Bound to Please (19 page)

“The more disobedient you are, the longer you wait.” He placed the back of the cold spoon against her nipple and she bucked on the table. “Fuck, that’s cold!”

“In a good way, right?” He turned the spoon over so the frozen dessert rolled onto her breast. “Mmm. You look good enough to eat.” He bent forward and took the ice cream, along with her nipple, into his mouth.

Gasping, she turned her head to the side and bit her lip. He licked, sucked, tugged. Spooned more ice cream onto her other breast and did it again. Soon she was writhing on the table, the metal hinges of the tethers clanking against the metal legs.

Her belly quivered as he kissed her between her breasts, down her rib cage, and over her right hip bone. Then he was between her legs, nibbling the inside of her thigh.

Freezing-cold ice cream hit her clit and she cried out when his mouth followed, warm and wet, the contrast causing her to arch against his tongue, his lips. He spread her pussy wide, licking her, sucking her, playing her like she was one of his instruments. And, like one of his instruments, she made noises each time he did it just right. Little cries of pleasure; little gasps of joy.

Then his fingers were tracing her, sliding through her labia and past her vagina to her anus. She stilled when she felt a pressure there. But then his mouth was on her clit again, sucking, teasing, controlling her pleasure, and when he pushed his finger into her ass her eyes flew open, but she didn’t stop him.

He pushed deeper, using his mouth to keep her on edge, using his fingers to intensify the sensations. She was going to come, come so hard…

“I didn’t say you could come.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, thought of her shopping list, her credit card bill, anything to control the orgasm hovering at her very core.

He continued to work her, and just when she didn’t think she could control herself one second longer, he pulled back, slid out of her. Standing, he pulled his shirt off and threw it on the floor. Now he wore only jeans that fell to his hip bones and nothing else. She loved his body. His muscles looked taut and strong with controlled power.

Her chest rose and fell in heavy, deep breaths as she watched him. She could have watched forever, but he silently left the room and she waited. It was a power play, a move to remind her who was in charge.

As if she didn’t know it already. She was naked, sticky, chained to a table, had just given up her anal virginity, and it wasn’t quite ten on a Sunday morning.

Yeah. She’d say she was pretty much his.

This time when he came back, he was totally naked and held something in his hand. Something dark and black, but she couldn’t quite make it out. And anyway, she was too busy looking at his body to notice much else. An entirely fresh wave of lust washed over her as she scanned his long legs, his strong thighs with a light dusting of dark hair. His concave belly, beneath which his cock rose, hard and beautiful. She licked her lips.

“I figured a girl like you would have a little toy in her nightstand, so I went looking for it. But, much to my pleasure, look what I found instead.” He held up the black mini-flogger she’d purchased at Bindings.

He stood next to the table and lightly dragged the feather strands across her stomach. She shivered; the light touch of the feathers and leather on her skin was just as luscious as she’d imagined.

Sighing, she closed her eyes as he continued to drag the strands over her body. Her ribs, her breasts, her neck. It felt so good, soothing even.

Then, with a flick of his wrist, the leather softly smacked her breast. She cried out.

“You like that, don’t you?”

She blinked, nodded.

He did it again, struck her nipples until the peaks were throbbing, sore, and alive. He seemed to be in touch with the flow of her endorphins because he started using more force, flicking her harder, until she was moaning, jerking, pleading.

He slapped her once right between her legs, hitting her swollen pussy, and she screamed and begged him to continue.

But he shook his head. “I’d rather fuck you now.” His fingers found her pussy, and he flicked her clit. “Would you like that?”

“Just do it,” she said, barely able to speak.

He took his cock in his fist and pumped a few times. Long strokes. Leisurely. Then he rolled a condom onto his erection.

“I want you to tell me how much you want me to fuck you.”

“This much,” she said, jerking her arms, which were still spread wide, beside her.

He laughed, then dipped out of her vision for a moment before straightening. She watched as he placed two items on the table. A bottle of lube and a small, curvy blue dildo.

“You liked my finger in your ass, didn’t you?”

Blushing, she nodded.

“I’m going to put this in your ass, and I’m going to leave it there when I fuck you.” He took the plug and squeezed a generous amount of lube over it. Then he bent over her, his legs between her open thighs, resting against the table.

