29. Turn Order Reversed #2
I follow her gaze.
Well. That seems appropriately simple.
I unbuckle it slowly and pull it free.
Cami watches every movement.
When I hold it out to her, something uncomfortable moves through my chest.
Not fear exactly, but something close.
Vulnerability feels stupidly dramatic as a word for handing my wife a belt.
Except I'm also giving her the thing she'll use to make it so I can't touch her.
So maybe dramatic is fair.
She takes it. “Still green?”
The question hits differently coming from her.
“Yes.”
“Do you want to use our normal colors?”
“Yes.”
She nods, then looks at me for another long second. “Take your clothes off.”
My eyebrows rise.
Cami's cheeks turn pink.
Interesting.
“Was that an order?”
Her chin lifts. “Yes.”
Fuck.
Apparently we're doing this.
I obey.
There is a moment after she secures my wrists above my head where every muscle in my body reacts before my brain does.
I pull—hard.
Not because I'm trying to get free, but because it’s instinct.
The restraint holds.
My shoulders tighten, and my heart rate jumps.
Some ancient, deeply unhelpful part of my nervous system immediately offers the assessment that this is a bad idea.
Cami climbs onto the mattress beside me.
Her hand lands flat against my chest. “Griffin.”
My eyes find hers.
“You okay?”
I breathe.
Nothing hurts.
My hands aren't numb.
My shoulders are fine.
And Cami is right here.
My wife.
I pull once more, lighter this time.
Still can't reach her.
That sends another shot of adrenaline through me.
But underneath it is something else.
Heat.
“Yeah.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes stay on me, questioning my sincerity.
“Very green.”
That finally makes her smile. “Okay.”
She kisses me—slowly.
And for the first time in months, maybe ever, I can't put my hands on her when she does.
That is fucking strange.
My arms pull automatically again when her tongue brushes mine.
My body grows frustrated at the fact that I can't cup her face. Can't grab her waist. Can't pull her closer.
She controls every inch of contact.
I swallow hard.
Her mouth moves down my jaw. My neck. Across my chest.
All of it leaving a wake of intense sensation with it.
I inhale sharply when her teeth graze my nipple.
She glances up. “Green?”
“Yes.”
She does it again.
Harder.
“Fuck.”
Her smile appears against my skin. “You like that.”
I’ve seen her aggressive, but this is something different. Something more.
Then her mouth is back on me.
She takes her time.
That's probably the first sign I've made a mistake.
Cami doesn't generally take her time when she's this turned on.
She likes chaos.
Immediate gratification.
Tonight she has apparently decided she has all fucking night.
She straddles one of my thighs—her thigh brushing my balls without contact on my cock.
At first, I think it's accidental.
Then she moves.
Slow.
Deliberate.
I harden more as she rolls her hips against me.
Her eyes close.
Fuck.
She's using me.
She's not even pretending this is for me.
She's grinding herself against my thigh because it feels good, and I can't put my hands on her hips or change the angle or do one goddamn thing except watch her.
Fucking hell. “That's it, baby.”
Her eyes open.
I didn't mean for the praise to come out that rough.
The effect on her is immediate.
Her hips press harder against me as her breathing grows more erratic.
“Take what you need.”
Her breath catches.
There she fucking is.
The confidence that had started creeping into her movements gets stronger and less experimental.
She braces one hand against my chest and uses the leverage to grind harder.
Every instinct tells me to grip her thighs. Help her get off. Move her. Do something.
I pull against the belt instead.
Her eyes flick upward toward my hands.
Then back to me.
Her mouth parts.
“Oh.”
“What?”
“You really can't touch me.”
I laugh, although it comes out considerably rougher than intended. “That was the general concept.”
Something in her expression changes again.
Fuck.
She likes this. Moments later she starts moving faster.
I watch her face.
The flush spreading down her chest.
The way her lips part every time she catches exactly the right pressure.
The small sounds she isn't trying to hide anymore.
She is fucking beautiful like this.
Not reacting to what somebody else decides to give her.
Taking.
My whole body tightens. “Come on, baby.”
Her gaze finds mine.
“You look so fucking good like this.”
That does it.
Her movements turn rougher, less controlled.
I can tell she's close. I've known her body too long.
“That's it.”
“Griff—”
“Don't worry about me.”
Her fingers dig into my chest.
