Forever Bound. Elizabeth Coldwell
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Emma,’ he repeated in mock exasperation. ‘Stick your fingers in your mouth and lick them clean for me, one by one.’ She noticed with some alarm that he wasn’t even trying to keep his voice down. It was a good thing no one was within five yards of them, or they would have heard his order, loud and clear.
There was nothing for it. She stuck her index finger in her mouth and licked it, slowly and methodically. She experienced the taste of herself on her tongue, a little salty but not disagreeable. It was the taste of her submission, a taste she fully associated with Connor. No other man had ever made her taste herself. No other man had ever got her to do the things he did.
Without taking her eyes off him, she licked her middle finger, then her ring finger, lingering a little longer over her fingertips. She tried not to think of what the other people in the room might be thinking if they happened to be watching her. She tried to ignore the flood between her legs, as well.
‘Good girl,’ said Connor softly when she had withdrawn the last finger from her mouth. ‘I bet you’re twice as wet now as before you went to the loo, aren’t you?’
You have no idea, she thought. She was so wet that she could feel a steady trickle down her left thigh. If this went on much longer, her wetness would start showing under her skirt. Either that or people would start smelling her arousal from across the room.
‘Do you want me to fuck you?’ Connor whispered. ‘Do you want me to shove my hard cock between your dripping thighs?’
Her heart stopped a moment. With a flash, she realised that this was what he’d intended all along – to fuck her at the parents’, after getting her all worked up without anyone even being aware of it. She also realised she’d never needed to be fucked more badly. She needed his cock, pounding her into submission. She needed it now.
‘Yes, please, Connor,’ she whispered. She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes.
He lifted her chin with a fingertip, forcing her to look up at him. ‘Beg me for it,’ he commanded. ‘Beg me to fuck you, you dirty little slut.’
Her mind went blank. She was reduced to nothing but the throb between her legs, an ache that urgently needed a release.
‘Please fuck me,’ she whispered. ‘Please give me your cock, Connor. I need it.’
He grinned. ‘Go upstairs, to your old room. Bend over your desk and lift your skirt. Part your legs. Wait for me.’
She did as he told her. As she climbed the stairs, the rope between her legs dug into her cunt, making her clit pulse like a sore tooth. It was an uncomfortable feeling, but she’d never been randier in her life.
Her childhood room hadn’t changed much since the last time she’d seen it. The only difference she noticed at first glance was a pair of suitcases in the corner next to her bed and the stacks of books her parents had placed on her desk. They seemed to have decided to turn her room into a storage space for things that didn’t fit elsewhere in the house.
She placed half of the books on the floor beside the desk, and pushed the others to the side. Then she bent over the desk, wincing as the rope grew even tauter between her thighs. There’d be some abrasions there the next day, she suspected. Her nipples, too, began to throb even more furiously, as they always did when she bent forwards while clamped. No doubt that was part of the reason why Connor liked having her bend over for him. Knowing him, he’d probably yank the chain between her nipples while fucking her, making her whole body explode with pain and desire.
Propped up on her left elbow, she extended her right arm behind her to lift her skirt and pull it over her back. Then she waited, clenching her thighs rhythmically to hold on to the immense throb inside her.
Connor kept her waiting for a long time. Throughout the wait she wondered if he’d been drawn into a conversation by one of her relatives or if he was just testing her patience. She was painfully aware that he was very much the kind of sadist who’d keep her waiting just because he could.
When she eventually heard footsteps ascending the stairs, she had an irrational fear that it would be her mother, or the nieces who had tried to ambush her earlier. What would they say if they found her like this, greeting them with the sight of her sopping, rope-bisected pussy? She couldn’t begin to imagine the embarrassment, the mortification. No doubt her mother would press her to seek a divorce from Connor at once.
Thankfully, the footsteps turned out to belong to Connor. He whistled softly as he entered the room, then closed the door behind him.
‘Wow, look at you, Emma. What a gorgeous sight.’
She knew what would happen next. He’d position himself behind her and make endless comments on her appearance, her wetness, her shame. He’d prod her and inspect her, taking his time to do so, while she was burning up, waiting for him finally to give her what she so desperately needed. That was their ritual. The prospect of it frustrated her, but she couldn’t deny it turned her on beyond reason.
True to form, Connor slid his fingers along the rope that was splitting her pussy, inspecting the results of his elegant torture device. ‘Fuck, you’re wet. You can’t wait to have my cock in there, can you, dirty girl?’ He softly pulled on the rope, making it dig into her flesh even deeper. ‘The rope is soaked. I’ll have to wash it tonight. I may have to punish you for that, Em.’
So unfair. And yet such an utterly delectable prospect.
‘Or alternatively, I may make you wash the rope yourself, to give you a proper appreciation for how insanely wet you get when I tie you up. Would you like that, kitten?’
She couldn’t restrain herself any more. ‘Please, Connor …’
‘Please what, kitten? “Please let me wash the rope I’ve soiled with my filthy pussy juice”?’ His hand glided upwards, to her bottom, away from the spot where she wanted it to be.
‘You know what I mean,’ she muttered, a little exasperated. She’d had enough of the foreplay and the shaming. She needed him to fuck and finger her senseless.
‘I have no idea. You’ll have to be much more explicit, kitten.’ He patted her backside as if it was a small child in need of some encouragement.
She nearly groaned in frustration. ‘Please fuck me, Connor,’ she begged. ‘Please fuck me into oblivion.’
He chuckled. ‘That desperate, eh? All right, you filthy hussy. I’ll give you what you want. But first we’ll get rid of these nasty clamps, shall we?’
He pulled down her skirt, and his hands crept under her sweater, hot and searching. With a dexterity born of experience, they loosened the clamps before taking them off altogether. The pressure on her nipples disappeared, but as the blood flowed back into them they tingled with lingering sensation, a throb that was even more painful than when the clamps had been on. She squirmed against the table, shocked by the pain, but also by how much her body seemed to crave it.
She was still squirming when Connor pulled down her sweater and lifted her skirt over her back again. The next moment she heard the sounds she’d been waiting for. His belt being undone. His jeans and underwear being pulled down in one swift movement. He put a hand on her hip, then hooked a finger of his other hand under the taut crotch rope and pulled it aside, exposing her slick entrance. She felt the rope dig into the tender skin where her groin met her thigh, but ignored the sensation. The rope was not what mattered now. Her newly exposed entrance was.
He didn’t even bother to open her up with his fingers. He just put his cockhead against her opening and pushed it in. She was so wet that he nearly slid out before he was properly inserted, but a second hard thrust solved the problem. No sooner was he inside her than she forgot all about the abrasive rope and the dull ache in her nipples. All that mattered was the cock that was claiming her, giving her what she needed.
He drove into her aggressively, his hands gripping her hips tightly. His hard loins whacked against her buttocks, making an obscene sound that she was sure could be heard outside the room. If anyone were to come upstairs