Claim Me(22)

“I thought you weren’t going to touch me,” I say, turning my head to try to find his mouth. I want his kiss. I want his touch.

“Holding me to my promise, after all?” he asks as he once again tugs at the cord. I whimper, my hips shifting on the seat. I can feel how wet I am, how slippery the cord is. It’s so close to my clit, but not quite there, and I’m craving that sweet, specific attention.

“No,” I breathe. I want to beg him to touch me, promise be damned.

He chuckles. “Ah, but I’m a man of integrity. But let’s agree that I’ll keep to the spirit of my promise and not the letter. Do you want me to gently press my fingertip against your clit? To feel that hard nub beneath my finger? To tease it, stroke it, to play with it until you come?”

“I—”

“Shhh. You don’t speak, Nikki. Not until I say that you can. Do you understand?”

I nod.

“Good. Let’s continue to discuss the parameters of my promise. Perhaps you want me to slide my hands between your legs. To spread you wide. To lay you back on this bench and kiss my way up your legs. To breathe in the scent of your sex, and dip my tongue in your sweet folds, more delicious than any chocolate could ever be?”

Yes, I want to say. Oh, yes, please.

“Maybe you just want me to f*ck you.”

I whimper, but Damien ignores the sound.

“To all of those possibilities, Ms. Fairchild, I am saying no. I promised I wouldn’t touch you, and I won’t. I won’t touch your sex, at any rate. As for the rest of you—well, perhaps we shall make one or two small exceptions. Nod if you understand.”

I nod.

“Good girl. Now try this.”

I open my mouth, and discover a truly decadent treat. Creamy cheesecake that Damien has dipped in chocolate. I moan and swallow it, then lick every bit of chocolate from my lips.

“Naughty girl,” Damien chides. “Not even leaving a taste for me.” As he speaks, he plays with the cord again. Behind the blindfold, I close my eyes and let the sweet sensations roll through me.

All too soon Damien stops. It’s time for another treat. This time, a piece of dipped pound cake. Then a dipped marshmallow. And then—oh, God—it’s Damien’s finger in my mouth. I lick the chocolate off, then greedily pull him in. I run my tongue over his skin and suck and draw his finger in and out until I hear his soft moan and know that, yes, I’ve gotten to him.

I wait for the next treat, but instead, Damien tugs at my sleeve. “Pull your arm in,” he says, and I do. He repeats on the other side, until both my arms are out of the sleeves and he is able to pull my shirt all the way up to my shoulders. “That looked like such a good idea, I may have to try it myself.”

I have no idea what he means—at least not until I feel something warm and wet and sticky on my breast. And then Damien’s finger is back at my mouth, and I am once again sucking the chocolate from his skin. But this time, he is doing the same, because as I suck, so does he. His mouth is over my chocolate-coated breast. He licks, he sucks, and with each erotic motion my nipple tightens and my areola puckers. My sex clenches, too, hot and demanding, and wildly stimulated by the cord that Damien plays with, the tempo of the gentle tugs matching the rhythm of his mouth on my breast.

Again and again, the cord slips and slides, sweet friction that comes close to sending me spiraling off.

Again and again, his mouth teases and taunts. Sucking and pulling and biting, not too hard, but enough that I feel it. Enough that the sharp, sweet sensation shoots all the way through me, straight to the cord that is so sweetly tormenting me.