Chapter 6
LUKE
Watching her struggle with the costume while her wrists are bound is its own special kind of torture.
She fumbles with the torn fabric, fingers clumsy from the velvet rope restricting her movement. The bodice is already half-destroyed from her run through the trees, rhinestones missing, fabric ripped, but she's still trying to maintain some shred of modesty.
I settle back against the headboard, the Christmas lights coiled loosely in my lap, and let myself enjoy the show.
Her face is flushed—embarrassment mixing with arousal—and she won't quite meet my eyes as she pushes the ruined costume down over her breasts.
The fabric catches on her peaked nipples, and she has to wiggle to get it past. The movement makes those perfect breasts bounce slightly, and my cock throbs in response.
Patience. I've waited this long. I can wait a few more minutes.
The bodice finally gives way, sliding down to her waist. She's not wearing a bra—can't, with a costume like that—and now she's bare from the waist up, firelight painting her skin in shades of gold and amber. Her breasts are full, nipples hard and begging to be touched, sucked, bitten.
Soon.
She pauses, breathing hard, her bound hands moving to cover herself instinctively.
"No," I say quietly. "Hands down. Let me see you."
She hesitates, and I can see the war playing out behind her eyes. But slowly, so slowly, she lowers her hands to her lap.
"Good girl," I murmur, and watch the way those words affect her. The way her nipples tighten further, the way she presses her thighs together.
She continues undressing, pushing the costume over her hips.
It catches on the tattered fishnets, and she has to work it down her legs—a clumsy process with bound hands that leaves her panting with frustration.
The costume joins the fishnets in a pile of ruined pink tulle and shredded nylon on the floor.
Now she's down to just her panties. A simple white thong, completely soaked through in the center. I can see the outline of her pussy through the wet fabric, evidence of how fucking badly she wants this.
My cock is so fucking hard it almost hurts.
"Those too," I say, nodding at her panties.
Her hands shake as she hooks her thumbs in the waistband. The moment stretches between us, charged with tension, before she finally pushes the fabric down and kicks it away.
Naked. Bound. Mine.
She's fucking magnificent.
"Come here," I command, crooking a finger at her.
She crawls across the bed toward me, and I track every movement. The way her breasts sway with each motion. The way her thighs press together, trying to hide how wet she is. The way those intelligent eyes watch me warily.
Smart girl. She should be wary.
When she's close enough, I reach out and cup her face, thumb brushing over her bottom lip. She's trembling—from cold, from nerves, from desire—and I want to memorize this moment. Her like this, caught between fear and need, ready for me to do exactly what I've been fantasizing about for months.
"You look perfect," I tell her honestly. "Absolutely fucking perfect."
I release her face and pick up the Christmas lights, letting them pulse red and white in my hands. Her eyes track the movement, and I see her throat work as she swallows hard.
"These lights are special," I explain, running them through my fingers. "They won't burn you, but they will look stunning wrapped around your skin."
She looks like she wants to argue, but before she can, I'm moving.
I grab her bound wrists and bring them together, looping the lights around the velvet rope that's already there.
The red and white bulbs glow against her skin as I wrap them carefully, creating an elaborate pattern that makes her glow.
Each loop is deliberate and tested for security without cutting off too much circulation.
"These are as good as rope," I explain as I work. "But they look so much prettier. Don't you think?"
She doesn't answer, just watches as I bind her wrists more thoroughly. The lights pulse with her heartbeat, making her look like she's glowing from within.
Perfect.
I guide her arms over her head and secure them to the headboard using a length of lights I'd already prepared. Now she's stretched out before me, arms raised, breasts thrust forward, completely exposed.
"How does that feel?" I ask.
"Tight." She tests the restraints, pulling slightly. They don't give. "I can't move."
"That's the point, sugarplum." I trail my fingers down her upstretched arm, over her armpit, along the side of her breast. She shivers, arching involuntarily into the touch. "I want you helpless. I want to see you unable to do anything but feel."
I pick up more lights and begin winding them around her body. Starting at her collarbone, wrapping them loosely across her chest, between her breasts, creating patterns that make her look like a work of art. Every few inches, I pause to test the temperature of the bulbs against my own skin.
The lights wind lower, around her ribs, her waist. I position them carefully, making sure they frame her breasts without actually touching her nipples. Those are for my mouth.
She's panting now, watching me work with wide eyes. Every time my fingers brush her skin, she jumps slightly. Every time I tug on the knots, she whimpers.
I pick up another strand and move to her throat.
This is the part I've been waiting for.
"This goes here," I murmur, looping the lights around her neck like a collar. Not too tight, but present. A reminder. A symbol of control.
Her breath catches, and I see panic flash in her eyes.
"Breathe," I command gently. "I've got you. This won't hurt you."
I wrap the lights carefully, making sure they sit against her throat without pressure. Then I take the end and hold it in my hand, giving it the slightest tug.
The lights tighten fractionally against her neck. Not enough to choke, just enough to feel. Just enough to remind her that I control her breathing now.
"Oh god," she gasps, and I see the moment it hits her. The moment she understands what I'm planning to do.
"That's it," I encourage, loosening the lights immediately. "Feel how good it is to give me control."
I tighten again, just for a second, watching her pulse hammer beneath the glowing strands. Then release. Tighten. Release. Finding the rhythm that makes her eyes go hazy and her thighs clench together.
She's not fighting anymore. She's sinking into it, into the sensations, into the trust she doesn't want to give me but can't help offering.
I leave the lights at her throat and move lower, wrapping another strand around her upper thighs. This time I position them specifically, looping under and around in a pattern that forces her legs apart.
