Christmas Stockings by Roberts Teresa Noelle

Author:Roberts, Teresa Noelle [Roberts, Teresa Noelle]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2015-12-01T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter Four

As he said those weighted words, something in Jen’s brain snapped. Both she and Drake knew a full-time Master-slave relationship wasn’t for them. Her art demanded too much of her time and brain-space, and Drake’s early attempts to apply his rules to her work habits had gone badly.

But they both craved the fantasy: total control on his side, total surrender on hers.

She could easily call him Master now. It would feel honest, because at this moment she felt completely his. But he was just getting started and she intended to enjoy every moment of it. She’d wait until he wrung the word from her on a scream of pleasure.

He grasped a handful of her curls and tilted her head back, kissed her. Bit her lips and sucked her tongue hard, then soothed the flesh he’d just abused. Violence and tenderness in balance.

She swayed on her heels, grateful for the support of Drake’s hard body. She longed to straddle his thigh, rub against him.

As soon as she managed to rub herself against him, though, Drake backed away. “Not yet, love. Not for a long time yet,” he said firmly. “Besides, I don’t want suspicious stains on the tux. So let’s save you from that temptation.”

Drake crouched at her feet. Strong hands wrapped around her ankle, positioning her leg just where he wanted it. Then she felt the rope, a soft caress. The nylon of her stockings didn’t offer much defense and the rope seemed to be a living extension of Drake.

She wanted to watch, to drink in Drake’s intense expression, the care with which he worked. At the same time, she wanted to close her eyes to enjoy the sensations more intensely, to see the associated colors flicker across her eyelids.

In the end she left her eyes open. This was only the beginning—and damn, Drake was worth watching—still half in his formal attire, yet deliciously disheveled, his eyes intent, his hands careful and precise.

A set of quickly made white rope cuffs on each ankle let him fasten her legs to the restraint points hidden in the floor. It was an easy position, but she felt just enough strain on the insides of her thighs to remind her that she was captive. Helpless, or soon to be. At Drake’s mercy, and she hoped he didn’t grant her mercy too soon.

Then the real ropework began.

He created a chest harness of the rich green rope, then bound her hands together behind her back. He lowered the suspension hook from the ceiling then, but all he did was attach a line that ran from the rope corset to the hook, something to support her if she began to sag. The ropes embraced her, held her up. She was bound, her movements restricted, but at the same time, she felt supple, almost liquid.

Free. Bound like this, she felt more free than she had at the party, when she’d been constantly self-aware, thinking. Now all she had to do was obey and enjoy, give and receive pleasure—be.

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