Page 53 of Rest In Pink
“Did you drill those holes?” I asked.
“I did.”
“Show me,” I said, and he pulled me behind that glass block wall where nothing had changed.
Except for the holes.
* * *
I kicked off my shoes and took off my dress and handed it to him, and he said, “Nice underwear,” which it was, very open black lace that Anemone had chosen so it probably cost the earth, and then I crawled up the bed to look at the bookcase while he stripped. I wanted to make sure he’d done his part.
He had. He’d drilled holes in his handmade white bookcase. Greater lust hath no man.
I rolled over and started taking off my stockings, the red bows looking jaunty as hell against his white comforter.
“No,” he said as he stripped. “Leave the stockings.”
“You got what you wanted down by the river. Tonight is mine.” I took the stocking off. “I’ll leave them on another night. If they survive tonight.”
He raised his eyebrows at that, but crawled up naked beside me while I took off the other stocking.
“On your back,” I said, and he slid down beneath me.
I straddled him and wrapped the top of one of the stockings around his wrist and tied it so the bow was on top of his hand—he looked very festive—and then threaded the toe of the stocking through one of the holes he’d drilled and tied that, too.
“Uh,” he said, sounding not sure, which was ridiculous. If I get tied up, he gets tied up.
When his other hand was tied, I surveyed my work.
Vince has a good body. He’s not an insane body builder, but he does a lot of physical stuff and he has weights on his back deck, and he was just born with good bones, so the overall package is lean and strong and makes me weak in the knees. Being tied up just upped the ante. I began to see why he’d fantasized in the Ranger school rope corral.
“You have a plan here?” he said.
“No, I thought I’d just look at you for a couple of hours,” I said, and kissed him.
Great mouth. Well, great everything.
I started licking my way down to the good stuff—that’s wrong, everything on Vince is good stuff— and he said what he always said when I started down: “You don’t have to.”
I straightened to look at him. “You want to know the truth? The guy I was with in high school used to insist and then never reciprocated, so I didn’t like it then. And I never did it much with other guys, I didn’t know them. But you? I know you. I love the sounds you make, I love the way you move under my tongue, I love the way you feel in my mouth, I love y—” I stopped in time. “You have a great dick. It’s long and thick and smooth and I love licking it and sucking on it. I want to do this to you. You make me want to do this, just you, nobody else. Do not ever tell me again that I don’t have to. I have to. I’m dying to. Now shut up and let me work.”
His eyes had started to glaze over about halfway through that speech, so when I licked up the length of him, he just sighed and shut up.
I really did like the feel of him in my mouth, smooth and hot and familiar, I loved the way he moved in my mouth, sometimes little thrusts and sometimes twitches and none of it anything he could help doing, I loved how helpless he was right now and how happy, and how in control I was right now and how happy, and I worked faster at the thought of him, owning him, he was mine, and he was talking now, mostly x-rated gibberish which I also loved, my hand working his shaft because I am not adept enough to deep throat and he never complained and then—
“Liz,” he said and I didn’t stop, and he came in my mouth, me pulling back just enough that it didn’t trigger my gag reflex which is not a turn-on, and then I gave him a final lick and crawled back up beside him.
“Lug nuts,” he said finally, looking tired but intent.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “I don’t recognize that word.”
I took off my bra. It was very little lace and all of it see-through but it wasn’t naked, so it had to go.
“Lug. Nuts,”he said, tugging on the stockings.
I shook my head. “Nope. I have no memory of that as a safe word.”
I shoved off my underpants. Bikinis. So little lace, such a big impact when removed.