Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 81208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
When I turn, Robert seems bigger somehow; shoulders broader, chest wider, and those big hand hang at his sides, flexing. He doesn’t move toward me, but his eyes watch everything. He inhales, his nostrils flaring slightly, and I imagine he can smell me, a heady mix of arousal and fear and the vanilla perfume I sprayed myself with before I left. I smell good enough to eat.
Will he make the first move?
I doubt it.
I read somewhere that in a dominant-submissive situation, it’s the submissive with all the power. Men like to conquer, but the good ones want to know their woman wants to be pillaged. Being overpowered and controlled is what gets me off. I have to be bold enough to really appreciate it when he takes over.
I walk to him slowly, breathing in the intoxicating scent of his cologne. He really prepared himself for me, and the effort is thrilling. When he washed his cock, did he get hard imagining what he was going to do to me later? I bet he did.
Robert’s eyes search mine, his jaw ticking with the tension between us.
I run a finger down the edge of his face and bite my lower lip, waiting to see if he‘ll take the bait. He has to be willing to come on the journey with me.
“When I was last here, before you called, I was touching myself, imagining this.”
He grabs hold of my wrist and grips it tightly, his nostrils flaring as he brings my hand to his nose and inhales deeply. His eyes close as if the smell of me has made him lightheaded. The way his big hand feels cuffing my wrist makes me woozy, too.
“You shouldn’t play with me,” he almost growls, staring at me with fiercely hopeful eyes.
“I wouldn’t dare.”
He takes the bait. His free hand grabs hold of the zip of my overalls and yanks it down to my crotch, and then he pushes the overalls off me until they rest like a puddle at my feet. Standing in just my lingerie, I feel vulnerable and powerful. I have something he wants very much; the ability to let him live out his fantasies, and for the first time in my life, I’m going to give in to mine. I’m so excited I can hardly breathe.
“If it gets too much, you can tell me to stop at any time. Just pick a word, something that won’t be misconstrued in the moment.”
I say the first word that comes into my head. “Porridge.”
Robert smiles wickedly. “With a name like Goldie, I should have guessed you’d have a fairytale fixation. Well, what happens next won’t be like any kind of fairytale you’ve read.” He leans down until his face is just an inch from mine, our breath mingling in the space between us. The intensity of being gripped so tightly and the sheer size of him looming above me is enough to make me wet. “You remember your word?” I nod. “Good.” He bends down even further until I almost feel his lips against mine.
Then, his hot tongue licks my top lip.
I feel the sensations everywhere, from the roots of my hair to my clit, and moan just from that fleeting touch. He does it again, this time taking my top lip between his and gently sucking. He tastes of whiskey, and his lips are firm against mine. He kisses me with slow, explicit strokes of his tongue, holding my head still with the firm grip of his hand in my hair, and I whimper at the restraint. He pulls back slowly, lids heavy and lips wet, then slowly walks me back to the bed.
“Tell me what you want,” he orders.
I blush, unsure if I can really articulate my fantasies. He brushes a finger over the heated skin of my cheeks. “Anything,” he whispers. “I’ll do anything. But I can’t guess, sweet Goldie. You have to use your words.”
Between my thighs, my clit swells with pooling heat and I take a deep breath, fortifying myself by straightening my shoulders. I can do this. “I want it all,” I admit, holding his gaze. “Pain, pleasure, for you to take me outside my comfort zones, make me beg, plead, deny me and then give me everything.”
His face softens, like I just told him I’m in love with him. “I’m going to make your fantasy real.” His eyes darken into obsidian pools of wicked intent. “Get on the bed and spread your arms and legs.”
I do as he bids, shivering as my back hits the cool sheets and the metal of the first cuff presses against my wrist. When the mechanism clicks shut, I sigh. Robert presses his lips to the skin above the cuff and kisses gently.
Next, he fastens my foot using a leather strap. He’s careful to place it where there are no Band-aids, and I watch him work, his huge hands gracefully completing the task without fumbling. He walks to the other corner and grasps my other foot, looking up at me as he draws it toward the restraint. It’s a stretch for my legs to spread this wide, and his eyes seek my agreement. When he’s content that I want it as much as he does, his eyes drift to the scrap of satin between my legs. I can feel how wet I am. Maybe he can see, too. The thought is as mortifying as it is exciting.