When I'm with You (Because You Are Mine #2)(49)
She swallowed at the sound of his low, sexy voice. “Why?”
“I’m going to help you sleep. I can do it a fair bit better than that caffeinated iced tea would have.”
He just stared at her following this disconcerting comment. She didn’t know how to respond.
“You said you’d accept my rules. This is the chance to prove it,” he said, his voice a quiet challenge. “Now, take off your clothes.”
“All of them? Even the panties?” she asked a moment later as she peeled off her T-shirt.
“Yes.”
For the second time that evening, she stripped in front of him, highly conscious of his stare on her.
“Are you going to spank me?” she asked shrilly as she drew her yoga pants down her thighs.
“No. I told you. I’m putting you to bed, in a very adult way.”
She stood before him, naked and self-conscious, but he was busy drawing down the comforter and sheets. He waved at the bed. “Belly down, your hands above your head,” he said. “Lie in the middle,” he prompted when she sat at the edge of the bed. When she lay prone with her face in the pillow, he grasped one of her wrists. She jerked her head up and yelped in surprise when she felt him loop something over her hand. It was a thick black cloth cuff. He tightened it around her wrist. She pulled slightly and realized it was attached to a strap that appeared to be affixed somehow to the corner post.
“Do you often restrain people who stay in your guest bedroom?” she asked, amazed.
“I just put the restraints on this bed when we arrived, specifically for you.” She stared at him incredulously. “I already have some on my bed.”
She rolled her eyes, trying to disguise her anxiety. “Your maid must think that’s pretty interesting every time she makes the bed.”
“Maria is the soul of discretion,” he replied levelly. “I will restrain you often. This will be a good opportunity for you to get used to being bound.”
“But I thought you said you weren’t going to punish me.”
“I did. But I will restrain you for other things.”
Her clit pinched in excitement. She resisted an urge to ground it against the soft sheets. “For what things?” she asked.
“For sex, certainly. For pleasure, frequently. When you find it difficult to submit, I’ll use restraints, with your permission, to make submitting less of a challenge for you. You will have no choice but to accept what I give you. Tonight, I’m going to teach you to let go and relax . . . to begin to train you to my hand.”
No choice but to accept what I give you.
Train you to my hand.
The phrases uttered in his low, decadently sexy voice reverberated in her brain and vibrated in her flesh. He sat next to her on the bed and she looked up at him in helpless excitement.
“I’m going to restrain your ankles and wrists. You will be at my mercy, but I will keep you safe, Elise. Always. If you let go and submit, I’ll know it. I’ll give you pleasure if you do. Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” she mouthed.
He smiled and brushed a tendril of hair off her cheek. A shiver of pleasure went through her at his touch. “Then turn your face away from me and rest your cheek on the pillow. Your eyes have a way of undoing me. Try to relax. I’m going to finish restraining you.”
Her heart began to thump uncomfortably against her breastbone as she lay there and allowed him to bind her naked body. When he got to her ankles, he flipped back the luxurious comforter and drew her legs toward each corner of the bed. It felt strange when he’d finished, to be spread-eagled, unable to move . . . vulnerable. He carefully covered her again with the sheet and comforter. By the time she felt his weight sink into the mattress next to her ribs, her breathing was coming erratically from nerves.
He drew back the bed coverings down to the top of her buttocks, exposing her back. He stroked the muscles deeply with a big, warm hand, and she shuddered in a release of anxiety and pleasure.
“That’s right. It’s time to give up control,” he murmured. “Just relax.”
He massaged her deeply, expertly for the next several minutes. She tried to resist, but his hands kneaded her rigid flesh into submission. Wherever did he learn the intricacies of pressure and release so well? She gasped when he swept his hand from her tailbone to her neck, applying a firm pressure. He repeated the movement, seeming to iron her anxiety and her resistance right out of her. She made a desperate noise in her throat as she tried to control an upwelling of emotion she couldn’t comprehend.
“Let it go, Elise,” he ordered, digging his fingers deftly into her shoulders. “Let go, period. I’ve got you. Just relax.”
“No,” she grated out when he grasped her rib cage, holding her completely at his mercy, and worked his thumbs along her spine. She had no idea why she was protesting. His massage was heavenly. It was the fact that he was telling her to let go of control.
“Yes,” he said simply. He pressed his thumbs beneath her shoulder blades and maintained a relentless pressure. The air burned in her lungs. It hurt unbearably. It felt so good. She couldn’t hold it in any longer. What was he doing to her with those devil hands? Something snapped in her.
She choked as emotion erupted out of her throat.
“That’s right,” she heard him say as if from a distance as he rubbed her back muscles, working the remaining tension out of her. She sunk into the mattress, gasping, every muscle in her body going limp, even though she never gave them permission to do so.