Chapter 35
Lark
Make sure I have enough festive snacks for ‘holiday emergencies.’
—From Lark’s Christmas to-do list
Maybe it’s because he referred to the company as 'our' company. Or because he admitted to being turned on by watching me in action. Or because he seemed genuine when he said he believes I have it in me to be CEO. Or because Arthur made it clear he’ll back me, and that's no small thing.
Whatever the reason, I find myself considering the possibility seriously.
"I’ll think about it." I frame his face with my hands.
"Good." He kisses me firmly.
Then he slides off his stool and, holding me, he begins to walk away from the kitchen.
"Where are we going?"
"To open your Christmas present, of course."
"Oh." I stare at him, stricken. "I didn’t get you a Christmas present."
"You’re my Christmas present." He smirks.
I want to roll my eyes. But his bravado can’t hide the sincerity in his eyes. "You’ve already given me a Christmas present by asking me to be CEO."
"That’s nothing compared to what I’m giving you next." He reaches the bedroom and, after another kiss which makes my head spin, he lowers me to the bed.
He grasps the hem of my sweatshirt and pulls it up and over my head, then rolls my panties down my legs. He slides off the bed and stands at the foot. He sweeps his gaze over me, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
"Stay there." He points at me, before he marches to the closet. As if I'd go anywhere else. He emerges holding several neck ties in his hand.
"You carried neck ties in your luggage? Were you expecting to wear suits?"
"That’s not the only reason to use neck ties." He reaches me, then surveys me up and down. His eyes glint. Oh no. I so don’t trust that look.
"What are you up to?" I scowl.
He cups his chin, then tilts his head, first this way. Then that. "I want to tie you up."
My jaw drops. "Excuse me?"
He slides one of the ties through his fingers, his movements controlled. Quiet authority clings to his powerful frame in a way that turns my throat dry. I am so transfixed by his actions that when he speaks, I jolt.
"Remember what I told you was my specialty in the Royal Marines?" he murmurs.
"Tying knots," I recall.
"Turns out, a fringe benefit to having that expertise is that I get to use it in the bedroom, too."
"Oh." A shiver of anticipation curls in my belly. "You’re really going to tie me up?"
"If you feel ready for it."
I purse my lips. How would it feel to have him practice his expertise on me? Not that he needs the additional help the ties would offer him. Just his fingers, his lips, his mouth, and that gorgeous cock of his were enough to bring me to ecstasy. But the thought of him tying me up first? Whoa.
That certainly amps up the need inside me. The curl of anticipation turns into a river of desire which drips from between my legs.
As if he senses my heightened lust, his nostrils flare. "You like the idea, don’t you?"
I nod.
"Good girl."
A surge of delight pushes the tension from my shoulders and allows my weight to sink into the bed. I’ve pleased him. And that makes me happy.
"Stretch your arms over your head," he orders.
Instantly, I oblige. The position thrusts my breasts up into the air. Makes my nipples tighten further. It might be how he devours me with his eyes, but I feel free. Wanton. Rid of whatever reservations may have held me back from giving myself up to this man who’s my husband.
Or it might simply be that his complete self-assurance in taking charge, and deciding he wanted to tie me to his bed and have his way with me seems to satisfy some deeply hidden craving inside of me.
Something I've never acknowledged before. Something I didn't think I ached for. But given the hunger unfurling in my belly, I know I want a taste. To experience. To find out how it’s going to change me when he finally touches me.
"Part your legs for me," he commands in a smooth, dark voice.
It flows over me like melted chocolate, sinks into my skin, and oozes through my veins like syrup through honeycomb grooves.
And when he fixes his gaze on the melting flesh between my legs, I realize, I’ve moved them apart without conscious thought.
His throat flexes. And when I look below his waistband, his gray sweatpants are tented at the crotch. His cock outlined through the fabric ramps up my craving.
When I begin to sit up, he clicks his tongue. "Stay where you are."
I freeze.
He walks around the bed to stand next to the headboard.
He pulls off his T-shirt, exposing his ripped chest. Then places one knee on the mattress, leans over, and loops one of the ties—the one he wore at our wedding—around my wrist. Then he knots it around the slats in the headboard.
His thick fingers move gracefully like the legs of a ballerina across the stage. He tugs on the restraint.
The silk slithers against my skin, sending goosebumps scattering from the contact.
"Not too tight?" He glances at me.
I shake my head.
Whatever he sees in my gaze has him lower his head and kiss me. It’s a firm meeting of our lips, where he takes charge and plunders my mouth like he’s a lion lapping water from an oasis. My head spins. My entire body turns into a stream of longing.
I begin to squeeze my legs together, then gasp, for he straightens, then moves over to grasp my ankle.
He fastens it to the foot of the bed, then circles around and uses another tie to restrain my other ankle.
When he’s done, he steps back and surveys me splayed out for his delectation.
The touch of his eyes on my body feels physical.
Enough to make me flinch yet also bloom with the satisfaction of being at the focus of his attention.
It feels right in a way I can’t even begin to verbalize.
It’s a feeling in my guts, which spreads to my extremities.
A sensation of being one with the darkest, most hidden parts of me.
He reaches into the bedside drawer and pulls out a vibrator, along with a tube of lube.
My breath hitches. My stomach tightens. "Are you going to use that on me?" I squeak.
"Will you let me use it on you?" He holds my gaze.
The expression in his eyes asks: Do you trust me? The question isn’t spoken aloud, but I hear it anyway. I nod.
His nostrils flare.
"That’s my good girl."
A moan leaves my lips. I realize, I’d do anything to hear him say those two words over and over again.
The bed dips, and he kneels between my legs.
He leans over me and pours a drop of lube on each of my nipples.
Then on my clit. I’ve hardly processed that when he switches on the vibrator.
The low buzzing is as if a million bees have fluttered their wings over my nerve endings.
I can’t stop myself from shivering in anticipation.
He hasn’t even moved, and my thigh muscles clench.
My shoulders tremble. I can’t wait to see what he’s going to do with the wand. At the same time, I dread it.
I’m so turned on, I’m going to come quickly. I’m embarrassed by how turned on I am.
He touches the toy to my nipple, and I buck my body. "Oh my God," I pant.
He pulls back, giving me time to adjust to the sensations pulsing from the point of contact.
"You’re so sensitive," he says with satisfaction. "If I were to touch your clit, how long would you hold out."
"Not long," I admit.
"Hmm." He firms his lips. "You can’t come until I give you permission."
"What?" I swallow. "How is that even possible? I’m so close."
"You are." He reaches down, scoops my cum from my inner thigh, and holds up his glistening finger, like it’s a trophy. "Which is why you can’t come."
I scowl. "How does that make any sense? Also, it’s physically impossible for me to wait until you tell me to."
His lips curl. "We’ll see, shall we?"