The Professional: Part 2 (The Game Maker #1.2)(3)

Once he’d fastened my other knee, I realized that both of my legs were suspended wide and spread, tied with one long band of cloth. If I pulled on my right knee, my left one would be forced higher and impossibly wider. Like a balance scale.

How to tell him to stop? That this was too much?

“Look at you. Red curls and plump pink lips—against those white thighs. Beautiful.” My * quivered under his gaze, and he inhaled sharply. “Do you know how much I’ve craved to see this? My lovely Natalya bound for my use.” His voice dropped an octave lower. “The things I will do to you.”

My resistance perished with a whimper.

“Open your eyes.”

“Okay.” They went wide at the sight of him totally unclothed.

The fire bathed his body with light, flickering over the rises and falls of muscle. Droplets meandered down his torso, trailing over sinews. My mouth went slack, my lips needing to graze every inch of his glistening skin.

His muscular shoulders and pecs tapered down to unyielding stomach ridges. Between his narrow hips, his cock jutted hungrily. I gasped to see the taut head and slit covered with beads of pre-cum, the distended length pulsing.

The sight of it wrought an answering throb within me. “Oh, God, oh, God.” I’d never wanted anything more than I wanted that cock buried to the hilt inside me. But I couldn’t have it.

I desperately needed to squeeze my thighs together or rub my clit to ease this ache. When I pulled against my bonds, I realized why he’d tied my legs like this. He wanted me to be able to move slightly so he could watch me struggle against my bindings, which clearly aroused him even more. His lips parted, his eyes seeming to glow with fervor.

Once I could tear my gaze from his, I noted the other tattoos on his body. On each of his knees was a mighty star to match the ones on his chest. I knew what those symbolized: he would kneel before no man.

Staring at Sevastyan’s body was like staring at the sun.

“I want you to see the need I’ll be battling.” He fisted his cock, swiping his thumb over the head, glossing it with moisture. “Want you to see how badly I crave you.”

With his other hand, he held up his last strip of cloth. Even my lust-stupid brain knew what he wanted to do with it. Sure enough, he cupped the back of my head, lifting it so he could tie the cloth over my eyes. “And then, I want you to see nothing.”

“Wait!” To be fettered like this and sightless?

He finished tying the knot. “The better for you to feel. Trust me to take care of you. Tell me that you will.”

I hesitated, then said, “I will.”

“Good. Now, arch your back and keep it so.”

Once I did, I heard a slosh of water. Then the ladle hitting the edge of the bucket?

Water streamed onto my chest. It was just shy of too-hot as my breasts channeled it straight down to my *.

I could feel the stream rushing over my clit. Could feel that sultry trickle directly over my opening. An intimate, liquid caress. I moaned, holding my arched position with difficulty.

Another stream danced over my throat. Like a collar.

I started to perspire. So hot—

“Ahh!” Freezing water licked across my breasts. He’d gone from steaming to ice cold. I struggled to keep my back bowed as he doused another cold line from one of my nipples to the other.

He poured more down my spread inner thighs. Goose bumps. Perspiration. Shivers. Panting. My body didn’t know how to react.

Then cold directly between my legs.

“Sevastyan!” I futilely wriggled.

“Back flat. Open your mouth.”

I was shuddering as I blindly obeyed. Cold water hit my tongue. I swallowed quickly, hadn’t realized how thirsty I was.

“More?”

I’d never had such delicious water. “Uh-huh.”

The stream returned, along with the tip of his finger, tracing my lips. I sucked the finger, drinking from it before he pulled it away.

Then nothing but sounds. The fire crackling. My panting breaths, his harsh ones. Moments passed. . . .

Against my lips, I felt the head of his cock. He was rimming my mouth as water trickled down his length. The visual of Sevastyan, funneling water along his shaft to my waiting mouth . . . Oh, God, oh, God.

I stretched my head up to suckle him, but he kept that luscious crown from my tongue. I strained to free my wrists, needing to drink him dry . . . yet he tormented me, daubing the head to my lips, then drawing it away.

Another grazing contact, more cool water. The world began to fade away until only Sevastyan existed.

Then absence. No contact. I was about to cry out when his finger returned. I sucked it hard, swirling my tongue, letting him know what I’d do with his cock. He must’ve gotten the message; a growl broke from his chest.

When he withdrew his finger, I gasped, “Why are you teasing me like this?”

“My greedy girl wants more?”

“You know I do!”

Pressure against my lips. His own?

Sevastyan was kissing me with light laps of his tongue against my seeking one. I moaned into his mouth, but he kept the pace slow, languid, laying his hand over the side of my face. He broke from the kiss to brush feather-light grazes of his lips over my cheek, my chin, along my jawline, then back to my waiting mouth, to take my tongue with his.

The most tender, romantic kiss I’d ever received.