Captured by Time by Carolyn Faulkner, Alta Hensley

revealing, "unless I intend to watch."
    She could feel her full body blush at his statement. "But," she breathed, barely able to recognize the deep throatiness of her own voice.
    He boldly draped himself atop her, his hips and legs replacing the arm that had held her legs apart, his very broadness forcing them much further open as she tried to accommodate him, adoring the feeling of vulnerability that was inherent in this position. And then he moved down, dragging himself over her slowly, until his head was where his hips had been, using his splayed arms to hold open legs that would have otherwise closed around him as he let his mouth settle onto her clit.
    * * * * *
    His boldness was rewarded by a short, sharp scream he hadn't expected, and renewed efforts to escape. In his most stern tone, he commanded, "Cimmy, I want you to lie back and relax. Put your hands above your head, and leave them there until I tell you that you may put them down again—and stop trying to wiggle away from me. Do I need to spank you again?"
    He could feel how she contracted involuntarily at his use of the word 'spank'. He didn't think she even knew she'd done it, but it was a very interesting tidbit about her that he intended to remember. As if that evidence wasn't enough to tell him that, although she protested just as vehemently as he'd expected while he was punishing her, she had, nonetheless, thoroughly enjoyed it at the same time; when he moved a hand to join his lips at her nether parts, one finger delving very gently into her quim, it rained moisture down onto him.
    The deep, tips of her toes groan she gifted him with as he did that, nearly had him unmanning himself right then and there. It was a close thing; he'd never really been quite that out of control of himself, even as a young man. But that was what she did to him, and he craved more of that kind of a challenge to his control of himself—and her.
     
     
     
     

Chapter Nine
     
    Cimmy had never realized how hard it was to simply obey someone, especially when one was conflicted about whether or not obedience was a good idea. Even though she didn't want to be restrained, and she'd never thought of being bound as an advantage or a kindness, she recognized with a start that it would have been so much easier for her to obey him if he had tied her hands so that she couldn't bring them down, even if she wanted to.
    As it was, they began to creep further and further downwards, to where she knew he didn't want them, bending at the elbows to try to be as unobtrusive as possible, but they were lowering almost of their own accord. She wasn't even sure what she was going to do with them when they reached him—he was much too big for her to move or do much to him, especially from this terribly vulnerable position.
    And Jude was thoroughly engaged in his task, having exposed that blossoming little clit of hers, holding her lips apart with one hand while the other searched for and found her opening. He bathed the tip and more of it in her freely flowing libation, then very, very gently, began to press his index finger inside her.
    * * * * *
    He was aware, however, on the fringes of his consciousness, that she was disobeying him. That her arms were slowly, stealthily moving closer and closer to him, so that soon she would be able to reach out and touch him. But for the moment, because he simply couldn't resist the impulse, he settled his mouth over her and pushed that thick, stiff digit further inside, demanding a response from her and getting a groan that sounded as if she was being torn apart but was thoroughly enjoying every second of it.
    She didn't seem to be experiencing any pain from the presence of his finger within her, so as he kept a wary eye on where her arms and hands were, since they weren't where they were supposed to be, he began to use it to fuck her, not so gently, listening carefully for any signs of distress, but there were none. Quite the opposite, in fact.
    And he didn't