"Wait," she protests weakly as I spread her thighs. "What are—"
"Shh." I spread her legs wider, bending her knees, opening her completely to my gaze. The lights wrap around her thighs glow red and white, framing her pussy like a present waiting to be unwrapped.
And fuck, she's beautiful. Wet and pink and swollen, her clit visibly hard, glistening with arousal.
"Look at you," I growl, settling between her spread legs. "So wet for me. So ready."
"I hate you," she says, but we both know that’s simply not true.
"No, you don't." I blow cool air across her overheated flesh, and she cries out. "You hate how much you want this. That's different."
Before she can argue, I lean forward and lick a long, slow stripe up her center.
The sound she makes—high and desperate—goes straight to my cock.
She tastes like heaven. I do it again, slower this time, using the flat of my tongue. Her hips buck against my mouth, seeking more.
I grab the lights at her throat and give them a gentle tug, tightening just enough to make her gasp. Her hips jerk, and I feel her get wetter against my tongue.
"Stay still," I command against her pussy. "Or I'll stop."
She tries. God, she tries. But when I focus on her clit with the tip of my tongue—circling, flicking, applying pressure exactly where she needs it—she can't help but move. Her whole body trembles, straining against the lights binding her.
I tighten the lights at her throat again, just for a moment, and she freezes. The restriction steals her breath for two seconds, maybe three, before I release the tension.
The moment air rushes back into her lungs, she moans.
The combination is intoxicating—pleasure and control mixed together until she doesn't know which is which.
I do it again, sucking her clit into my mouth while simultaneously tightening the lights at her throat.
Hold. Release. The rhythm makes her shake, makes her cry out, makes her absolutely drench my face.
"Please," she begs, and I don't think she even knows what she's asking for anymore. "Please, I need—"
"What do you need?" I ask against her clit, my tongue still working in lazy circles. "Tell me."
"I need to come." The admission costs her. I can hear it in her voice. "Please let me come."
"Not yet." I slide two fingers inside her, feeling how tight she is, how her inner walls clench around the intrusion. "You'll come when I say you can."
I work her slowly after that—tongue on her clit, fingers curling inside her, finding that spot that makes her see stars. The lights pulse around her body with her racing heartbeat, making her look like she's been plugged into an electrical current.
She's close. I can feel it in the way her pussy flutters around my fingers, in the way her breathing goes ragged, in the desperate little sounds falling from her lips.
I tighten the lights at her throat again, holding them firm while I suck hard on her clit.
She screams—or tries to—but the lights restrict the sound, turning it into a choked gasp. I release immediately, and the rush of oxygen combined with the stimulation nearly sends her over the edge.
"Not yet," I warn, pulling back slightly. "Hold it."
"I can't," she sobs, her bound hands pulling uselessly at the restraints. "I can't hold it."
"Yes, you can." I slow my fingers, gentling my tongue, keeping her right on the edge without pushing her over. "Because I told you to."
She makes a sound of pure frustration, her body drawn taut as a bowstring. She's completely lost in it now—no more shame, no more fighting, just pure desperate need.
I play with her like this for several more minutes, building her up and backing off, tightening the lights at her throat in carefully timed intervals. She's begging continuously now, a stream of pleas and curses and my name—though she doesn't know it's my name yet.
The lights glow brighter against her flushed skin. She's covered in them—wrists, chest, throat, thighs—lit up like a Christmas tree, exactly as I'd imagined.
"Look at me," I command, lifting my head from between her legs.
Her eyes flutter open, glazed and unfocused. When they find mine, I see everything I need to see—submission, trust, desperate hunger.
"You want to come?" I ask.
"Yes." There are tears in her eyes. "Yes, please, yes."
"Then ask me nicely."
"Please." The word breaks on a moan. "Please let me come. I'll do anything. Just please—"
I cut off her begging by diving back in, sucking her clit hard while curling my fingers inside her and finding that perfect spot. At the same time, I tighten the lights at her throat—not restricting air, just creating that sensation of control.
She detonates.
Her orgasm hits her like a freight train, her whole body going rigid before convulsing in waves. I feel her pussy clamp down on my fingers, pulsing with each contraction. I gentle my touch but don't stop, working her through it, drawing out every last aftershock.
The lights flicker faster with her racing heart, creating a light show across her skin. She's incandescent, glowing with pleasure and firelight and those red and white bulbs wrapped around her curves.
Fucking perfect.
When the last tremor fades, I release the lights at her throat completely and press gentle kisses to her inner thighs while she comes down. Her chest heaves, breaths coming in ragged gasps, and I can see tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.
Good tears. The kind that come from overwhelming pleasure.
I crawl up her body slowly, pressing kisses to her hip, her ribs, the underside of her breast. She's still shaking, still bound, still glowing with lights.
When I reach her face, I see her eyes are closed, her expression slack with satisfaction. I brush my thumb across her cheek, catching a tear.
"Open your eyes, sugarplum," I say softly. “Look at me.”
She does, slowly, and the look in them is dazed. Satisfied but still hungry.
Good. Because I'm nowhere near done with her.
I claim her mouth in a kiss that tastes like her arousal, and she responds immediately, kissing me back with renewed energy. When I pull away, she makes a sound of protest.
"I’m going to give you so much more, sugarplum," I murmur against her lips, my hand already reaching for the button on my pants.
Her eyes widen slightly as she realizes what's coming next, but there's no fear there anymore. Just anticipation and a hunger that matches my own.
She's ready. Finally, completely ready.
And I'm going to give her everything she's been craving.