Authors: Emily Ryan-Davis
TangledBound (14 page)
“Sir?” She shook so hard, she feared her knees would give
out.
“That was the hard part. Kneel up on the bench.” He stroked
her thigh before urging her to position her knees between her restrained hands.
She hadn’t realized exactly how much pressure the initial
pose put on her legs. Intense relief ran down her thighs as the pressure eased.
Breathing hard, she threw her senses out in search of a distraction from her
body.
Sam didn’t let her be distracted for long. He flipped the
tail over her hip and pushed her knees even closer together. Sure fingers slid
between her folds. He took her outer labia between his thumbs and forefingers
and opened her to the room’s cool air.
“You have the sweetest little clit,” he said, running his
knuckle over the exposed nub. Melanie gasped out loud and tilted her hips
higher, trying to find his touch again.
He evaded her and drew the tail back, positioning it so it
swung against the backs of her thighs. “Very sweet. I could spend all night
licking and sucking at you. All night, some other night. Do you know why I’m
stretching out your ass, honey?”
She had to force her voice past her need-constricted throat
and it still came out as a whisper. “Because you’re going to fuck me there?”
“Over and over again.” He kissed the base of her spine.
“Nobody else and nothing else, Melanie. Your submission’s mine and so is your
ass. I’m not sharing either, not with anything I don’t put inside you with my
own hands. You understand?”
Her voice was completely gone. She managed a raspy squeak,
which seemed to satisfy him because he didn’t demand more from her. A moment
later, the sound of his zipper hissing open stopped her heart. The rustle of
his jeans hitting the floor kick-started her pulse into overdrive.
Instead of taking her hips in hand and pushing his cock into
her, Sam walked away. She didn’t have a chance to be confused. He dragged the
straight-backed chair across the loft, positioned it in front of her face, and
sat.
“I have complete control over you right now,” he said.
Melanie stared at the thick, purple cock standing inches
away from her face. Muscular thighs framed Sam’s erection, which glistened with
pre-cum at the head. She licked her lips, dying of thirst for him.
“Clothing might be an element of your power or lack of, but
it has nothing to do with mine.” He threaded his fingers through her hair and
drew her forward, tipping her balance off until her lips brushed his smooth
crown. “Open your mouth, Melanie.”
She didn’t even think to disobey. When Sam urged her head
down, her lips parted around his cock and she took him deep, moaning into the
salty flavor of his semen. Her physical concerns became a low-grade throbbing
nothing as the world narrowed down to his heat and scent and taste.
He wrapped her even more tightly around his fingers, not
allowing her any movement of her own, by drawing her mouth down his shaft. She
tried to retain some control by tensing her shoulders but Sam had calculated
well in the way he positioned her. She couldn’t resist him while also keeping
herself stable on the bench.
“You’ll want to take a deep breath,” he warned seconds
before flexing his hands and forcing her all the way to his root. As his wide
head reached for the back of her throat, wetness slid down her inner thigh.
She didn’t get the deep breath fast enough or deep enough,
but breathing didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except trusting him to push her
as far as she could go before she broke, giving him everything she could find
in herself and then some things she didn’t know she possessed.
Sam took and took, holding her in place by her nape and her
hair. As blackness hedged the outskirts of her awareness and he still seemed so
far from coming, she started to panic. His touch changed almost
instantaneously. He relaxed his hands and pulled her off his cock, the length
red and glistening from her mouth. Still hard, quivering for release. Melanie
whimpered an objection and strained toward him, frantic for a second chance at
bringing him over the edge.
“No,” he rasped, hoarse and deep. The pitch of that single
syllable sent waves of pleasure into her, gave her something to act on,
something to obey.
She drew a shuddering breath and turned her head to rest it
on his muscle-corded thigh. His pulse jumped near her temple and his wiry hair tickled
her ear. Rubbing her cheek against him, she pleaded, “Let me try again, Sir.”
“Tonight’s not going to end with me in your mouth.” He
shifted beneath her and eased her back, returning her to a balanced position on
the bench.
As she settled back to sit on her calves, the silky tip of
the tail skimmed her legs and the hard toy shifted inside. Melanie gasped as
tingling fingers of sensation covered her with goose bumps all over again.
“Pretty.” Sam rubbed the pad of his thumb across one of her
tight, aching nipples, a soft caress that didn’t prepare her for his sharp
pinch. She jerked in surprise. Sam smiled. “Sometime soon we’re going to pierce
these, aren’t we?”
His question rocketed her back to the airplane bathroom,
shoving her past a fear of pain and into a memory of excitement. Swallowing,
recalling the first surprising slide of his cock inside her, eager to accept
him again—and again—she only managed to nod.