He kissed her and she felt the lubricated dildo touch her clit, her labia, and then lower, poking at her ass. Still kissing her, he pushed it inside.

He climbed onto the table and knelt between her spread legs. Watching her face, he used his hand to guide his cock into her pussy, stroking her wet folds until she bucked, inviting him, begging him. He pushed into her wetness, and the dual penetration made everything he did to her more intense, more stimulating. She was instantly on edge and as he moved, pulling out and then driving into her, she heard her own voice, screaming for him to fuck her.

Screaming, moaning, crying… She couldn’t have held off her orgasm now even if he’d demanded her to.

Luckily, he didn’t, and soon he was coming as well, jerking one last time inside her, a groan erupting from his throat as if it were being ripped out. His cock pulsed in powerful waves, and she very nearly came again.

His brow was damp when he dropped his head into the crook of her neck. She wanted to touch him, feel his head in her hands, but she couldn’t; he hadn’t released her yet. Anyway, her limbs were boneless; she was helpless, nearly breathless.

His body was hot and slick when he sagged on top of her, as if he needed to catch his breath. She didn’t mind his weight, but when he pushed away, looked at her and kissed her forehead, she smiled up at him.

“I need a nap,” he said.

“It’s not even noon.”

“Does it matter?”

She had to think about it for a second before she replied. Then she shook her head from side to side, not caring that her hair was a mess around her face. “You know what? It doesn’t matter.” She grinned wider. “Yeah. Let’s go to bed.”

Chapter
Sixteen

R
uby, baby. Wake up.”

She turned toward the soft whisper at her ear. “Mmm?”

“Get dressed. It’s past three, and I want you to show me your town.” He was sitting on the bed beside her, wearing jeans and nothing else, the afternoon sun streamed through the window, highlighting a spatter of freckles on his upper chest she’d never noticed before.

She reached toward him. “Are you sure you don’t want to come back to bed?” As she turned, she let the covers fall, exposing the peaked nipple of her left breast.

His eyes raked over her. “You’re such a temptress. But I’m leaving soon, and I want to see San Francisco.” He leaned down and kissed her softly. “Also, it’s not like we need a bed to fuck in.” He winked. “Just wear a skirt.”

His words woke her up, and she pulled the covers over her chest. “Right. Okay.” Somehow, without the edge of passion, his language sounded coarse, vulgar.

Ignoring the feeling, she reached out and took his hand. Stroking his knuckles, she gave him her best sultry look. “I promise to do whatever you want. But first, come back to bed.” She licked her lips, trying to look sexy. She wanted more of what they’d done in her kitchen, and she wasn’t too proud to ask for it.

But then his cell rang, and he took his hand back to pull the phone out of his back pocket. “It’s Yvette. Hang on,” he said, walking out the door.

Staring after him, she watched him leave the room. Then she pushed herself out of bed, listening to the deep hum of his voice as he spoke. So. At least he didn’t try to hide his priorities. It occurred to Ruby that if Mark did actually live closer, she would break it off now. Obviously, the band came first. Music, Yvette, his career; it was all the same to him, and, as she believed and he’d never denied, there wasn’t room in his life for anything else.

But she wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it because she knew what they had was temporary; she knew this fling was about to end. But it was too good, too addicting to give it up now. Like the strawberry dessert at the Ritz, she wouldn’t be happy until she’d had every last bite.

She shook the whole line of thought from her mind. Mark wanted to see San Francisco, and she would have fun obliging him. She thought of all the places she could take him. Alcatraz, Fisherman’s Wharf, the Presidio. Coit Tower, Lombard Street, North Beach, Chinatown. When was the last time Ruby had seen any of the city’s famous landmarks? She couldn’t remember. But she was keyed up about the idea of visiting those places again. With Mark. And she knew exactly where she wanted to go first.

She washed her face and tied back her hair. Too eager to get going, she skipped any makeup and went to her closet. She didn’t even bother looking at pants. If he wanted to
fuck
, God help her, she wanted to be ready.

