Bound by Lust by Shanna Germain Page A

half-closed, your hips restless against the bed. I ran my nails experimentally along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, hard enough to mark without breaking skin. Your sharp intake of breath was followed by a moan, a tensing of muscle beneath skin. I marked your other thigh with similar lines, watched as you tried to strain closer to my touch. I circled the base of your cock with one hand, cupping your sac gently with the other. I stroked you like that, teasing you, until I could feel drops of moisture beading at the tip of your cock and a sheen of perspiration covered your chest.
    I tightened my grip on your cock then, squeezing your shaft while I twisted your balls, pulling them down so that a hoarse cry was torn from your lips. Your body arched off the mattress, all of your muscles corded tightly, your head tipped back, eyes shut against the pain. But even so, even then, your cock never flagged, seemed instead to grow harder in my hand.
    This was what I loved. Watching how beautifully you suffered. For me. We had barely delved beneath the surface, you and I, and yet I knew already that your capacity for suffering was great; greater even, than you knew. I wanted to hurt you in ways that I knew would bring you to a point you didn’t think you could tolerate, and then to hurt you enough to push you blindingly, brilliantly beyond. I wanted to take you into a space of pure sensation, and when it was over, I wanted to hold you on the other side, kiss your forehead, and whisper that everything would be alright.

    But we weren’t there yet, and I didn’t know if we’d ever get there. All I knew with certainty at that moment was that I wanted you more than I’d wanted anything in a very long time. And so I removed my clothes and lay on the bed beside you, bracing my weight on my elbow and sliding my thigh over yours. My breasts pressed against your chest and harness, my sex pressed against your hip, I kissed you; pinched and teased the rock hard pebbles that were your nipples; ground my arousal into your skin.
    â€œI want you inside me, Joshua,” I whispered against your lips.
    â€œYes Ma’am, yes please.” You shivered beneath me.
    I retrieved a foil packet from the bedside table, tore it open with teeth and one hand. I stroked your erection, then rolled on the tight sheath, and then straddled your hips, letting the head of your cock tease my opening without quite pressing inside.
    â€œPlease…,” you said, and I lowered myself onto you, taking you slowly, deeply inside.
    I took hold of your harness, gripping the rope tightly where it came together in a V just above the knot in the center of your sternum, using it to brace myself as I rode you, clenching my muscles around you, milking your cock, slowly, then with greater urgency until we were both falling over the edge and I collapsed against your chest.
    When I’d recovered, I’d unfastened your wrists and ankles, and we’d lain together until the room was dark, your head resting against my heart.
    â€œThank you Ma’am.…”
    â€œJuliet,” I said. “For now, just call me Juliet.”
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    Five: Split the lines, drawing each beneath an arm and around to the front of the body. Bring the rope underneath the first knot and in between the two lines, pulling it through and cinching
snug, but not tight, then back underneath, the lines just pulled through, locking the harness in place and holding the tension.
    Another weekend to finish the upstairs hallway, and then you were on to the main floor: living room, kitchen, dining room, and powder room. A month of weekends remained until you’d be finished. Until our arrangement would end. That’s what I’d told myself; what I told you.
    You’d whispered to me in the dark, when our hearts had slowed and the air had cooled our heated skin, whispered that you could be my boy, that you could stay with me. Hadn’t I wanted to finish my