Sam leaned close to kiss her parted lips, a quick caress
before he stood and circled around behind her. “Present your ass, Melanie. As
much as I enjoy decorating you, I want the rest of what’s mine.”
Her pulse kicked to a new level. After a brief moment of
hesitation, she redistributed her weight and offered her bottom. Sam worked his
hand beneath the tail and drew a single finger along her slick crease, close
enough to her clit that she shuddered, so far away that orgasm seemed like a
finish line she’d never cross. She whimpered and tried to follow his receding
hand, but he was faster and without the constraints of bondage.
He did touch her again though, one hand at her hip to steady
her, the other firmly grasping the base of the tail. Melanie stiffened.
“Breathe out,” Sam instructed. “Relax. Don’t fight, Melanie.
I don’t want to hurt you…this way.”
Don’t fight. Relax. Commands she couldn’t possibly obey, not
when she was this raw and exposed.
“I said breathe.” He slapped the outer slope of her thigh, a
light crack that succeeded at drawing her back from an encroaching edge of
panic.
As her pulse slowed to a slightly more reasonable pace, she
closed her eyes and focused on releasing a long, slow breath. Sam tugged, and
the toy eased from her body along with the breath. She missed the fullness
immediately. A sob of protest rose in her throat but turned into a groan of
surprised pleasure as he lightly circled her opening with his fingers. Heat
melted into her sensitive skin and the scent of cinnamon revived, gaining in
power.
“Christ,” Sam muttered, the word rough. He dipped his
fingers into her body, spreading the lubricant deeper with slow strokes in and
out. “You’re so welcoming, honey. A perfect little hostess. You deserve a
kiss.”
His fingers slipped free. Melanie didn’t have time to
protest. Something warm and wet followed his fingers, so soft on her stretched,
heated flesh. The damp softness stiffened, dipped into her passage, and the
realization of what he was doing—tasting her
there
, kissing
there
,
combined with the sensation to wrench a long moan from her chest.
Her clit throbbed, aching to be touched, and her pussy
contracted so hard her whole body shook. “Sir, please. Pleasepleaseplease touch
me.”
He licked up to the top of her crease and nipped the
sensitive flesh there. “I am touching you.”
“It’s not enough,” she cried.
“Tell me what would be enough, honey.”
Nothing. She didn’t think anything would be enough, but
said, “I need you to touch my clit. I—”
He did, responding before she finished talking. Reaching
beneath her, he thumbed through her soaked folds to find the throbbing,
distended bud. Melanie’s breath caught in her lungs, brought up short by the
high crest of orgasm that rose over her. She tensed, fighting the sensation,
but Sam persisted with a firm, quick massage that led her body to override her
mind. Sam drew back as soon as she peaked, leaving her poised on an edge.
“More,” she moaned as she swayed on the bench, trembling.
“Not yet, honey. Soon.” His hands left her, but foil
crinkled and the scent of latex invaded the drugging perfume of cinnamon and
musk. Seconds later, Sam notched his broad head against her slick, prepared
opening and advanced.
His cock stretched and filled her, excruciatingly slow, the
sensation so different from any other penetration she’d experienced. Gasping,
needy, she tried to angle back to hurry him.
Sam grasped her hips and held her still, claiming the pace
as his right. “Stop. I want to watch your body welcome me. The show’s too good
to rush.”
He moved again, sinking into her in incremental stages.
Dizzy with want, she closed her eyes and searched for a calm place, somewhere
she could ignore her body’s demands for relief. She found it just as he hilted
himself in her dark sheath—and then he retreated, dragging her right back to
him with relentless pleasure.
“Give me your hands,” he said, going still behind her.
Melanie shook herself, trying to shed her mental fog.
Thinking was difficult. She’d become a being of pure feeling. He repeated
himself and she flexed her fingers against the leather holding her hands to the
bench.
“I don’t know if I can.” Her thighs quivered, weakened by
the strain of her position.
He bent over her and wrapped his arm around her upper chest,
anchoring her against his torso. “I won’t let you fall.”
She believed him. No hesitation, no second guesses, no
questioning—she
believed
him. Awed by the realization, she dropped into
his care, removing her weight from her arms so she could free her hands.
Sam straightened and took her with him, not breaking the hot
line of contact that spanned from her shoulders to her ass, which he cradled
securely against his groin. He arranged her arms to loop up and back around his
neck and kissed the side of her throat, his mouth hot and hungry.
