And then he spins me around, his eyes grazing my br**sts and the way the nightgown bunches at my waist. “Step out of it,” he tells me.
I wiggle the nightgown to my ankles, my head starting to readjust, to make sense of what’s going to happen. “Are we…” I trail off, lost to the way his eyes bore into each crevice and curve of my body as I stand bare, only in a pair of black cotton panties.
When he finally meets my gaze, he says, “I’m going to f**k you.”
Not we’re going to make love. Not we’re hav**g s*x. Just, “I’m going to f**k you.”
A demand that drops my mouth and soaks my panties. Right there. That’s it. I’m done for. He can take me any way he wants.
I cast out any nerves that try to attack me because I’m still a virgin. Despite being with him for over a year and gaining confidence, this is still new. I imagine most girls are anxious their first time.
Connor grabs me around the waist before I descend further into my head. He hoists me over his shoulder, and I let out a gasp. He pats my ass while my head dangles upside down, all the blood rushing to my brain.
“Stop thinking,” he orders, throwing my body onto the soft mattress. My breath and thoughts leave me at once.
Holy… I watch him slowly unloop the leather belt from his pants. My heart races as he leans over and takes my wrist in his hand, wrapping the leather around it and a rung in the wooden headboard. When he secures the buckle, he bends to his suitcase and finds another belt.
For my other wrist.
“My first time is going to be tied up?” I ask, fear suddenly bursting in my belly. So much for not thinking.
“Yes,” he says after he has my left wrist tethered to another rung much farther apart. He strokes my hair, and our eyes lock. “I’m going to take you deep…” His eyes fall to my lips, and my chest collapses. “…hard…” Oh, fuck… The spot between my legs clenches, beginning to pulse for something large, something powerful. “…rough…” He bites my lip, and I moan.
Just come inside me already.
He smiles with my bottom lip caught between his teeth. He lets go and says, “Patience.”
He has plenty more than I do.
My whole body flushes in hot, agonizing want.
He straddles my waist and meticulously rolls my panties down my hip bones, past my curved bottom, down my thighs and slender legs, right off my feet. I am completely nak*d now. His to play with. His to take care of and consume.
But then he crawls off the bed.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“No more questions, Rose.”
I glower. “I’m about to lose my virginity. I can ask whatever the hell I want.”
He steps closer, his shirt unbuttoned, and he covers my mouth with his large hand. He bends down so his lips skim my cheek, his breath warming my skin. “You may compliment my cock, you may beg, and you may politely ask for more. I don’t want to hear anything else, and if I do, I’ll stuff your mouth with your panties so you can’t speak.” His fingers dig a little deeper in my cheeks. “But believe me, I don’t want that. I want to hear all your noises. I want to hear you come.”
Translation: Shut the f**k up. And holy hell it turns me on. My body is like a taut rubber band ready to be snapped.
Before he removes his palm, he reminds me why I don’t need to ask questions. “Vous êtes en sécurité avec moi.” You’re safe with me.
He kisses my forehead and draws back, retreating to the closet and leaving me nak*d and tied to the bed. I have to trust that he locked the door—that no one will dash into the bedroom while we have sex. Wouldn’t that just be my luck?
When he returns, he carries a towel, and I stay quiet even though my stomach overturns with anticipation and nerves. He approaches me again and lifts my waist, spreading the towel underneath my bottom. And then he sheds his shirt off his shoulders, revealing defined, rigid muscles across his abs.
He turns his back to me before I can stare too long, and he disappears below the bedframe, rummaging in his suitcase again. I only have a view of his wavy brown hair.
“I have something for you,” he tells me, standing with a slender black box. I’ve seen enough jewelry boxes to know it’s a necklace.
They’re my favorite.
My eyes sparkle and my anxiety dissipates as he climbs onto the mattress, sitting near my waist. I jerk my wrist, wanting to not only touch the box but his body, from his shoulders to his waist, to the hem of his pants. The restraints fix me to this one spot, but I cross my ankles, waiting for him.
He lingers, his palm rubbing the soft black velvety box, teasing me. How much I’d give for that hand to be caressing me.
“Is this where I’m supposed to beg?” I ask, not able to soften my eyes that narrow in a glare.
His lips lift, and his eyes flood with arousal. “That’s a wonderful idea,” he says. “Beg for this box.”
I glare harder. “I was joking.”
Like hell. I’m not about to beg for a box. I stare harder at the case and imagine the jewelry. It’s taunting me. I bet the necklace is gorgeous, something I would love. My resolve begins to weaken. It’s not like I’m pleading for his cock…although, I think…I think I’m almost there too. The object of my desire is jewelry…diamonds. I would beg for diamonds.
But begging sounds weak. Internally, I can plead for his cock. Outwardly, how the f**k am I going to grovel?
“Please, can I have that box?” I ask, softening my usual coarse words. I didn’t do so awful, right?
He doesn’t move. “Didn’t you say something about graduating with honors?” he asks in amusement. Yes, I often remind him of this fact in arguments. It’s not really a winning point considering he graduated with the same accolades.
“Highest honors,” I refute anyway, my eyes swimming with challenge. I like arguing with him far too much. I have a feeling it’s going to get me into trouble tonight.
“Highest honors.” His lips twitch. “Well then, if you’re so smart you should know how to beg properly.”
“I said please.”
“Say it like you mean it.” He sets the black box on my bare chest, the velvet smooth on my skin. With my hands tied to the headboard, there’s no way to open it myself.
“Do you want me to call you sir, is that it?” I have no idea how far we’re taking this.
