Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 48412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 242(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 242(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
His breath escapes in a rush, and he drops a hand to the bulge in his pants, rubbing at the painful-looking swell.
“I fucking hate myself for this, angel, but I think…” He swallows heavily. “I think watching you struggle naked would make me come.”
The fierce rush of damp between my thighs makes me gasp.
Do I like this, too?
Do I want to be held captive?
There’s only one way to find out—and I trust him. He stopped yesterday on a dime. If I’m uncomfortable, he’ll drop everything to make it better. Somehow, I know that.
“Do it.”
His chin jerks up. “What?”
I bite my lip. “Belt my wrists.”
“No, angel.”
“Please?” I pout, kicking my legs in that way that inspires a wave of lust on his face.
My begging works. Nostrils flared, forearms flexed, he unbuckles his belt and drags it slowly through the loops, never taking his hungry eyes off me. When he closes the distance between us in a single stride and his hard body comes up against mine, a desperate sound trips out of my mouth. I’m a foot off the ground, making our heights even, and he presses his forehead to mine now, his breath hot on my mouth while he reaches up and winds the leather belt around my wrists, fastening them to the metal bar.
My panties are already sodden, simply by witnessing his behemoth arousal.
I can taste his mint breath, smell his adrenaline-fueled sweat.
“I don’t want to have sex,” I whisper against his lips. “Anything else…”
“You think I would take your virginity like this, angel?” Squeezing his eyes closed, he rolls our foreheads together. “Never. I just…”
“I know what you want,” I say tremulously, testing the bonds. Tight. They’re tight.
Holding me fast, keeping me dangling above the ground, the tips of my toes barely able to scrape the surface of the sand. Excitement trickles into my blood when he steps back, watching me writhe midair, appearing almost in disbelief over what he’s done.
“Let me go,” I gasp.
Conflict slashes across his face. “I can’t tell if you’re serious. We need…a word. If you really want to come down, say ‘mussels.’ Okay, angel?”
I’m amazed to find how secure and happy that verbal trapdoor makes me feel.
I smile at him to let him know I appreciate his thoughtfulness.
“Okay.”
He nods and eases forward, his palms dragging upward along the curve of my hips, his gaze hooded and fixed on my breasts.
“This dress is such a dick tease, Vida. Turned my balls to fucking lead the second I saw those little thong lines through the material.” He hooks a finger in the yellow neckline of my strapless dress and tugs slowly downward, my wrists twisting in the leather manacles when he keeps going, going until my bare breasts are revealed to his eyes. “Oh my God. They’re so fucking perky. Jesus Christ.”
“Stop,” I demand, my toes struggling for purchase in the sand, but I’m too high up to gain any footing or leverage. All I succeed in doing is twisting in the air—but that weightlessness makes my tummy feel funny. Like that bottomed-out feeling when a roller coaster takes a steep drop. But there’s no bottoming out. The tickle just lasts and lasts and builds. “Let me down!”
Tripp traps a moan in his throat, his eyes closing, as if he’s overwhelmed by his own fantasy. But when his lids lift again, his gaze is glazed. Lust drunk. He reaches out and grips my jaw, holding me steady. “I’ll let you go when I’m ready.”
It’s not a challenge for me to look scared.
Because I am scared of what’s happening to my body.
At how being tethered and at his mercy makes me feel…sexual for the first time in my life.
And when Tripp continues to peel the yellow dress down my body and I whimper, yanking on the knotted belt, a tide begins to rise inside me. Like a wave of heat busting up against the barrier of a dam. Needing to get to the other side.
“Oh, fuck me, look at that tight-ass body,” he rasps, my dress slipping off my feet now, down into the sand, leaving me dangling from the lifeguard tower in a simple white thong. “It’s not fair,” Tripp breathes, raking the tips of his fingers down the front of my body. Over my peaked nipples and lower, down my bare stomach, playing with the waistband of my thong with a single index finger and making me shudder hotly. “It’s not fair that the softer and sweeter the body, the rougher a man wants to be.” He makes a sound in his throat. “You’d make a man want to be the roughest of all. You make…me want to be so fucking rough.”
“No,” I sob, jerking in the restraint. “No, please. Let me go.”
Don’t let me go.
He heaves an unsteady exhale and unzips his pants, his huge hand disappearing into the opening, his head falling back on a husky groan, that sinew of his forearm rippling as his fist moves inside his khakis. “Oh God. Oh God.”