Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
DAPHNE
My back hits the mattress, and my body bounces. Tristan gazes down at me, that smirk playing over lips I’ve fantasized about too many times since we met. Lips kissing me, teasing me, licking, sucking. I’ve come thinking about the wicked things those lips could do ever since he kissed me.
He captures my lips to his as he grips the hem of my t-shirt and yanks it over my head. Heat builds in my core, the smoky smell of his cologne teasing me. I’m intoxicated by this man and the fantasies I’ve had about what his strong body could do to me.
Tristan doesn’t waste time as he grabs the elastic of my leggings in his fist and tugs them down my legs, breaking our kiss again. The fabric glides down my legs, snagging at my ankles before he frees me.
In my cotton bra and mismatched panties, self-doubt rears its ugly head. I should have worn something sexier. Something seductive and lacey. Something pretty.
Without thinking, my hands cross over me in a hug, shielding my ugly bra from view.
Tristan frowns. “None of that, Princess. You’re going to show me everything tonight.” He grabs my wrists and pins my arms over my head before kissing me again.
He kisses away my self-doubt and awkwardness. He kisses me like what I’m wearing doesn’t matter, like nothing matters but his lips on mine and my body beneath his. His tongue plunges and explores me like a reminder of what else that tongue could do to me tonight.
All too soon, he’s breaking the kiss again.
“Tristan.” His name escapes me in a whimper, beckoning him back to me.
His smirk reflects some satisfaction already. “Patience, Daphne. I’ve got plans for you tonight.” There’s a quiver of menace in his voice, and God, that shouldn’t turn me on.
But when he retrieves a length of rope from his backpack, my core goes molten. Is he going to tie me up again? Is that his plan?
He takes his time, wrapping the rope around one wrist, careful not to cut off blood flow as he works some intricate knots across my wrist. The rope is surprisingly soft against my skin. He guides my arm up toward the corner of the bed.
“I’m getting you a proper headboard.” He kneels on the ground to secure the ropes to the small legs of my basic metal bedframe.
“I didn’t need one until now,” I admit.
And that makes him fucking glow. He tied me up the night we met—when he kidnapped me. And now, he’s the first man to tie me up. The first man I trust to take full control. I only hope he won’t hurt me.
He can’t hide his smile now as he binds my other wrist to the bedframe. Tristan’s large hands tug on the ropes, testing their give and the intricate knots while admiring his handiwork.
“You look fucking gorgeous tied up,” he confesses like it’s a secret sin. “I’ve been picturing you in my ropes again. I’ve fantasized about you like this so many times.”
Well, glad to know I’m not the only one who's had fantasies between us.
Tristan returns to his duffel and pulls out a smaller bag. “I bought you a present.”
My wrists tug at the ropes. “I hope you’re not going to ask me to open it.”
Tristan chuckles, but the lightness in the room is sucked out once he reveals a knife. The thick black handle is rimmed with grooves, the blade hidden by a matching black leather sheath.
“Tris,” I don’t hide the worry in my voice. What’s he got planned for me? He’s not going to hurt me, right? Maybe he decided this is too much, that I’m too much, that I’m better off dead rather than have to deal with—
“Stop,” he says. He takes a step closer, and I try to scramble up the bed, but the ropes make moving difficult.
“What’s that for?” My voice trembles, and my gaze fixates on the knife as he pulls it from the leather.
“It’s for you. After what your ex put you through today, I know how I’m going to kill him for you. With this.” He lifts the blade from its sheath, and he discards the leather holder on the floor.
“You… you’re going to kill Brent? With a knife?”
Tristan smirks. “By the end of the night, Daph, it will be a very special knife.”
My mind’s swirling, and I’m not sure what he means, but he steps closer. He rests his knee on the side of the bed, the knife poised in his hand.
My eyes slam shut. He’s not, is he?
Snapping fabric fills the air, and the straps of my bra fall away, the cotton slumping down low enough to reveal my nipples.
Tristan sets the knife on my wobbly bedside table and unclasps the bra from behind me, tossing it on the floor.
Relief surges through me. He’s not going to hurt me.
“What are you thinking?” he asks, taking me by surprise.
“What?” I ask, trying to gather my thoughts.
“You flinched,” he said. “You look scared of me.”
I nod. “I still am. A little.”
Tristan frowns at my words, and the people pleaser in me feels guilty for being honest.
Tristan leans lower, kissing me until my head presses into the pillow from the sheer force of his lips.
“Daphne Fox,” he says with reverence, “I promise you don’t need to fear me. I will never hurt you.”
