31 Flavors of Kink (9 page)

“What are you doing?” I gasp out. I’m being squashed down into the bedding.

“
Shh!
” He swats my ass, and it silences me. Then he gathers my wrists at the small of my back.

Even if a dollop of fear accompanies being tied up, I love the control I have handed him. His cock is there, pressing along my spine. What’s taking him so long?

“Get on with it,” I snap.

I’m imagining the slide up inside when he shifts position and bites my neck.

“Ow,” I squeak and try wiggling to dislodge him. Biting is so not fair. He shoves his hand into my hair as he nibbles deeper, moving along the muscles of my neck, then onto my back. Each sharp mark of his teeth zings into my flesh, shooting like heated sparks to my nipples and my groin. My squeaking gets more frantic. I love it and hate it all at once.

Every so often he interrupts the bites with a smack on my ass until, panting and squealing and giggling, I’m not sure where to go. Wanting and not wanting—the confusion tangles me inside and roars high into a pulsing bonfire of lust.

“Stop! Stop!” The bedding and my uncontrollable giggles muffle my words.

He chuckles and lifts up on his forearms.

This time I feel the head of his cock at my entrance, poking blindly. He misses the right spot. The temptation is there to stay still and make him do all the work, but I can’t. I need him there. Instinct makes me bow my ass up and show the way. His cock cruises inside, parting me, a slow, inexorable invasion. I stop breathing and groan.

“That’s not all the way in.” I wriggle some more, encouraging him.

“I know.” Amusement leaks from his words. “Say please.”

“What? You can’t—”

He’s not budging and withdraws until his cock sits barely within the lips of my entrance. I can’t stand it.

“Please!”

There’s a click, and the vibrator comes on. A second later he pushes it between the bed and my clit and holds it there.

A taste of ecstasy arrives and rises as my clit expands into a tiny ball. The device pours its vibrations into me, fills up my clit even more, and builds a pulsating pressure in my groin. My breathing stops, then goes erratic. I moan hard into the pillow as he starts to thrust again. Shallow, fast, his rock-hard erection teases me as much as the vibrator. I tense and arch more, straining toward that incredible high and release. He grips the back of my neck, holding me. Yes. Almost there.

I pull against the arm restraints. The vibrator, the burn of his bites, the spanking… Bliss hits me, flaring into a white explosion that pummels my body and does not let me go for five, six, seven heartbeats, until at last my body relaxes and settles down into the bed, muscle by muscle. My heart knocks madly at my chest.

Nick pulls away the vibrator and slips out of me, then flips me over. Foggy-eyed, I gaze blankly up at him.

He’s grinning again, the bastard.

“Not finished yet,” he murmurs.

My body weight is pushing on my arms. “My shoulders are hurting.”

Expecting that to put an end to our night’s playtime, I turn on my side to let him undo the last ropes. But he undoes them, clips the handcuffs on me and hauls my hands above my head, then ties me to the headboard.

One orgasm is enough to last me a long while, but I’m happy to see where this is going.

Eyes narrowed, he checks the ties, then slides me down the bed, stretching me out. I give him a contented smile. Until he sits on my thighs, turns on the vibrator, and parks the tip on my clit again.

My eyes pop open. “I’m not sure I can—”

“Try.” One corner of his mouth curves up. He clicks the vibrator up to the next speed, clamps my legs between his firmly, and waits as if he has all the time in the world. Am I some sort of experiment? I know some women have multiple orgasms but…

The vibrator does everything on top of my clit except handstands. I feel it slide along to the right, wobble humming over the top, then onto the left, and round and round…and round. Oh fuck and
hell
. I run out of curses. My head flops back, and I draw in a long, ragged breath. With my legs wedged under his, I can move even less than before. Soon I’m trembling and rhythmically pushing up and up onto the vibrator.

“See.” Nick reaches down to tweak my nipple.

Where once I would have hated that, now…now it adds to the sensations in an amazing way. Another tweak and my clit turns into a little mountain between my thighs. I know it can’t be bigger than a fingertip, but my senses scream Mount Everest. Every nerve centers
there
.

My whole body strains and quivers to get nearer to that frantic buzzing device. I see white behind my eyelids and hear a distant little scream from someone who must be me, and I reach that exquisite place. As I crest into orgasm, the undulations of my torso push me up against Nick and the vibrator.

