force with which he teases my own unspeakable desires from me. Bound, I’m free to let him.
Jared raises my hand over my head. In short, efficient movements my wrist is bound again and secured to my bed, this time with what I suspect is pantyhose. He follows with the other hand, until I’m a Y on my bed, my knees pressed together with thinly concealed need.
“Open your legs, Grace. I like to look at you.”
I blush and move my feet a couple feet apart, then I feel my mattress dip as Jared climbs between them.
“More,” he commands.
I move again, and it’s still not enough.
Hands grip my ankles and they’re pushed back, bending my knees, spreading me wide. I’m embarrassed and elated, and then I feel Jared’s breath on me again, tickling my thighs, making every nerve alert with anticipation.
His tongue traces my outer lips, then inside me, and my breath threatens to leave and never return. He licks the length of my seam, his tongue plunging inside me, playing with the hood of my clit, and diving back down to draw a long, slow lick up my center again.
His fingers join his tongue, exploring, punctuating each movement with a counter-movement. His hands move behind my knees and grasp my hips, tilting me up toward his mouth, and then his hands round my ass, down the cleft, across the bud, and into my core.
I’m flying. As his tongue flicks faster against my clit, my limbs become weightless, my torso a churning mass of energy that gathers and gathers and gathers into a single point between my legs. I twitch and writhe, begging for release, and then I feel his cock brush my thigh.