My heart swells in my chest. Hope. I might not fully believe him, but I’m hopeful that he’s being honest with me. Hopeful that he means it. Hopeful that maybe someone in my life doesn’t want to hurt me. Doesn’t want to use me. Wants to be around me for who I am, and not what I can give them.
Before my mind spirals, Tristan grips my panties and tugs them down and off my legs, baring me to him fully.
He groans as I spread my legs for him, my heels digging into the comforter. He swears as his eyes lock onto my pussy like a missile. “You’re fucking gorgeous, Princess.”
I smirk, and when he catches my expression, he laughs. “Don’t get cocky. This will wipe that grin right off your face.”
Before I can ask, he retrieves another length of rope from his bag, longer this time. “Bend your knees,” he instructs.
I obey, bending one knee, exposing myself even more to his hungry stare.
His eyes flicker from my pussy to the rope as he knots it around my calf, then around my thigh, binding them together without hurting me.
There’s slight tension in my thigh muscles, but it’s not as much of a stretch as some yoga positions I’ve been in before.
Knots dot along my thigh and calf like a ladder, a thick web design keeping my leg in place.
Tristan follows suit with my other leg, binding my calves to my thighs and keeping my legs spread wide for him. My hips lift in this position, so he gets a full display of my pussy and my ass like this.
I tug on the bindings around my wrists and legs. There’s no give left. I’m truly at a killer’s mercy now.
And yet, he’s looking at me like I’m some masterpiece to be cherished. The way he’s admiring me in his artwork makes me feel beautiful and seen in a way no man has ever seen me before.
I’m exposed and open to him, yet I feel safe.
“You’re stunning, Daph,” he says with a faint whisper in his voice.
“I’ve dreamed of you like this for a long time.
” His hand coasts along my calf, up over my knee, and down my thigh.
Shivers ripple across my skin from his faint touch, and awareness hums through me as he skims his hand closer to my pussy.
“Tristan,” I beg. “Please. I want you.”
Those beautiful, mismatched eyes spark with hunger, and his lip lifts in another crooked smirk. “Not tonight, Princess.”
What? What does he mean? If not tonight, then why do this? Why tie me up?
Before I can ask, pleasure flickers from my clit as he skates the rough pad of his fingers across the sensitive spot.
I close my eyes, letting my body relax into the sensations as Tristan’s fingers glide lower, teasing the entrance of my pussy and swiping up my arousal before moving back to my clit.
“Oh, you want it bad, don’t you?” He teases as he circles my clit with his fingers.
“God, yes,” I moan as his finger flicks across my clit, sending a rush of heat to my core.
Tristan slips two fingers into my pussy, already slick with my arousal. My body eases into the pressure as his fingers flex toward the ceiling.
“Eyes on me, Princess,” he growls.
My eyes blink open, and Tristan’s crouched down between my spread legs, his lips inches from my pussy.
He blows warm air across my damp lips. God, his teasing is going to drive me mad. I need friction. Movement. More.
I wiggle my hips, trying to entice him closer. “Tristan, please.”
He leans lower, and he’s so close to my clit now I can’t see his lips. Only his eyes and the top of his head, his bangs tickling the skin on my mound. “Please, what? Use your words, Daphne.”
“Use your mouth,” I beg. “I need that tongue, Tris—oh!”
Tristan’s tongue flicks across my clit as his fingers begin to pump in and out of me in a delicious fucking motion.
My God, the man’s a gift. As he sucks and licks and rolls his tongue over my clit, his fingers work my pussy into a dripping frenzy. Need builds in my lower belly, and my muscles go taut against the ropes. Rope bites into my skin, and not being able to escape the pleasure pushes me to the edge.
Already, I’m close, but I need more. I need him.
“Tristan,” I gasp as he sucks on my clit. “God, I’m so close.”
Tristan chuckles into my pussy, making it vibrate. “I’m not God, Princess.”
He pulls his fingers from me as he leans back, his lips and chin glistening.
My orgasm quickly fades. “What?” My mind’s swirling, and I can’t think of any other words.
Tristan reaches over for the knife and…
Holy shit.
He rotates the knife as he steps out from between my thighs. He stands on the edge of the bed. Keeping the blade pointed across the room, the handle faces me.
He skims the handle of the knife across my pussy, my lips enveloping the handle before he slides it up, the edge bumping over my clit.
The groves around the handle create the most wicked sensations as he slides the handle up and down across my pussy, rotating it to coat it fully in my arousal. He moves it lower… lower…
Until the edge of the handle presses the entrance of my pussy.