When my shuddering finally slows, I feel the vibrator leave me but simply cannot find the strength to open my eyes.

That’s it. I am an overcooked strand of spaghetti left out in the sun, then run over way too many times.

To top it off, while I’m recovering, Nick thrusts into me, all the way.

I groan and yank on the handcuffs above my head.

“My turn,” he says, and I open my eyes to gaze at his determined expression.

Nothing, I decide, can compare to being entered when an orgasm still rules your world. I smile and enjoy the sensation. He pulls my legs up so they head straight for the ceiling, then starts to move inside me.

Then his cock hits something that zings through my body like a bolt of lightning. Instinctively I arch my butt off the bed in an attempt to dislodge him. It’s too intense.
Way
too intense. Like I’m gonna pee…or explode…or die.

He looks down at me and pulls out. “What?” he asks. I guess my face gave it away. “You look like you swallowed a bug.”

“I think that’s my G-spot.” I’ve heard of it in stories, even talked about it online.

“Where you get amazing orgasms?”

“Yes.” I wiggle to get him away from it, but again he slides back in and pokes into somewhere that makes me feel worse than when a fingernail screeches on a blackboard. “Aah!”

He smirks and wraps his arms around my legs, then proceeds to drive into that spot over and over.

I’m dragging in air through my teeth. My face is scrunched with tension. This is it. I’m going to die. Death by G-spot orgasm. If it doesn’t kill me, it’s at least going to split me apart.

I squirm and kick and try to get away. It’s too much. I can’t take it. “No! No! Stop, stop, stop!”

But he doesn’t. His penis keeps pressing on it, over and over, sending my head spinning and my body soaring. It feels like I’m about to go over a cliff, but I have no idea what will happen when I land. I’m afraid and fascinated and thrilled, but mostly afraid. Nick holds me down, and finally I break apart. I scream, literally, until my throat aches, as ecstasy turns my world upside down in a thrill ride that seems to go on forever, then obliterate me.

I’m not sure what happens after that. When I’m aware of myself again, Nick is cleaning himself up, and I’m lying lifeless, sprawled across the bed. My mind is blank. My body feels like Jell-O. I have no thoughts past the orgasm. There’s no future, no past. Only here and now. I can’t move. I can’t speak. Nick pulls on boxer shorts, then turns to look at me.

My chest aches—I love him so much. I would answer his smile with my own if I had any control over my muscles.

He walks back to the bed and throws a blanket over my body. Then he slides into the bed beside me.

“That was incredible,” he whispers.

I want to tell him I had the Big O. I want to thank him and describe the wonderful feeling in which I’m lost, but I sink into a peaceful sleep before any words leave my mouth.

Chapter Nine

I am obsessed with the Big O. I must do it again. Next time I won’t fear it. I won’t fight it. I’ll give myself over to the sensation and allow it to take me to new heights. I’ve never experienced anything like it. All my life I’ve had an abundance of nervous energy. The only thing to truly wear me out is a long, arduous hike—not exactly easy to do on a daily basis. Relaxation is next to impossible for me. Massages work for most people, but I still tense at a stranger’s touch. But last night… Last night was something altogether different. To be utterly mindless—no stress, no anxiety…no nervous energy to expel through my fingernail habit or squirrelly leg syndrome. Now I see how sex can become an addiction.

I can’t wait to do it again, though I need at least two days’ recovery time. I wince as I stoop to pick up a book left on the floor of the bookstore.

At work I smile at every customer. I feel like I’m glowing like a pregnant lady. Marco shakes his head, puzzled at my overfriendliness. Jessie talks my ear off, and I actually listen and respond.

I am blissfully sore, even more than last time when I was tied to the post. Every move reminds me of the night before. The Big O. I still can’t believe I did it. I was beginning to think I didn’t have a G-spot. My Christmas present came early this year.

During my lunch break, I text Nick. We didn’t get the chance to talk that morning, as I had the early shift and I didn’t want to wake him. A grin plastered on my face, I discreetly type,
You should be very proud of yourself.

Did you have the Big O?
He texts back.

Yes. It was amazing. You were amazing.

His next text is an emoticon of a smiley face with a big toothy grin. I laugh and put the phone away.