The new position gave him total access. He gripped her
breast and used the soft mound to anchor her against his chest. His free hand
skimmed down her stomach and burrowed between her thighs. Tunneling through her
wetness, between her folds, he pressed the heel of his palm against her clit
and curled the tips of two fingers into her pussy.
That was all it took. Her entire body stiffened, rocking
with deep, powerful contractions. She stopped breathing and clenched her hands
in his hair as orgasm overcame her, hurtling her into some crazy free-fall
space. Sam cursed behind her, surprise in the explosive word, and his deep-seated
cock jerked in response. He stiffened and bucked as one spasm followed another,
his release chasing hers.
Sam held her locked against him and they descended together,
both breathing hard and riding aftershocks that seemed like they would never
end. Melanie turned her head, searching for his mouth. A small part of her
feared he would reject the kiss the way he had in his hotel room but fear was
unnecessary. Sam seized her lips and didn’t let up, devouring her as he
caressed one last small shock from her spent body. He withdrew from her before
she stopped shuddering, leaving an emptiness that made her ache.
“More,” she moaned plaintively after he raised his head. “I
need you back.”
“I know what you need, honey.” He gathered her in his arms
and lifted her against his chest, only to deposit her atop a thick rug. Braced
on one hand, he rose over her and kissed each of her closed eyelids. “I’m going
away for just a minute. I’ll be back for you before you even know I’m gone.”
“I already know you’re gone.” She stretched, spreading her
arms out to her sides, luxuriating in the softness beneath her. “Please hurry,
Sir.”
He didn’t waist time responding. Cool air skimmed her
flushed skin as he rose and left. Melanie sighed in the silence and opened her
eyes. A bit of purple ribbon caught her attention. She rolled onto her side,
but the Vosges Haut Chocolat box was just out of reach. Appetite returning with
a vengeance, she sat and grabbed the box, ignoring the fact that the candy
inside had probably expired months ago.
The ribbon came free with a tug and she carefully lifted the
top off the box, only to stop in confused surprise. Rose-pink powder dusted
each carefully packed truffle.
“You were supposed to wait for those,” Sam said from the
door. “Don’t you know what kind of trouble your curiosity could get you into?”
Melanie’s head jerked up and her gaze locked on him. Every
naked inch of him, well-muscled and, she noted with a hum of approval, ready to
begin anew.
Meeting his eyes, she repositioned herself to sit cross-legged
and hugged the box to her stomach. “These aren’t the ones you bought before.”
Sam shook his head and advanced on her without closing the
door. “It occurred to me that I did a pretty stupid thing, insisting I knew
what was in your heart better than you did.”
“It was a little stupid,” she agreed. “Um, well, kind of a
lot stupid. Colossally stupid. Epic—”
He plucked one of the truffles from the box and shoved it in
her mouth. “Be quiet and eat, you brat. You need calories so you’ll be able to
keep up with me.”
“Mmmmm.” She closed her eyes and bit into the chocolate,
deciding not to push her luck by pointing out that she had the advantage of
youth to tip the rest of the night in her favor.
About Emily Ryan-Davis
Emily Ryan-Davis lives in Maryland with her loving husband
and hateful guinea pig. On any given day, you can find her shopping (online or
in stores), chatting/writing (the pair go hand in hand, can’t have one without
the other), knitting (or buying yarn) or mocking her husband’s comic collection
(while parenthetically wondering why comics haven’t upgraded to the ebook age; imagine
all the extra space she’d have). Occasionally she picks up her mandolin, but
mostly she just ignores it. You won’t find her paying attention to current
events or the latest celebrity gossip because writing stories is her way of
pretending it doesn’t matter that she doesn’t know how to use the television
remote.
Emily’s favorite authors are Megan Hart, Terry Pratchett, JR
Ward and Orson Scott Card. She loves sexy, magical, funny and intense stories,
but especially enjoys immersing herself in the breathless intensity of a “with
feeling” love scene. She can’t pick a genre (decision-making issues!) so writes
in whatever setting calls to her at any given time: contemporary paranormal,
historical western, medieval Europe, Gothic France—if she can imagine a strong
emotional attraction existing in a particular place or time, chances are she’ll
write the story.
Emily welcomes comments from readers. You can find her
website and email address on her
author bio page
at
www.ellorascave.com
.
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Also by
Emily Ryan-Davis
Print books by Emily Ryan-Davis
All in Pearls
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Ellora’s Cave Publishing
Tangled & Bound
ISBN 9781419936852
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Tangled & Bound Copyright © 2012 Emily Ryan-Davis
Edited by Briana St. James
Cover design by Syneca
Photo: Christian Boeving
Electronic book publication September 2012
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