His Little Tart (5 page)

“That doesn’t mean she shouldn’t worry,” Aidan said.

“True, true.” She heard the sounds of the fridge door being opened, and something tinkled. “Okay, all set.”

Aidan picked her up again, and they were in motion. This time she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and snuggled up.
Might as well take advantage of the

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opportunity while it lasts.
He squeezed her in response and shifted his hands so that one was cupping her bottom. She felt her pussy tingle. She didn’t want to be so easily affected, but it had been a long time since she’d let a man get anywhere with her. She’d turned down Ben enough times. She had told herself it was her principles and her need to concentrate on her business. But here she was with a man bigger and better looking, and her body responded to his words and his presence and his touch.

She decided to put off the question of whether she was being shallow for another time. She couldn’t be attracted to someone she wasn’t. Aidan was most definitely attractive. And temporary. She didn’t need complications in her busy life, so that was a good thing, although it was hard to be completely convinced when he felt so sturdy.

She heard the sounds of the dungeon the moment Aidan backed them through the door. The crack of a whip, the smack of flesh against flesh, the shriek of a woman.

Whether it was pleasure or pain that caused it, Constance couldn’t tell.

She heard a clatter.

“Lovely choice of furniture, Master Aidan,” Alex said with amusement in her voice.

“Thank you,” replied Aidan. He set her down. Whatever it was had a place for her bottom and wood to rest her back against, and her feet could reach the floor. A moment later, he’d pulled her hands behind her and wrapped something around each one.

When he let go, she found that she could move them a few inches apart but no farther.

When she stretched her hands, they clinked. She tested it a few times.
Clink, clink, clink.

“It’s simple, but it’s secure. Now, I made a promise to Alex’s Master.”

“You wouldn’t,” said Alex.

“I would.”

There was a pause, and then Alex shrieked. A smack. Constance heard her fast retreating footsteps.

“What did you do to her?” Constance asked.

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He kissed her forehead. “Mind your manners, little tart. I didn’t do anything to her that I wouldn’t do to you.”

She didn’t find that at all reassuring. She wasn’t sure what to think of that nickname, either, which he pronounced with relish. She was a good girl. Certainly she had been lately. It seemed faintly slanderous to call her a tart.

“Now then,” he said. A snapping sound, followed by the faint alcohol smell of Sterno.

Her musings stopped, replaced by instinctive fear. “No fire!”

“Try again.”

What the hell? Did he expect her to give in? Oh. “No fire, Master Aidan?”

“Good girl. No fire will touch you, nor will anything hot enough to burn. I’m just reheating your own chocolate fondue. It’s at a safe distance from you, near the wall, so it won’t be kicked by anyone walking by. Of course, you could safe word chocolate, but I think that would be a first.”

It sounded ridiculous when he put it that way. “No, thank you, Sir.”

“Good. I need to make a little adjustment, so I need to unsnap your cuffs for a moment. Will you be good and keep your hands only where I put them?”

She took a breath. “I guess.”

Silence.

“Yes, Master Aidan.”

He unsnapped her hands and moved them forward.

“Scoot forward a few inches; there we go.” The moment she obeyed, she felt his hands on her jacket, unsnapping it. She started to lift her hands and remembered she’d agreed not to move them and to have her jacket off too. She wished she’d worn a sexier bra. Something with lace, or better yet a push-up. Either that or an undershirt. Even half stripped, she felt quite plain in what she had on.

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The room was stuffy, but that didn’t stop her from shivering at the suddenly cooler air against her skin. After he pulled her jacket off, he recuffed her hands behind her back. Even though she couldn’t see a thing, she had a very good vision of what she looked like. The position of her arms was forcing her chest out. She wasn’t particularly well-endowed, but she was leading with what she had. In her skirt, though, she probably looked almost staid compared to the rest of the room. Quaint. Like a girl tied to the railway tracks in an old Western, waiting for her hero to come to the rescue. One piece of her picture was missing, however, and it nagged at her.

“What kind of strange bondage furniture is it that you have me on, anyway?”

Aidan chuckled. “It’s called a chair. There’s a table nearby, and it had four chairs and three people, so I grabbed one from there.”

“Oh.” She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Now that he’d told her, though, she could tell that it was the truth. A hard seat with minimal padding and cool metal between her arms where they were held behind her. A folding chair. That was the clatter she’d heard; he’d probably nudged it into place with his foot. She had a couple like it at her dining-room table, although she’d promised herself she’d get something nice sometime. Not that she knew anyone she’d trust to tie her up in one of them.

“Wouldn’t you prefer something more exotic?”

“Honey, the one thing you can depend on is that whatever we’re doing, it will be exactly the way I want it. I never give my subs anything less.”

His subs. Like they were lining up for him, which they probably were. She was one in a long list. Nothing more. That was the way she wanted it, right? A fleeting encounter. But when she hadn’t been with anyone for so long and hadn’t ever done this sort of thing, it didn’t seem fair. Especially because the others he’d been with were probably better looking. Although she definitely didn’t want to let anyone cuff her to a chair who didn’t know what they were doing, so maybe his experience was a good thing.

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He touched her arm, and all her nerves came to life. His fingers were featherlight, stroking first one arm, then the other, until he got to where her fists were clenched behind her. He pulled her fingers open. “Relax. You’re safe.”

She kept her fingers spread, but she wasn’t relaxed.

He kissed her lightly on the lips, drawing back before her instinctive response to move her lips against his could be realized. God, he smelled good. His lips grazed her neck, then her shoulder, then dipped to the exposed section of her breasts. That didn’t make her relax, either, but it did make her nipples tighten. The thought that he could probably see her peaks denting the smooth outline of her bra only made them harder.

