Julie Kenner - Tame Me

“No,” I whisper. “Don’t stop. Please. Don’t ever stop.”

“You’re staying in the guest suite?”

I nod.

“Go there. Wait for me.”

I do, padding barefoot and naked to the room that is my home whenever I stay in this house. I have never been uncomfortable in this room, but I am now. I don’t know where to sit or what to do. I don’t know how he wants me. I only know that I want to please him because I do not want this to end.

I feel wilder than I have ever felt with any man, and I want to go further with him than I have with any man. That makes me vulnerable, and that’s not something that I’m used to.

With Hunter, though, I like it.

Finally, I lay on the bed. I want him to see how much I need him. How turned on I am. I spread my legs and slide my hand over my sex. Then I close my eyes and imagine it is him.

“Now that is a pretty picture,” he says when he enters the room only minutes later. He is still naked, but now he has a length of cord coiled around his shoulder. In his hand, he holds a single glass of wine.

I try not to look at the cord—try not to think about how he said he would tie me up. Not because it scares me but because it excites me.

He takes a sip, then offers the glass to me. I drink, too, the act of sharing the wine wonderfully intimate.

I draw a breath, and my eyes slide toward the cord. Despite everything I’ve done—and I’ve done a lot—I’ve never actually had a guy tie me down before. Nikki would say it’s because I’m usually the one going after them—getting my kicks and blowing off steam—and that means that I need to be in control. Honestly, she’d probably be right.

With Ryan, though … well, with Ryan, I like the idea of him taking charge. I like it a lot.

I lick my lips, and hope I don’t look too eager. “So,” I say.

His smile is slow and lazy and wonderfully sexy. “So,” he repeats.

“Are you going to tie me to the bed now?”

“Not exactly,” he says with a kind of sensual mischief that creates a tug deep down in my belly. He nods to the bed. “Kneel for me.”

I glance at the rope, then at the bed. Then I do as he asks. “Is this—I mean, are you—”

“Am I into BDSM? Am I a master? Do I want you to be my sub?”

I blink. Well. Now that he put it that way… “Um, yeah. I mean, are you? Do you?”

His smile is a little bit amused, a little bit smug. “I like being in control, kitten. I like giving pleasure, and I like receiving it. I like taking a woman as far as she can go. As far as I’m concerned, anything goes between two consenting adults. I don’t give a fuck about labels. But yes, Jamie, I want to tie you up. I want to see you bound. I want to make you mine. So tell me now—do you want that, too?”

My mouth is dry, but somehow I manage to give the only possible answer. “Yes.”

I think I see the flicker of relief in his eyes, and for some reason that small reaction calms my nerves. He wants me—wants this—as much as I do, and I realize with sudden understanding that whatever I give up is like a reciprocal gift to him.

He steps toward me, the cord in his hands. “Do you know what makes bondage so pleasurable?”

“The submission,” I say, now putting my thoughts into words. “Losing yourself to the will of another. Giving in to his touch completely. Trusting him completely.” I tilt my head to face him more directly. “And for you, it’s knowing that a woman is at your mercy. That you’re responsible for pleasure. For pain. That you can tease her and torment her.” I draw in a shaky breath. “Don’t torment me, Hunter. I want you too badly.”

“And I, you,” he says, then presses his lips to mine and kisses me tenderly.

He moves behind me and binds my ankles together as I kneel, then tells me to twine my hands together behind my back, but also under my rear, so it is almost as if I am sitting on my hands. He binds my wrists, and then uses a length of cord to connect my bound ankles to my bound wrists.

Not that I can see any of that, but I can feel most of what he is doing, and he tells me the rest. What I don’t know is what he has in store for me now that I am trussed up like this. But when he moves back in front of me I tell him what I want. “You,” I say. “I want you in my mouth.”

In this position, I am mostly bent over, and he is kneeling in front of me. He is erect and huge, and I think greedily that I can take all of him. That I need all of him.

“Is that what you want?” he asks. “Why?”

“Maybe I want to take you to the edge,” I say as desire presses down upon me.

“You want me at your mercy?” I can hear the smile in his voice.

“Yes,” I say. “I do.”

“Who am I to argue with a determined woman?”