In two days it will be Saturday. I mentally prepare to get my Big O fix then. I may actually become a nymphomaniac. No striptease this time. I have to think of something else to get Nick’s attention. I remember him saying a while back that he thinks it’s hot when women wear dramatic makeup. I hate makeup. It makes my eyelids feel heavy, and I rarely wear it. When I do, I only last a couple hours before my eyes start tearing up and I’m forced to wipe it off. But after last night, I’ll smother my face like Lady Marmalade if that’s what it takes to please him. I’ve always thought Nick was incredible, but now I think I’m getting addicted to him.

On the way home from work, I stop at the drugstore and pick out the most sparkly eye shadow they sell. Then I grab a bright red lipstick and rouge for my cheeks. I smile when I think of his expression when he sees my dramatic new look.

I’m a ball of excited energy when Saturday night rolls along. I try not to be too pushy when I ask Nick, for the millionth time, when he’s going to bed. He must know something’s up, but I don’t want to give away my surprise. After what feels like forever, he settles into bed with a gaming magazine. I run into the bathroom and apply my new makeup. The eye shadow is a glittery gold. I cover my cheeks with blush, though I probably don’t need it. Anticipation has me flushed from head to toe. I throw on my one thong—pink satin—a friend made me buy for the bridesmaid dress I was forced to wear at her wedding, and a peach ruffled tank top that accents the gold eye shadow.

I look myself over in the mirror and grimace. I look like a hooker. But this is what Nick wants. If he can tie me up, I can look like a streetwalker. I straighten my shoulders and enter the bedroom.

Nick stares down at his gaming magazine. If I have to compete with a bunch of video game codes for attention and lose, I’m going to hang myself with my thong.

I clear my throat to catch his attention. He looks up at me and blanches. I crawl seductively across the bed, a sly smile on my bright-red lips. His brows descend, and it throws me off my game. I sink back onto my heels. His lips purse and his eyes brighten, like he’s holding back laughter.

“What?” I ask, feeling the urge to cover myself.

“Come here,” he says, a hint of pity in his voice.

I crawl closer, then sit up on my knees. He adjusts so he’s eye level and studies my face. Do I have a booger? Something in my teeth?

“What is it?” I ask, scooting back under his scrutinizing glare.

He grasps my chin between his fingers. “You look like a Christmas ornament.” The laughter in his voice is insulting.

I scowl at him. “You told me you like dramatic makeup.”

He grabs a tissue and begins wiping it off. “On other people. You have a pretty face without it.”

A pretty face. I’ve been told that my whole life. Never beautiful. Never sexy or hot. Just a pretty face. I suppose I should be grateful. It’s better than “a good personality,” which is another way of saying you’re ugly.

“I only put it on because I thought you liked it,” I tell him when he finishes.

He chuckles and sits back against the bed. “A little less sparkle next time. You’re not Ke$ha.”

Now I feel stupid. I try to be sexy, and a guy has to tell me I did it wrong? Maybe I’m missing some kind of feminine-instinct gene from my DNA.

With a deep sigh, I change tactics. Still on my knees, I turn around to show off my generous ass. “How do you like my thong?”

I look over my shoulder, proud to see his grin and gleaming eyes. “Now that ass you can’t screw up.” He gives it a little slap, and the sting of it shoots straight to my core.

“What are you going to do to me?” I say in my best naughty-schoolgirl voice.

He shifts on the bed and runs his hand up my side. His voice is breathy when he answers, “I’m gonna peel this thong off your sweet body and pound into you.”

His hand abruptly grabs my mound, and I flinch away. “Okay. But what about the other stuff?” My gaze lands on the basket of toys we’ve been keeping beside the bed. I make a mental note to move it in case we ever get unexpected guests.

His long-drawn-out sigh has me worried. He plops back down against the headboard. “Can we skip that for once? I’m tired, and I just want to do you.”

What? No. Panic tightens in my chest. “But…I thought you liked it.”

“I do. And it’s fun, but…it’s just so much work.” The hand stroking my thigh does nothing for me.

I back away from his reach. “But you said…” Tears well in my eyes. “I thought you understood…”
…that I need this.
I choke on a sob.

“I’m
trying
to understand, honey. And I get that you like it…”