“You have lovely breasts, Constance.”

Yes, he definitely noticed. “The word most people use is small. Or tiny.”

“Just right. And they aren’t
that
small, anyway.”

He kissed one lightly through the fabric. Heat rose in her face. She tried to tell herself that was silly. She was already tied up and indecent in a room full of people; why did it make a difference if he could tell she was aroused? Besides, maybe he thought she was cold. She had been, when the jacket had first come off, but now she felt decidedly warm.

He sucked in her nipple, and she gasped audibly in surprise before she caught herself. She didn’t want to draw attention. She could feel the wetness of his tongue soaking through the fabric. She wasn’t sure how transparent that would make the white satin, but if it exposed her further, it was definitely cheating. But she said nothing. And she knew she hadn’t said he couldn’t. She’d wanted him to touch her breasts, to make her feel that the slightness of her curves still held some attraction for him.

A shockingly cold finger touched her lips, and she pulled her head back. She smelled the faint and pleasurable scent of vanilla, and exhaled.

“Easy, honey. Nothing bad is going to happen to you.”

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She nodded slightly and unscrunched her shoulders as well as she could with her hands pulled back. He touched her lips again, and this time it felt less cold, until something freezing dripped on her chin. She opened her mouth in surprise, and he pushed his finger inside. She closed her lips around it and tasted. Vanilla ice cream.

Mmm. She was licking it off his finger before she thought about what she was doing.

She imagined him thrusting his cock covered with ice cream into her mouth.
Maybe I am a bit kinky after all.

Or sadistic. I bet that would be a cold place for him to have ice cream.
But she hadn’t even been thinking about how it would feel to him when that initial image entered her mind.

He pulled his finger from her lips, and then licked her chin. “You did say you were vanilla, but I admit I didn’t believe you.”

“Believe me now?”

“Nope.”

He traced a cold, wet line from the right side of her neck down to the edge of her bra. And then he licked back up, replacing the cold with warmth. He did it again on the left side, and she became aware that the line extended toward her nipple, even though it didn’t quite reach there. The cold made her tits ache, and then his tongue brought a different kind of sensation. Either way, her breasts were reacting. He kissed each sensitive tip and squeezed them with his teeth. She moaned and squirmed. Her pussy was getting wet, and she felt like rubbing her thighs together, even though that offered little relief.

“Don’t worry, my little tart. I’m not going to be getting into your panties.

Remember?”

Worry wasn’t what she felt at the moment. But she was not going to ask, and she certainly was not going to beg. No matter what he did.

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He licked ice cream off her arms and then let her suck some more off his fingers. It tasted good. Even with the vanilla filling her mouth, she could smell the chocolate heating not far away. What was he going to do with that?

She found out when the cold streak on her arms was replaced with something hot.

For a moment, she thought she might be burning, it was so intense. What was that safe word again? Danger. But by the time she remembered it, the pain had passed, and she knew she was okay. Chocolate melted right around body temperature. He didn’t need to make it very hot for it to run liquid on her skin, and the contrast with the cold caused it to seem hotter than it was.

He kissed her, and she responded hungrily. She pushed her tongue against his lips, wanting more, but he pulled back. “Open wide.” She opened her mouth obediently. He pushed in his finger, covered with ice cream. It was cold after the warmth of his lips. Then he took his finger out and pushed in another, warmer. An ice cream hand and a chocolate hand. And everything was going on his skin before it touched hers, so it would be safe. She sucked in the chocolate, her senses confused. She had nothing to go on but taste and touch and smell. Sound was no guide as to what to expect. She couldn’t anticipate.

She found her mind letting go. She was used to being in control, setting the temperatures, making sure everything was perfect. She wasn’t in control at all now.

With an effort, she let herself relax into it.

He stroked his fingers along her skin, sometimes hot, sometimes cold. Sometimes immediately followed by his tongue, sometimes the senses were allowed to linger. Her bra straps fell down her arms; her skirt nudged up. His doing, no doubt. When he dipped beneath the fabric to lightly pinch her nipples, it shot a bolt of arousal straight to her core. She felt like she was ice cream herself, warming and melting to his touch, pooling liquid between her legs.

“Yes.” She hadn’t intended to say it, but she did as he rained kisses along the tops of her breasts, more exposed now that he’d folded a little of her bra away from her skin.

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She didn’t mean to encourage him to pull it down farther. But the feeling of his tongue against her aching peak stopped any protest she might make about her exposure. When he sucked, it was exquisite, and when he pressed his teeth around the tender bud, it aroused her even more, making her arch toward him. Dimly, she was aware of him putting her bra back in place when his head pulled up, keeping her covered as he switched to tease the other side.

He touched the inside of her leg above the knee, and she expected it to travel higher, toward the center of her growing need. But it stopped after a few inches. She wanted something inside her. Fingers, or better yet, a cock. But she remembered she’d told him he couldn’t. Why had she told him that? It seemed silly now.

“You can, if you want to,” she murmured.

“That’s not asking, love. You have to ask.”

Her cheeks flushed. “No way.”

He laughed. “There are other things we can do.” His fingers left her. “Open.”

She spread her legs farther.

“Your mouth.”

Misunderstanding that was nearly as embarrassing as asking for him to fuck her, and she felt her cheeks getting warmer. But she opened her mouth and was rewarded with a taste of sweetness. She breathed in and smelled something familiar, the cream-cheese frosting she used for cupcakes. A moment later, a morsel of cake was placed on her tongue. For a change, she tasted without guilt, savoring it in her mouth, swallowing and opening her mouth for another taste. He fed her, bit by bit. It didn’t quell the desire in her pussy or the ache in her breasts, but it was pleasurable anyway.