“Use me.”
Her whole body shudders.
The orgasm catches her hard enough that her head drops forward, hair falling around her face as she keeps grinding through it.
That fact that I can’t touch her is suddenly less frustrating than it is hot.
I have nothing to do except watch my wife come.
When she finally slows, breathing hard, she looks at me.
Her smile is almost shy.
That doesn't match what she just did at all.
“Hi.”
I laugh. “Hi.”
“That was…”
“Hot.”
“Yeah.”
“Very fucking hot.”
The shy smile disappears as she shifts and straddles my hips.
My cock settles beneath her.
I inhale through my teeth.
Cami looks down. Then up at me. “You okay?”
“You're sitting on my dick.”
“Very observant.”
“I have advanced medical training.”
She laughs.
Except the humor doesn't break whatever this is.
If anything, it relaxes her into it.
Then I watch her grind against my cock, the same way she used my thigh.
The rhythm is hers. It’s not there to get me off—it’s not fast enough to get me off—but she grinds anyway.
“Fuck, baby, use me,” I manage to rasp, watching her. “Fucking come all over my cock.”
Soon, her body ripples as she comes again.
She’s glistening with sweat, and her eyes have gone hazy.
“You are so fucking perfect,” I manage to rasp.
An almost evil smile crosses her mouth before her hand wraps around me.
My eyes close.
“Fuck.”
She takes her time again.
She’s not deliberately withholding or edging, but she’s exploring what happens when she sets the pace.
When she finally lifts her hips and lowers herself onto me, I have to pull against the belt again because my body is apparently convinced that if I strain hard enough, physics might reconsider.
Cami slowly sheaths me inside her, settling fully over me.
My head presses back into the pillow.
“Fuck, baby.”
She doesn't move immediately—she just sits there, watching me.
Then her hips roll once. Slowly.
I groan.
Her eyes darken.
Oh, she's enjoying this way too much.
She does it again.
“You're having fun.”
“Yes.”
At least she's honest.
I laugh, but the sound turns into a curse when she rolls her hips again.
Normally this is where my hands would be on her waist.
Or her ass.
Where I'd be helping her move, controlling some of the rhythm even when she's technically on top.
I never realized how much I do that.
Tonight, I can't.
Cami sets the pace.
Slow at first—grinding more than bouncing. Using the angle for herself.
And I let her.
Not just because I have no other option, but because I want to.
Her hands settle on my chest.
My eyes move over her.
I don't think there is anything more unfairly beautiful than my wife sitting on top of me, looking increasingly pleased with herself.
“That's it.”
Her eyes meet mine.
“Good girl.”
Her whole body reacts.
“You like having me stuck here?”
Her cheeks flush harder. “Yes.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
I grin. “Then fucking enjoy it.”
Something almost feral flashes across her face.
She rides me harder.
I swear—loudly.
She smiles.
My wife is a menace.
Eventually her rhythm breaks and I know exactly what that means.
“Close?”
She nods.
“Then take it.”
Her fingers curl against my chest.
I watch her use me to get herself there again.
Nothing for me to do except feel her and tell her how fucking good she looks.
And something about that becomes strangely easy.
My hands stop fighting the restraint.
I stop thinking about what I would normally be doing.
Cami has it.
All of it.
The realization is quieter than I expected—almost peaceful.
Then she comes around me, and any philosophical insight I might have had disappears under considerably more basic biology.
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
Her body tightens.
My control nearly follows hers over the edge, but not quite.
She slows.
I breathe.
Barely.
Cami leans over me.
Her hair falls around both our faces. “You haven't come.”
“Very perceptive.”
“Do you want to?”
I stare at her. “No. I thought I'd just carry this erection into next week.”
Her mouth twitches. “Smartass.”
“You asked.”
She kisses me. It’s different this time—slower and deeper.
Then she sits back.
Something in her expression turns serious. “Your turn.”
Fuck.
She starts moving again.
Not teasing anymore.
Not using me only for herself.
Now she's watching me.
Learning me.
The same way I usually watch her.
I understand, suddenly, why Ronan likes control as much as he does.
There is something intimate about being the person who decides exactly when the other one gets what they need.
Cami finds the pace that gets me there.
Of course she does.
She's known my body for a long time too.
My arms pull against the restraint once—hard.
She leans down. “Kiss me.”
I do.