Tangled Extra Scenes(8)

It’s a vibrator. It almost looks like one of those practical-joke electric buzzer things we all had when we were kids. She hands it over.

“It’s called a—”

“Bullet,” I finish for her. “Yeah, I know.” I stare at it. And images of Kate writhing under me—bordering on the brink of insanity and begging to come—fill my head.

My voice comes out rough, but worshipful. “You are the most awesome girlfriend ever.”

I wrap my arms around her and kiss her. And it’s long and slow and appreciative.

Kate pulls back and smiles big. “There’s one more thing. I saved the best for last.”

She slides the belt of her coat slowly from the loops and grips the lapels with both hands. Then, in one fluid motion, she drops the jacket to the floor.

And I almost come on the spot.

Lots of women think lingerie is the magic ingredient of seduction. They buy something lacey and expensive and expect us guys to be drooling into our frigging laps. But it doesn’t really work that way.

At Christmas, for example, when you see a big, brightly wrapped package under the tree with your name on it, you’re interested. But it’s not the wrapping paper you’re looking forward to. It’s the present inside. Lingerie works the same way. It’s nice—but naked is always better.

Except for this.

This is the wet dream of every man born after 1975.

It’s the elite of eroticism.

The ultimate fantasy.

Oh yeah—it’s the Princess Leia bikini.

My mouth drops open. “Oh…my…motherf*ck.”

Kate spins slowly. Proudly. “Do you like it? It’s crotchless.”

I’m speechless.

Seriously. I have no words. I’m pretty sure every ounce of blood in my body has been rerouted to my dick, so there’s not enough left in my brain to form them.

Kate’s voice is hushed and tempting. “If you promise to be good…I’ll let you chain me up like Jabba did to Leia.”

I break out of my horny-induced trance. I grab her upper arms and haul her against me.

“Baby, the only thing I’m promising is you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

I pick her up and throw her over my shoulder. She screams. And laughs. And I walk down the hallway, passing by my tray of prepared snacks.

Because, really—who the hell needs food?

***

I slide Kate off my shoulder, gripping her sweet little ass on the way down. I turn her around so her back’s to me. Then I bend the riding crop halfway and let it fly.

Snap.

It lands on the exposed skin of her ass cheek, and she lurches forward with a squeal. Then she giggles. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. With great power comes great responsibility, Batman.”

I take my pants and boxers off in record time.

“Don’t you worry, sweetheart. I plan on satisfying every responsibility I have, again and again and again for good measure. Now get on the f*cking bed.”

She does—on all fours. Her hair falls over one shoulder, and her eyes are on mine. Christ, look at her. All laid out—just for me—waiting.

I feel like a goddamn kid in a candy store.

The only question is: Where to start first? It’s always a fabulous conundrum. Every one of Kate’s assets are equally deserving of attention. Hell, even the backs of her knees are sexy.

I slide the velvet tip of the crop across her chest, between her breasts, and down her stomach. I pause between her legs.

And rub.

The beauty with this kind of tool is that the nerve endings rush to wherever it touches, making the skin hypersensitive. Taut—like an over-tuned guitar string just dying to get plucked.

Kate’s eyes close, and her head tilts back. I rub the crop over her *, back and forth.

Then I smack it lightly.

And she gasps.

When I was ten, my parents got me a racing bike during the height of the BMX craze. I remember thinking at the time that it was the greatest gift I’d ever get.

Boy, was I a moron.

I lean closer to the bed, over her, and kiss a trail up Kate’s spine and around her neck.

I pull the gold bikini down from one plump tit and latch on.

Delicious.

Her nipple’s already a stiff pink peak, but I flick my tongue over it anyway. Kate moans. And lifts one hand to the back of my head.

I smack her ass with the riding crop. “Don’t move.”

Her hand snaps back to the bed.

This…submission. It’s not about degradation or humiliation—it’s about faith. Leaving yourself completely open, totally exposed. Offering everything you’ve got, everything you are, to someone else. Letting them see the real you, not just the person you want to be. Every sin, every fantasy, because you know they’ll never judge you. Never hurt you. Some people go their entire sorry lives without knowing what real trust is.

But I know.

I have it.

With Kate. Only ever with her.

I give her nipple one last lick and move on. I put the riding crop down and twist the vibrator on.

Then I move down to Kate’s ass. A bright red square marks one cheek. I soothe it with my mouth. And bring the buzzing bullet between her legs, moving in wide, slow circles—coming close to her clit but not actually touching it.

Anticipation, satisfaction—pleasure and pain—it’s a delicate balance. When combined in the right amounts, the sensation can be overwhelming. And because I’m an expert on Kate’s body, I know just how to play her. When to speed up and slow down. If Kate were an orchestra, I’d be a maestro.