Vintage Volume One by Lisa Suzanne

the counter. I spread my legs as he stepped between them, his tongue still dancing erotically against mine.
    I’d never kissed a man like him before.
    I’d never felt so alive.
    He was kissing me with this intensity, this passion, this force that proved to me that he was feeling the same things I was. His lips battered mine, yet his movements were sensual. He wasn’t gentle, yet there was an obvious tenderness to his actions.
    A fusion of emotions attacked me: desire, excitement, lust, apprehension, joy, fear.
    My hands moved between us, cupping his cock through his jeans in my hands. He was rock hard for me, and I wanted him inside of me, moving in me, pushing me into an orgasm unlike any other I’d felt in my life.
    He growled into me, a feral, sexual, masculine sound that lit my blood on fire. He reached between us and grabbed my hand, halting my progress and pulling away from me.
    The kiss stopped.
    Everything stopped.
    My heart included.
    “What’s wrong?” I murmured.
    His eyes studied my face for a moment. I felt flushed, my lips swollen from his kiss. I saw all sorts of emotions cross through his eyes, none of which I could name in the daze he’d sent me into with that kiss. “Jesus Christ, you’re fucking gorgeous,” he finally said.
    He stepped away from me and walked into my family room, glancing around. I jumped from my perch on the counter, following him.
    I had a sectional couch. I had a nice entertainment set-up that I hardly ever used, preferring silence to the television running constantly in the background. I had a couple of sitting chairs, one of which I tended to fall into after work most nights with a book.
    He froze when he saw his hat sitting on my coffee table.
    “I figured you got rid of that.” His voice had a touch of disbelief to it.
    “How could I get rid of the one thing I have that belongs to you?”
    He muttered something under his breath, but I didn’t quite catch it.
    He reached under his shirt and unbuckled his belt, pulling it off slowly, meticulously.
    “Come here,” he demanded.
    I complied.
    “Hold out your hands.” I did, and he pulled both of my arms, somehow swinging me around so my hands were together behind my back. He wrapped his belt around my wrists tightly, buckling the belt so my hands were bound together behind me.
    “What are you doing?” I asked.
    “Keeping your hands off of me.”
    “Why?”
    “Because I have never been this hard before in my life, and if you fucking touch me, I’m not going to be able to corrupt the shit out of you like I promised.”
    I chuckled. “You could’ve just told me not to touch you.”
    He moved in close to me. “Don’t talk back.” His voice took on a hard edge, and suddenly I was a little more nervous than I’d been a few moments before.
    I didn’t know him. At all. And he was binding my hands behind my back in my own home.
    Danger signaled in my head, but lust was much louder.
    He stalked toward me, and I backed up, stumbling a bit until I felt the couch hit behind my knees. I sat, uncomfortable with my hands behind me, anxious about what was coming next, what he had planned for me.
    Despite the fear stirring in my abdomen, I wanted this. I wanted him. The fear of the unknown only ignited that desire.
    He knelt, nudging his way in between my knees. He shoved my shirt up so that the hem was above my chest. He eyed my breasts covered in a lacy black bra with greed. I wanted to touch him, to pull him into me, to kiss him like he’d kissed me with all of that fire back in the kitchen, but the switch had been flipped.
    He eyed the ink that wrapped from my back around my torso with curiosity. He looked like he wanted to ask a question, like he wanted me to turn around so he could see the rest of it, but he let it go.
    He leaned forward, his lips finding my chest as he placed open-mouthed kisses between my breasts, leaving a white hot trail of fire as the scruff on his chin scratched against my soft skin. He licked