Jacked (Trent Brothers #1)(159)
Then he moved on to wrapping my lower half.
“You look so beautiful,” he whispered below my ear, and, without any control of my own body, my feet left the ground. He kissed my left ankle and then wrapped and tugged, tethering me to the sun or the moon or whatever center of the sky he commanded.
He wasn’t the spider. He was the puppet master.
I was the marionette, awaiting his bidding.
He tugged on one of the ropes, sending my body gently swinging.
My every thought, every stress, every insecurity and responsibility fled, solely focused on swaying in the air. I was free.
Adam cradled my head against his bare chest and kissed me. I’d been starving but until I felt his tongue caress mine, I didn’t realize how close to expiring I’d been. His kisses were infused with so much intensity, they were silent words and meanings and messages meant only for me. He slipped the covering off my eyes, connecting us even deeper.
“Do you love me?” he asked.
“Yes.” I’d been broken down into the rawest of truths.
“Tell me why,” he whispered, stroking my hair.
“I don’t know. So many reasons.” Each one was like trying to catch a leaf in the swirling wind. “I see you in everything. I hear you in every song. I feel you in places I didn’t know existed.”
His smile was gentle and kind; a panther momentarily friendly before it sank its teeth.
“Do you remember when you put those stitches in my hand?”
I nodded.
“You said to me, ‘my first priority is you’. Do you remember that?”
It was hard to think through the hazy fog his kisses had left me in.
“I remember,” he went on. “It shocked the hell out of me. That’s what love is all about, right? Putting each other first?”
My heart felt even more impossibly heavy. Could dreams actually come true?
“Why don’t you want children?” he asked, still caressing me.
“Adam…” This was not a conversation to have and yet there it was—tossed out front and center.
His tenderness ended when he pinched and rolled my nipple between his fingers, sending a zing of pleasure-filled pain right into my bottom. It was a punishment—instant retribution for my apparent insolence.
“It’s an important question.”
When he stepped away, my head hung back, weighted by gravity. Ropes tugged and my thighs parted, and not on their own volition. My arms were bound to the ropes running to the metal circle in the ceiling, but after a few adjustments, he left me with some range of movement. I could hold on or relax back, cradled within his webbing. Right now, I was holding on for dear life, trying to pull myself up to watch him, but it was nearly impossible.
His hands squeezed my inner thighs. “I can’t tell you how many times I’d envisioned you like this.”
“What? Bound and helpless?”
He added another length of rope, cradling my calves. “Sweetheart, you are far from helpless. And your body is in a sling, so you shouldn’t be in any pain. Well, maybe just in here.” His finger tapped on my forehead. “But bound and helpless has worked for us before.”
I hated when he was right. I felt like I was lying in a loosely-woven hammock. Another pull and tug and my thighs split wide open.
“And I think you’re going to enjoy the hell out of this.” His hands took ownership, his warm breath heated my anticipation, and then his tongue struck out. My body arched, all needy and wanting more. I hated my body for betraying me so quickly. A finger worked inside me, then two—in and out—scissoring and curling with master precision.
Every thought, every synapse, tied to the rising sensations. My focus—singular. Only one direction—up—reaching for the ultimate release. Oh so close. So close.
Abruptly, his fingers withdrew, his warm mouth left my skin, and he shoved the ropes, spinning me.
“Let’s see how much you want my body,” he drawled, opening up his pants. Silky flesh rolled over my lips, firm and ready. His musky scent bloomed across my nose, adding depravity to my surmounting want. My mouth opened, tasting him with my tongue. He grabbed the ropes above me and hissed, groaning as I took him deeper.
His woven web was quite convenient, allowing all sorts of rocking movements that were left unexplored on the static ground. His strong abs, the swell of his chest, all looked different at this angle. I wished I had the use of my hands, just to feel his hot skin, merge us together in different ways.
He pulled out of my mouth and released the ropes, letting me swing freely again. Being suspended like this, he was upside down taking his jeans off his legs. Watching him stroke his length had to be one of the most erotic things I loved about him.
Love.
There it was again.
Love wasn’t an emotion—it was a misdiagnosed mental condition with physical symptoms and no medical cure. I’d spent days, weeks, lamenting over the word and its meaning. And here I was, exacerbating the situation by putting stipulations on what we’d built together. What we could build together.
Adam stepped in between my legs, rubbing himself up and over me repeatedly, driving me slowly insane. He grabbed my hips, finding grip on the bindings, and pressed in.
Air stuttered out of both of us.
He eased in and out, setting a beautiful pace, before pounding into me. Skin smacked violently into skin, breaching the surrounding silence. His face twisted with his determination; it was challenge and anger and other emotions I’d recognized. I was getting close to coming, relishing the clenching rush inside me.