Check out all the chapters by clicking HER(fix)E
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: SEE THE LIGHT
He chuckled. The sound low and filled with worrisome mirth. The sound poured cold down her spine, making her shiver even as her body heated.
What was he doing?
She licked her lips, the skin nibbled raw by her nervous teeth. She shut her eyes, even though they were covered by the soft but shielding tie. It helped her to be drawn inward. Helped her to focus. On her body. On the steady in and out of her breaths. On the rhythmic beating of her heart.
A loud, screeching tear sounded right next to her ear.
She shrieked. “What the fuck is that?” She tried to turn her head, but he cupped her chin again, holding her in place.
“Guess,” he said.
She cringed at the sound that tore through her again, setting her senses on edge. What the hell was that?
She gasped when another sound—the unmistakable sound of metal against metal—scraped her mind, ratcheting her pulse.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
Instinctively, she pulled at the bonds holding her down, the ties biting into her while she writhed. She tried to close her legs, but his body, just as hard and unmovable, was blocking her as she squeezed. And there was that damned chuckle again, mocking and gleeful, before he ran cold, hard metal against her cheek, making her wince, too afraid to move. She tried not to smirk. Fucking chuckler.
A sharp slice cut through the tense quiet, stealing her breath.
Shit.
Her eyes snapped open, but saw nothing but black.
Fuck.
Another slice sounded, the sound sending a vivid image shooting through her brain.
What the hell was he doing?
She felt him press something thin and light against her ribcage, just beneath her breasts.
Tape, she thought, when she felt it stick and stay against her skin. She let out a relieved breath. Tape.
Tape? Really? A smile slipped across her lips, curling them in curious amusement.
“Is there something funny?” he asked her, his voice bland. “Am I missing the joke?”
She giggled. She couldn’t help it. It wasn’t even that funny. Not ha ha funny anyway. More how is this my life funny. But then she couldn’t stop. The hysterical sound bubbled up her throat and held her hostage, shaking her bound form.
Then he pulled the tape.
The shocking sting arched her back as the tape pulled free from her flesh, turning her laugh into a sharp cry.
Fuck me, she thought. That hurt!
She couldn’t see, but it felt as if that small strip of tape had taken a layer of skin off. She could feel exactly where that sticky strip had been, the spot beneath her breasts throbbing raw.
He chuckled, the rumble right in her ear. “You’re right,” he said, “that was funny.” He pulled a new length of tape, the sound no less grating now that she knew exactly what it was. “Let’s do it again.”
He placed them all over her body, tiny bits of sticky, crinkly plastic. Placing two, ripping one. Putting three in neat rows on her thigh then pulling the row of five left on her stomach. It was disorienting, trying to guess what he would do next. Press or pull? Would it be on her arm or her breast? Her body jerked, trying to anticipate his movements, but failing every time.
She felt him place one high on her breast. And then laying another partly over it. And then another. And another. Building a curving line over her flesh with the diligence and preciseness of a domino player. He spiraled it down to her nipple, that final piece of tape—the anticipation held in its thin, translucent form—making her sex clench.
How messed up was that?
He did the same with her other breast. And then again in two long lines on the inside of each thigh, the ends holding the lips of her sex open to him, revealing the slick heat that dripped from her hot and thick.
Dear God, there was something wrong with her, wasn’t there? How was she turned on by this?
“Look at you,” he said, his voice farther away now, as if he were leaning back to take a good look at his work. “So beautiful, open and displayed. Just for me.” She shivered as his finger pressed against her clenching opening, gathering her arousal before trailing up toward her engorged, erect clit. He pressed there, making her cry out and her hips buck.
He chuckled again. But she didn’t care. Couldn’t care. She just wanted him to touch her. He could do anything else he liked, so long as he touched her.
“You like that?” he asked, completely unnecessarily. His finger began to rub, making sweet, soft circles against her needy nub. “You like that, don’t you, Max?”
“Yes.” She nodded her head vigorously. “Yes, it’s good.” So good. “Don’t stop.”
“I think you like it too much,” he said. “Smart woman like you, thinking with nothing but her clit.” He paused for a moment and she sensed his smile by the change in his breath. “Let’s see what we can do about that.”
He shifted his hand, plunging his fingers into her cunt in one hard, insistent thrust. She cried out in pleasure, dug her nails into the armrests, and tugged at her ties.
God, yes!
More.
As if reading her mind, he moved so his thumb stroked her clit and his fingers pumped in and out of her pussy. Not caring how she must look, she tilted her hips, deepening the penetration until his long, capable fingers rubbed against her G-spot. She thrust her hips hungrily against him as much as the chair would allow, her back and toes arching madly for leverage.
Almost there. Almost. She could feel her climax build, her orgasm cresting upon her. Almost.
And then he grabbed the tape high on her breast and pulled, tearing the curling strip in one long, hard rip. She screamed as the tape across her sensitive, aching nipple tore, the sting almost unbearable, pushing her over the edge until she came.
God. Dear God.
Max panted, her pussy pulsing ferociously against his fingers buried deep inside her.
She shuddered when his lips closed over her breast’s too sensitive tip, and moaned, her sex squeezing, while he sucked. He purred against her skin, his teeth tugging. “Again.”
Before she could say anything—protest or beg, she wasn’t sure—he began again. Fucking her with his fingers, he laved and licked at her now exposed nipple. She moaned, the pleasure so overwhelming it was almost painful. Her ravished body was bombarded with sensation.
When he pulled at the tape on her other mound, he went slow this time. Letting her feel every inch of the tape’s sticky pull at her flesh. It was sweet, that tug, leaving a longing burn against her breast. She whimpered, seduced by the touch that seemed to be everywhere at once.
God, what was he doing to her?
She could feel her orgasm like a wave about to crash. She closed her eyes and bit her lip, her back arched and her hips thrust forward.
Then he stopped.
Pulled his fingers away.
She yowled, wordless rage tearing from her throat.
She’d fucking kill him if he chuckled.
Instead, he hummed sweetly—almost soothingly—and bent low to wrap his lips around her clitoris, that needy bundle of nerves, sucking it deep before his tongue lashed at it with furious lust.
Yes! Lord, yes.
He ate at her, licking and nipping. Sucking and biting. At her clit. At her lips.
And then his hands grabbed the ends of tape on her thighs.
She opened her mouth to beg him not to, knowing without knowing that it would hurt. Worse than the others. Her thighs tightened, afraid. She wanted to stop him. The words tripped ready on her tongue.
But then he plunged his tongue, long and hard, into her, turning her protest into a cry of pleasure so loud it echoed around the empty office.
He tore the tape.
It felt as if he were tearing open her flesh as she came again—harder, violently—over his tongue.
Oh God. Oh God. “Oh God.”
He kissed her too sensitive clit, making her jerk.
Kissed her navel.
Each breast.
Before finally kissing her lips, letting her taste herself, salty but sweet, on his tongue.
“Thank you,” he murmured against her lips.
She’d have said it back—wanted to, tried like hell to—but she couldn’t find the energy or wit.
So instead, she pressed her mouth against his again, kissing him before the sleep and dreams that had tugged at her for the past two weeks finally pulled her under.
WANT MORE?
No comments:
Post a Comment