His eyes darken. “I have my own way of doing things, my own rules.” He skims my leg with his fingers, which tightens the aching, pissed-off spot that dearly, dearly wants him. “Sir is impersonal. You can call me Connor, or if you’re really good, I’ll even let you call me Richard.”
His words relax my shoulders. My eyes drift back to the box on my br**sts, and impatience strikes me cold. “Just open it, Connor,” I say angrily.
He squeezes my kneecap in a firm clutch, and that hand descends to the top of my thigh, his fingers gripping my flesh. “No.”
How can one word carry so much force? I clamp my thighs tighter, my bony ankles hurting as they dig into each other. I am so nak*d. So aroused. And I have to beg to get what I want. I can feel how wet I’m becoming, and he raises his eyebrows knowingly.
The spot between my legs clenches.
The longer the anticipation, the more torture. So I suck up my pride and take a deep breath.
“Please, please, please open the box,” I plead in a whispered tone. “I want it badly.”
To my surprise, he snaps the velvet case, flipping the lid. My heart careens as I absorb all the diamonds, strung together in long rows. The entire necklace is made of them. It shines and glitters in the dimmed light, the jewelry turning me on almost as much as his words.
And then I finally see past the linked gemstones to realize what type of necklace this is. Not just a choker. No. These diamonds are embedded into a leather band with a silver buckle at the back.
It’s a collar.
Anger boils in me like nothing before. “I’m not your pet.”
“You are my pet.” He climbs further onto the bed. “You’re also my girl. My lover. As I am your man. The only difference…” He pauses, drawing out the tension between us. “I’ll always be on top.” With both of his hands, he has hold of my legs and in one motion, he spreads them apart. I try to writhe against him and return my thighs to the “locked-you-can’t-have-me” position, but he glares. And a Connor Cobalt glare is very, very hard to come by. His new dark expression causes my body to go utterly still.
And then the corners of his lips curve upward. Like a f**king prick.
“Gloat all you want. I’m not wearing it,” I snap.
His smile spreads from his mouth to his eyes. “Stop me then,” he challenges. But he has pinned me down with his body. His pelvis in line with mine, his erection hard against a spot that hates and loves him.
I can’t stop Connor.
Even if I truly wanted to.
I’m barely breathing as he delicately wraps the leather choker around my neck. His fingers graze my skin as he buckles it in the back.
My anger is replaced by this feral need for him. My entire body screams for his touch, to know what he would feel like within me. And for the first time, I’m about to find out.
He leans back to soak in my body, my position and readiness. I watch his eyes flit from my new diamond collar, to my reddened br**sts from his hands, to my nak*d flesh that cries for him. Just come inside me already.
He rests a hand on the mattress beside my head, and he kisses my temple, his lips sucking a line down the nape of my neck, grazing over the fullness of my br**sts, tantalizingly slow.
“Connor,” I moan, needing him to hurry.
“No talking,” he says huskily, his lips close over my nipple with a strong suction. The force bucks up my h*ps for more contact with him. He digs his hardness down into me, stifling my movements and stirring my desire.
His hand flies to my lips, muffling my voice. He resumes his exploration of my body with his tongue. I am at the mercy of his mouth, descending at a sluggish, tormenting pace.
All forms of intelligence have deserted me. My thoughts have resorted to a stupid, ridiculous chant. Lower, lower, LOWER!
“Lotherrr!” I mumble against his hand.
Connor bites down on the soft flesh of my hip—hard. The pain shoots up and ignites something new inside of me. Something stronger and headier. Spanking—I like. Choking—I like. So I shouldn’t be surprised that biting my hip flushes my cheeks and neck. But it does.
I like to be bitten.
Like a goddamn vampire.
“Shh,” Connor whispers with a forceful tone. He kisses the reddened mark on my hip and continues his descent. His lips finally graze my clit, flicking against the sensitive bud, and my entire body responds by jumping, my heart taking the biggest leap. A high-pitched noise catches in my throat, and I whimper.
His lips part at my sound, his breath deepening. He removes his hand from my mouth and lifts his head from between my legs. My eyes immediately fall to his pants where his erection tries, pathetically, to remain hidden.
He’s big, even beneath the fabric.
Any words that I anticipated saying have been lost to rawer senses. Like the way he sheds his pants slowly, without ever peeling his eyes from mine. Desire, passion, lust, they all spin inside me like a whirlpool with no bottom, no end, no resolution to these feelings.
He slips off his navy boxer-briefs, his c*ck in full view and closer than ever before. Connor nudges my legs open with his knees, locking them to a position for his use. He grabs my ass, squeezing and lifting me into his hands, stretching my arms that stay fastened to the headboard.
I’m horny and so confused.
Because he never slows, never hesitates. Not to put on a condom. The nerves that I kicked aside abruptly crash into me like a hundred foot wave.
Connor freezes, going still, concern shadowing his powerful gaze.
I must wear confusion on my face, a rarity for me.
“Speak,” he orders.
My throat has gone dry. I’m doing this all wrong again, I think. He continues to hold my bottom in his hands, my legs wrapped around his waist, but he sets me on the bed, no longer prepared to enter me.
“Dammit, Rose,” Connor glares. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”
“You’re going to wear a condom, right?” I phrase it like a question, which makes me cringe. Normally I’d just command him to wrap his dick.
Connor’s shoulders slacken, and he lets out a breath of relief. I realize I scared him, an emotion he rarely feels. I suppose we’re bringing out new sentiments in each other.
I tap his thigh with my ankle. “I have one in my bag.”
A smile slowly overtakes his face. “Do you? Were you expecting to get laid on this trip?”
“I’m always prepared,” I remind him, trying to hide my own smile.