She settled on a mini-floral-print fifties sundress and ballet flats. Grabbing a cardigan from a hanger, she headed to the kitchen where Mark was cleaning up the melted ice cream they’d abandoned earlier.

He dumped the carton into the garbage. “Wow. I’m impressed. I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman who could get ready as fast as you can.”

Shrugging, she dumped cold coffee from their neglected mugs into the sink. “It’s an old habit, I guess. I never had time to primp when I was growing up.”

“Because you were taking care of your sister.”

“I guess. So, everything okay with Yvette?” she asked lightly.

He shrugged, but she saw a tension in his body that hadn’t been there before. “Everything’s fine.”

It obviously wasn’t, but she ignored the subject and pulled some bread off the counter. “You want something to eat? Coffee? Toast?”

“I’d love both.”

She threw out the old coffee filter and added a fresh one, measured out the appropriate amount of grounds, and turned on the machine. Then she stuck four slices of bread in the toaster. They fell into a relaxed silence until she placed their afternoon breakfast on the table.

She watched him take a huge gulp of coffee. “So tell me more. What was it like growing up Mark St. Crow, musical prodigy?”

He rolled his eyes. “Considering I could barely play ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’ on the piano until I was five, I’d hardly call myself a prodigy.” He pointed a half-eaten piece of toast at her. “Not that I didn’t try. I’ve been playing since before I can even remember. But that Mary and her lamb were so damn elusive.”

Laughing, she just shook her head at him. “And your parents were supportive?”

“Yeah. Sometimes I think Dad’s living vicariously through my career. You know, achieving what he couldn’t because he had to settle down.”

She nibbled her toast, wanting to hear more. “What do your parents think of your lifestyle? All this travel? The instability?”

“They’re proud of how hard I work, but I don’t think they quite get how tough life on the road is. It’s not all sex and drugs and rock and roll. Well, it’s not the last two things, anyway,” he said with a wink.

“And what about you?” she asked gently, not wanting to scare him but needing an answer. “Don’t you ever want to settle down? Have a family?”

He shifted in his seat. “And give up my glamorous lifestyle?” he said with a laugh. “No way.”

“I’m serious. You can’t live out of a suitcase forever.”

“I’m only twenty-nine; I have plenty of time to get tied down.”

She raised her brows. “You mean when you’re old? Like in your late thirties?”

A tinge of red actually stained his cheeks. “I didn’t mean it like that…”

“Don’t worry, I know what you meant. You want to enjoy it while you can.” She sipped her coffee. “And I think you should.”

He looked surprised. “Really?”

“Why not? Like you said, you’re young. Free. You have the world at your fingertips. Why shouldn’t you enjoy it?”

“Right,” he said. “Maybe one day I’ll slow down, but not now.”

The words hung in the air for a few minutes before Ruby asked, “Are your parents still together?”

“For better or worse. Despite everything, even after all these years, they’re still pretty into each other. Every year at Christmas I catch them kissing under the mistletoe.” He gave a mock shudder.

“That’s so sweet! They sound perfect.” Ruby had a flash of she and Mark sharing a comfortable holiday kiss and quickly shoved the disturbing image aside.

He laughed wryly. “Far from it. Sometimes I think they want to kill each other. Hell, Mom’s packed his bags more than a few times.”

She sat back. “Really?”

“You look shocked.”

“Well… your childhood just sounds so ideal, so wonderful. You had mistletoe, for God’s sake! But then you say your mom’s kicked your dad out of the house—more than once. I don’t know, it’s just confusing to me.”

“Why? It’s pretty normal when you think about it. You take two people from two totally different backgrounds, give them a baby and tell them they have to live together for the rest of their lives.
Forever.
” He shrugged. “There’s bound to be problems. And then the question becomes, what are you gonna do about it? Stay together, or get a divorce?”

She just stared at him. When he put it that way, it sounded so simple. So uncomplicated. And maybe for him it was.

“What did your dad do, to get himself booted?”

Mark swallowed his last bite of toast. “He didn’t cheat or anything, not that I know of. But he used to work a lot. He hated his job but needed it to pay the bills. And I know, on some level, he resented my mom getting pregnant and forcing him to settle down. That’s how he saw it, anyway. So he’d come home from work and take his anger out on her.”