Total pages in book: 172
Estimated words: 155984 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 780(@200wpm)___ 624(@250wpm)___ 520(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 155984 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 780(@200wpm)___ 624(@250wpm)___ 520(@300wpm)
He took the lotion and began a slow massage into her neck and shoulders. At first, the lotion had a soothing effect on her skin. He knew it would. It had natural aloe vera in it, but his touch on her body was sensual, whispering over her pressure points, the ones that triggered her needs, that ones that heightened her awareness of him. His hands slid from her arms to her breasts, massaging the lotion into the full mounds, cupping the soft weight and massaging lotion into the undersides, not wanting to be neglectful.
“Turn around for me. No, don’t get up, just spin around, keep your knees wide.”
She closed her eyes and obeyed him, grinding down on the knots as she did, rocking her hips forward, a kind of long groaning sound of need escaping. He simply continued with the slow massage, starting with her neck, digging his fingers deep into her tense muscles, finding every trigger point. Occasionally, he bent forward and nipped at her earlobe or whispered a kiss along her ear, watching the goose bumps rise on her skin.
When her skin was glowing and she felt hot, when she couldn’t stop moving, he put the lotion down and reached around to her front, very gently covering her breasts with his palms. “Baby, if you prefer, you can go lie on the bed and I’ll make love to you slow and easy and take away that burn right now. I’ve never tied you twice in one day and you’re already climbing out of your skull. That can either be a good thing or a bad thing. I don’t want you burning to the point of hurting. I want you burning to the point of anticipating. If you want to stop, we’ll stop, and I’ll give you my cock, let you sleep while I make us dinner and then you can rest again.”
He fell silent and waited. Flambé didn’t disappoint him. She tilted her back until it was nearly in his lap, her nipples hard little points of flame in his palms.
“Or what?”
“I’ve wanted to build a pattern called the necklace on you. I think it will look beautiful. It really depends on how tired you are.” One finger slid back and forth along the side of her breast, adding to the flickering flames of electricity snapping over her skin.
Her hips rocked. She kept her head in his lap, her back stretched, her breasts thrust into his palms. “I’m never too tired for you to tie me, Sevastyan.”
His heart stuttered. He heard the note of truth leopards couldn’t hide from one another. She had seen the bundle of green rope, silk, a stark contrast to the sisal rope rubbing on her bare pussy. He reached one hand for it, keeping the other on her, rubbing gently, reassuringly, soothing her.
The necklace was a beautiful pattern. He wanted to add a couple of variations to it, but essentially, he would tie it the way it had been done for many years. There was no screwing with perfection. He pulled her hands behind her back and looped her wrists and then wove a quick cuff and open lace glove over them. Pulling her head back farther and down toward her hands, and hands up toward her head, he quickly braided her hair into the rope and the rope and hair into the line with her cuffed hands. Now her head was anchored and she was unable to move it.
He checked her pulse, whispered encouragement and kissed her as he looked down at her body. The light had changed in the room. Evening had shifted the sun so that the ball had dropped from the sky, creating orange-red streaks that were already fading to bluish grays.
Shadows fell across Flambé’s face. Already she looked as if she was slipping into subspace, and he wanted her focused completely on him. He caught the rope and tugged hard, snapping it against her scalp, causing it to sting, bringing her eyes flying open. He waited until she was looking at him and nowhere else. He snaked the green rope around her neck and began to weave it in the intricate pattern that was high up on her neck and made its way down to her breasts until the ropes were draped and pulled over them in loops, covering the mounds and nipples at an angle, two strands at a time. Each weave ran around to the back and was threaded into the bindings of her hands and back up to the necklace ties at her neck.
When Sevastyan was finished, Flambé was kneeling on his rug made of sisal rope, her naked inflamed thighs and clit pressed tight into the knots there. Her hips bucked continually, riding the knots, her body bent almost backwards. At the same time, the necklace around her throat and breasts seemed almost demure in contrast to the sordid display of her open legs.