He leaves for a second, his warmth edging further away from me. Through my vanity mirror, I see him slip into the closet. When he returns, he carries more than a few items: a belt, a diamond collar, a tie, and of course, handcuffs. Of everything, the belt worries me the most. He’s never hit me with one, and it’s not a particular fantasy of mine.
We have small floggers, but if he uses them, it’s to tease me, never to whip me. I have a threshold of pain that stays at pain and never verges into pleasure.
He knows this, but the belt still causes alarm. “Connor,” I say, “I don’t want to be whipped.”
His legs knock into the backs of mine, pushing me further against the wooden edge. The force slides the stool underneath the vanity. “I know, Rose.” He kisses the nape of my neck once—no twice, my pulse thrumming for more.
Then he sets the diamond collar beside my flattened palm and instead hooks the belt around my neck, tight but not suffocating me. He wraps the end around his fist, the visual more stimulating than I thought it’d be, my leg muscles constricting and heart skipping every other beat.
“Your punishment,” he says in the pit of my ear. And then I feel the soft fabric of his tie around my eyes. He knots it behind my head. I’m blind to his movements, but I feel him slowly, so slowly, unzip my gown, cold pricking my bare back.
He shifts the fabric off my shoulders, uncovering my arms. I can sense my breasts being fully exposed, my nipples hardening as his large, masculine hands travel across my skin. I may not have a bra on, but I do wear panties. They’re something I’ve never worn before. I meant to one time, but I chickened out and changed before he saw.
I thought tonight would be perfect since there is no way in hell I’d ever wear them again. But now I can’t even see his reaction with this stupid blindfold.
I lift it above my eyes as he pinches one of my nipples. Connor catches me through the mirror, and he spanks me, so hard that I careen forward, my hipbones digging into the wooden edge. A gasp tickles my throat, and I think I’m sufficiently soaked now.
He tugs the tie down. “Don’t touch this.”
“I’ll wear it in a second,” I refute, about to pull it back up to my head. I have to see your reaction to my panties goddammit.
His brows furrow, curious now as to my odd demands. While he’s thinking, he unbuttons his shirt, and I absorb every little curve of his defined muscles. He sheds his shirt and rewraps the belt around his fist. His gaze suddenly trains on my ass. He knows he has to finish undressing me.
And then my vision darkens once more, the tie covering my eyes. “Connor—”
“If you want to negotiate, you need to give me something in return. That’s how deals are made.”
He has to be so technical. Though, I usually am too. He tugs my dress further down my waist, basically telling me I have five seconds to put in an offer. “If you remove this blindfold, I’ll…let you hit me with the belt.” I cringe as soon as the words escape.
“No,” he rejects my offer. I’m sure he wants me to shut up…
“You can gag me with the tie.”
“Okay,” he agrees, but he never removes the tie. Instead, he yanks my gown to my ankles. I swear his entire body tenses against me, and I instantly pull the blindfold to my forehead, witnessing his expression through the mirror.
Connor rubs his lips as though to hide a grin, but it’s overtaking his face, consuming his features and escalating with each second. I wear simple boy-short black panties but the ass says: I LOVE CONNOR COBALT!
There’s even a lipstick print beside his name.
It’s the biggest ego stroke. “Stop smiling,” I say, out of instinct. I huff. “I mean…smile, laugh, make fun—” He suddenly tightens the tie around my mouth until I’m biting it.
His lips skim my cheek. “Do you see me making fun of you?”
I shake my head, and I feel his hand cup my ass. Oh God. His fingers snake across my panties, right between my legs. My feet try and fail to constrict in my rigid heels.
“Step out of your dress,” he commands, his gaze planted on my ass. His growing desire stirs mine even more. He squeezes the right part of me before spanking again. “Move, Rose.”
I choke on a breath before I step out of the fabric. He doesn’t just chuck the gown aside. He picks it up as if it’s another one of my limbs (it might as well be) and he carefully sets it on a nearby chair. Then he bends down and removes both of my heels, which brace my feet a certain way. My orgasms are always more heightened without them.
And then he handcuffs my wrists together. “You want to see how fucking hard I am, Rose?” he asks. Yes. My chest collapses and lifts aggressively. He removes his black pants and his boxer-briefs, his cock so rigid that I can practically feel the fullness before he even pushes in.
I’m so wet that his fingers stroke my clit beneath my panties for one minute, and I already clench over and over. His name and my cries are muffled through the tie. While my head spins, he pulls me back by the hips. My forearms hit the wood, more bent over, and he spreads my legs open so my ass is in his possession, the typeface on my panties in his view.
He leans his body forward while tugging back at the belt. The leather digs into my windpipe, causing my eyes to flutter. His erection presses against me, and I ache for him to thrust inside.
His warm breath hits my ear. “I’m going to fuck my name on your ass.” He plans to keep my panties on as much as possible. He brushes aside the fabric, just enough on the bottom to where he can slip in…and he does. Slowly. So slowly that the pressure mounts like a spark eating a fuse line.
I moan and may accidentally say the word God more than once, but it comes out garbled with the tie. Connor. I catch the arousal in his face from the mirror, his focus on my ass, and his arms clutching me with this neediness that I desire in bed. I want to be wanted, and this man completely, utterly wants me.
Before he rocks and creates that friction, he lowers his head to my cheek again. “Since time is malleable, this will last until I’ve watched you come so many times that you pass out.”
I moan again, the blood rushing out of my head. He thrusts hard. I cry, trying to grip the vanity for support. My fingernails scrape the wood. He thrusts again, and I’m already on the verge of coming. I’m so full of him that I can barely even move.
He bites my shoulder blade, the sensations driving me insane. He slaps me. He chokes me with the leather. He pulls my hair. He plays with every intimate part of me, thrusting against my ass, my love written across it for him to see.
I come, practically screaming into the tie, my teeth clenched down on it. He’s so quick, lifting me onto the vanity and ripping off my panties. He spreads my legs open and fucks me again, my wrists cuffed. His lips are above mine, and he lowers to them to kiss me. Rocking inside, further, deeper. The momentum and pulsing builds me higher once again. When he’s not kissing me, he whispers French between deep, pleasured grunts, some murmured rapidly in the pit of my ear.
I can’t translate any of it, my mind on a whirlwind.
We switch positions again, so he has access to my ass, and I kneel on the stool, forearms back on the wooden surface. He stands behind me, gripping my ass as he pounds. My whole body is paradoxically numb and on fire. He removes the tie from my mouth and then spanks me again and again, the sting mounting on top of all the others.