He is already kneeling in front of me, and now he takes me by the hair. My position is unsteady, but I ease forward, teasing the tip of his cock with my tongue, then growing bolder when he groans, calling my name.

I draw him in, sucking and licking, tasting and teasing, and I know by the way he holds my head, by the way his hips thrust as he fucks my mouth, that this was the right thing. He has taken me to the edge over and over, but now I am taking him.

I suck and tease and use my tongue to play with the tip of him. He thrusts deep, but I’ve never had a problem giving head, and I take him in, all of him, wishing I could use my hands, too. I want to touch him, want to see him. I want to know that I am giving back to him some of the pleasure that he has given me.

And then, with a deep groan and a low cry of, “no, not yet,” he pulls out. I hear his shallow breathing, and when I tilt my head up to see his face, it is passion I see in his eyes.

I lick my lips, savoring the taste of him as he repeats, “Not yet,” more calmly this time. “I’m going to come inside you,” he says, and my body clenches tight with his words. “I’m going to make you explode.” He strokes my hair as he says, “I’m clean, but I’ll wear a condom if you want.”

I shake my head. “No. Please. I want to feel you.”

He smiles in answer before he moves behind me, his hands stroking my rear as he trails kisses down my back. “Put your head down,” he says. “I want to see your ass in the air.”

I comply, and he strokes me, his hands sliding over the globes of my ass. “Do you have toys?” he asks.

“Not a lot,” I say. “Some oil that I bought when we got Nikki her goody bag.”

“Where?”

I point him to the bedside table, and he gets the stuff. The oil is some sort of minty arousal oil, and he strokes it onto my clit, then laughs softly when I first complain that I feel nothing—but then soon buck from the tingly, intense sensations. I’m desperately wet, and with his finger teasing my clit, I’m going a little crazy.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” he says, then thrusts inside me. He’s deep, and I moan in pleasure as he fills me. I rock back, wanting to take more of him, and as I do he pulls me to him, his free hand gripping my waist. Then he slides that hand down, teasing me where our bodies are joined, making his fingers slick before he slides them up to my ass. “I want you here, too,” he says. “Have you ever?”

I shake my head. “Just toys,” I say, as the sensation of the oil on my clit and his hand on my ass drives me very close to the edge. I feel a blush coming on. “I liked it.”

“I’ll remember that,” he says. “Right now—right now I think I’m too far gone. Jesus, Jamie, what you do to me.”

He thrusts again, deeper and faster, even as he teases and torments my clit, the effect of the oil shooting me up into the stratosphere. I hold my breath, willing the climax to wash over me, craving the explosion, desperate for the man to fill me.

And then, with one final thrust, he cries my name and empties himself into me. His hand presses against my clit, and the renewed pressure sends me tumbling over after him, faster and faster until there is nowhere to go, and he topples us both over onto the bed.

I am still bound, a tight ball, and he is curved around me. I am breathing deep, my mind little more than mush and my body like liquid. “Christ, Hunter. You destroyed me.”

“No,” he says. “It’s you who’ve broken me. There’s a fire in you, kitten. And I want to burn with you.”

“Kitten,” I repeat, my voice dreamy. “Why kitten?”

He chuckles. “I think it suits you.” He kisses my shoulder. “You’re soft and warm and definitely playful. But I’ll need to watch the claws.”

I have to bite back a laugh. “Yes,” I say. “You will.”

We lay that way for a moment, then he unties my bindings. I stretch, relishing the motion, as he reaches for the remote on the bedside table and presses the button to close the electronic blinds.

Then he pulls the quilt up over both of us and holds me close.

I spoon against him, his chest warm against my back, and his cock still semi-hard against my rear. He drapes his arm around me and holds me close.

I could get used to this, I think.

Hell, I could get used to him.

Except for the short nap by the pool, I haven’t slept in almost two days and exhaustion presses down on me. I close my eyes, feeling warm and satisfied and sweetly used, and, finally, let sleep sweep me away.

When my eyes flutter open, I do not know how much time has passed. Very little, I think, as we are still in the same position. But the gentle softness that drew me into sleep is gone, replaced by something cold and panicky.

I do not remember my dreams, but I am damn certain that my subconscious has been poking her manicured fingernail hard into my ass.