Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 40189 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 201(@200wpm)___ 161(@250wpm)___ 134(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40189 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 201(@200wpm)___ 161(@250wpm)___ 134(@300wpm)
"So fucking sexy."
"Bronx, please," I plead. "Please, touch me."
"I am touching you."
"You're not."
"I've got my mouth all over you, beautiful."
"I need…" I sob in pleasure. I sob in pain. I hardly know. All I know is that his wicked mouth is wrecking me and it's not nearly enough.
"What do you need?"
"You!" I cry. "I need you to fuck me."
He moves like lightning. One minute, he's kissing my belly. The next, his hands are wrapped around the top of my dress. The sound of it ripping echoes around the room, sending a shockwave through me.
Before I can even gasp, his teeth clamp around my right nipple. He pinches my left nipple.
I shout as pleasure and pain stab into me, piercing deep.
He drags my nipple through his teeth, releasing it with a pop. "You want me to fuck you, Gemma?" His baby blues glitter with lust. God, he's so freaking sexy; he takes my lust away. "Then lay there and be a good little toy. I'll fuck you when I decide you're ready. Until then, I'm going to take my time and enjoy every fucking inch of this perfect body."
I sob his name, frustrated, turned on, mad as hell. He's so bossy. Part of me hates it. Far more of me loves it. No one ever talks to me the way he does. They treat me like a delicate little princess. Not Bronx. He treats me like his filthy little toy.
"You r-ripped my dress," I say, not willing to let that slide. No way.
I've always believed in God. But I see the devil in his eyes when he smirks at me now. He holds my gaze, not saying a word, and gathers the torn edges of my dress in his hands. With his eyes locked on mine, he oh so slowly finishes the job he started, ripping the remainder of the slinky fabric right in half.
Once he's done, he tugs the two pieces out from beneath me and holds them up so I can see them. "You mean this dress, Dilemma?"
"I'm so mad at you right now," I whisper, my heart pounding against my ribcage. My thighs soaked with my juices. My mind clouded with lust. I want to tackle him to the bed and have my way with him while I strangle him. That's not normal, is it? It can't be normal. And yet…here I lay. Ovaries exploding. Heart in his oversized hands. Mad as hell.
I am so not equipped for this war. I should have worn higher heels.
"I smell your cunt from here, Gemma. We both know it's fucking dripping right now," he says. "The only thing you're pissed about is the fact that you aren't pissed enough. Lift your arms."
I glare at him.
"Now, Dilemma."
I huff and then slowly lift my arms, making sure to smack him across the abdomen in the process. He grunts but doesn't call me out for it.
As soon as I've got my arms over my head, he shifts forward, grabbing them.
"What are you doing?"
"Tying you up with the scraps of this fucking dress," he mutters, pausing only long enough to set one piece of it beside him. "Do you remember your safeword?"
"Bronx! You are not tying me up with my dress."
"I am."
"No, you are not."
"Do you remember your safeword, Dilemma?"
"Y-yes."
"Use it if you want to use it."
I don't use it. Of course I don't.
He sets to work, tying the pieces of my dress together into one long rope and looping them around my wrists. He ties it tightly enough to keep me from breaking free, but not tightly enough to cut off circulation or hurt me.
"How does that feel, beautiful?"
"Good," I whisper.
"Not too tight?"
I shake my head.
"I need to hear your voice, Gemma. When you're in the ropes, I need you to be vocal with me, understood? If something doesn't feel good, tell me. If something feels good, tell me."
"It's not too tight." I lick my lips. "I like it."
"Good girl." He rewards me with a tiny smile and loops the end through slats on the headboard. He leaves slack between my wrists and the headboard, allowing me to move around on the bed a little, and then he begins working his way down my arms with the length. He works efficiently, his hands steady and sure as he twists and ties the long piece, checking every few seconds to make sure that it's not tied too tightly and that it's lying flat so it doesn't hurt me. "Does that still feel good, Dilemma?"
The care he puts into tying me up makes my heart flutter even as my core clenches. He's so attentive to the details, doing everything he can to make sure that I'm comfortable and that his makeshift rope won't leave marks behind or hurt me in any way.
"Yes," I moan, pressing my thighs together. I thought I'd feel helpless tied up, and there's definitely an element of that. I love knowing he can do what he wants to me, and I can't easily escape. But there are layers to this that I didn't expect. Like how free I feel right now, as if the outside world truly doesn't exist in this room. As if I'm more powerful than I ever have been. I may be the one tied down, but I know that all it would take is one word to stop everything in its tracks.