says simply.
‘You can’t own another person.’
His look is meaningful; my heart lurches. ‘You think?’ and I don’t know what to make of that, and I don’t have time to process it. He’s expertly weaving the belt between my wrists and then pushing my hands higher up the bed. The bedhead itself is a wide piece of padded fabric, but on either side it is supported by a timber frame. He slides one end of the belt in the gap between fabric and wood and brings it back out again, slipping the tail of the belt through the clasp and tightening it, just enough to push a sharp breath of surprise from my lips as the leather pinches around tightly clasped wrists.
‘It occurs to me that I can’t touch you.’
‘Is that a problem?’
‘I do like touching you,’ I say huskily, a smile on my lips.
His laugh is like caramel running over my flesh. ‘You’ll get your turn.’
He drops his mouth back to my breasts and I moan as he grabs the nipple he’s already tormented with pleasure between his forefinger and thumb and squeezes it. I pull at my arms instinctively and the leather bites into my wrist.
‘You are so beautiful.’ His stubble, which is really just a five o’clock shadow, is scratchy on my stomach as he moves his mouth down to my thong. He grabs it with his teeth and I cry out at the feeling of his mouth removing my underwear. It is so intimate to see him with my underwear so close to his face.
I need to feel him inside me. I need it immediately.
‘Connor,’ I whimper, pulling on my arms once more.
‘Yes, Olivia?’ He sounds so patient. So calm. As though he’s not being torn apart and shredded by this desire as I am.
‘Fuck me.’
He laughs. ‘Like this?’ He brings his mouth to me, his tongue lashing my clit and I cry out as he flames my desire with the equivalent of a hydrogen bomb. I am wiped out. I explode. I incinerate.
I jerk on my arms and the bed makes an audible groan. I curl my legs, and he grabs my knees with both hands and pushes them down flat to the mattress, without moving his tongue from me. I am saying his name, over and over, an incantation into the room, filling it with magic. Or maybe that’s him and me—our magic, us.
He moves his mouth away and I am torn—I am grateful for the reprieve of pleasure and yet desperate for its resumption.
But his fingers touch me, running down my seam before he pushes inside me. Two fingers, strong and confident, swirling against me, tormenting nerve-endings that are already at breaking point.
‘You’re fucking beautiful when you come,’ he grunts and brings his mouth back to my clit as his fingers stay inside me. The second he lashes me with his tongue I fall apart, my muscles squeezing his fingers, embracing them, as I give way to the destiny of this.
‘Perfection,’ he says.
I can’t speak. I collapse back down against the bed, my body quivering, my head swimming. I had no idea sex could be like this.
Nothing I have experienced is anywhere near the same page as this. I am hollowed out and rebuilt by what Connor has made me feel.
With his fingers.
His mouth.
He frees himself from me and stands, and I stare at him with a look that must speak of dismay because he laughs softly.
‘Are you going to just leave me here?’
‘No.’ His eyes narrow. ‘I don’t have the strength for that. I’ll be right back.’
I am alone in the room, alone with my thoughts, and it strikes me that this is my opportunity to pull myself together. But I can’t. The pillows smell like him. I move my head a bit, closer to it, and breathe in deeply, tasting the tang of his masculine fragrance on the tip of my tongue.
I am on fire still, and if my hands were free I would touch myself. Not because I’m unsatisfied but because I’m addicted to what Connor just made me feel.
He’s holding...things. I push up as high as I’m able with my hands tethered above me. A bottle of champagne, its distinctive yellow label obvious. A piece of fabric which, as he moves closer, I realise is his bow tie. And a couple of the bulldog clips that had held the papers together downstairs.
Curiosity is thundering through me. I stare at him as he moves closer, and my heart is banging against my ribs like a hammer to an anvil.
‘Connor...’ It’s a murmur and a plea.
‘Trust me.’
Our gazes mesh. Something seems to glide between us. Understanding—agreement. ‘I do.’
He presses the bow tie over my eyes and clips it behind my hair.
The absence of sight isn’t fair. He’s too beautiful; doesn’t he understand how the sight of him nourishes me? ‘I want to see you.’
He laughs softly. ‘We have all night.’
We do. All night. And I am going to use it. I can sleep tomorrow. This night is for Connor and me—his body and mine.
‘Open your mouth.’
I arch a brow and then realise he won’t be able to see my unspoken question. So I say, ‘Why?’
His fingertip presses to my lip and I gasp. A dribble of champagne pours between my lips. ‘Drink.’
His command sends shivers of awareness down my spine. I swallow.
‘Good.’
His approval makes my tummy squeeze.
‘You like this.’ He touches my breasts and then squeezes my nipples.
I do. I like it very much. ‘It’s...amazing.’
‘How about this?’
There is a pause—a dramatic pause—as I wait for the fulfilment of the promise in that question.
One of my nipples is compressed in something cold and hard. The small clip he’d brought back with him is my guess. It is painful, but in a way that I adore.
‘Two minutes,’ he says gruffly. ‘See if you can handle it for two minutes.’
I groan and arch my back, my legs searching for him, needing him. I’m so turned on I can’t handle it.
He presses a clip to my other nipple and I cry out. I’m almost coming from this feeling alone.
‘Open your mouth,’ he says once more.
I do so without question this time. He pours a little more champagne in.
I writhe on the bed, not wanting to imagine what I look like. Not caring. His mouth is on my body, between my breasts, and
