Chapter 47 Amara
AMARA
The cuffs are not tight enough to hurt, but possibly tight enough to leave a mark. I guess we will find out.
“You’ve been a bad girl.” Ransome hooks the chain linking the leather and fuzzy cuffs to the bedframe and forces my hands above my head.
“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.” My voice is all feathery breath as it comes out.
“I think you do.” He runs a finger up my thigh. It tickles the skin near my hip and makes me struggle under the bondage.
When Ransome caught me reading a dark romance book on my lunch break one day, he told me that it was naughty. Not good workplace behavior, even if I wasn’t on the clock. I think the exact word he used was dirty.
He confiscated the book. I assumed he threw it in the trash. But as I lay on his bed wearing crotchless lingerie, my hands tied above my head and my body entirely at his mercy, I’m pretty sure he didn’t throw it away.
He read it.
And he’s reenacting one of the most erotic scenes as punishment.
“Are you wet for me, baby girl?” he asks, and I swear to God I start dripping just from the question.
“Yes,” I answer.
Ransome runs the tip of his finger over the slit in my lingerie, a slit made for easy access, and I moan.
“So impatient.” He shakes his head. “Do you know what impatient girls get?”
Fuck.
“Teased,” he answers for me.
He comes to all fours and leans down, opening the slit further with his tongue, flicking my clit until a squirm on the bed.
Then he stops. Just as my skin turns to fire, he stops.
Then he does it again.
Licking, flicking, suckling, nibbling.
And he stops.
Again. And again.
“Ransome…” I whimper.
“What?”
“I need…”
“No. I will decide what you need and what you get.”
“But—”
He does it again. This time he teases me for only a second or two before stopping, waiting long enough in between that the arousal fades so that each time, the rising orgasm has to start over again.
“Please,” I beg.
But he only climbs on top of me, straddling me as he looks down. His hands trace down my arms, over my sides, teasing and setting every nerve on fire.
Then his fingers tips find my nipples through the lace. He circles them at first, not fully touching them. Close enough to make them hard. To make me want and need and whimper for more.
He flutters his fingers over one, slowly at first. So slow it’s painful. Then the other. Back and forth, he toys with my nipples until and I am bucking on the bed, but not because I’m coming. Because I need to come.
His hands wander back down. His middle finger finds its way inside of me, slowly sliding in and out. Much too slowly. I could never come at this rate. It’s enough to make me throb, to make me drip, but not enough to make me come.
“You’re such a naughty girl,” he grits out. “Do you like this?”
“Yes.”
“Do you fantasize about it?” he asks as his finger begins to curl inside me.
I grip the chain of the cuffs in my hands. “Yes.”
“Who do you think about?” His finger continues to swirl inside of me, all the while his pointer finger and his ring finger are flat against my lips, parting them to the side.
“You. Always you,” I breathe. “Only you.”
“Good girl. And what am I doing for you?” He lowers his mouth down to my pussy again, his fingers still parting me, his other finger still inside.
My grip tightens. “Making me come.”
“Can anyone else make you come like I can?” he asks, his breath hot on my clit.
“No. No one.”
I feel him smirk against my hot, begging skin.
“Good girl.”
With that, he thrusts his finger in and out of me, his mouth covering me as he licks and sucks.
“Fuck!” I writhe on the bed, thrashing as the orgasm gets closer and closer. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Harder. Harder.”
“Say it again,” he growls, reaching up with his free hand to play with my nipple. Every nerve in every erogenous zone of my body is being teased. I am coming undone.
“Fuck me harder!”
With that, the orgasm crashes over me like a tidal wave. I gush over the bed, my hips grinding involuntarily against his face, and I can’t stop.
When the orgasm finally releases me, Ransome unhooks the cuffs, freeing my hands from the frame.
I rub my wrists and sure enough, they’re red. But Ransome’s eyes are both fire and ice as he looks down at me.
“Who do you belong to, dorogoya?” he asks.
“You.”