Filed to story: I Slept With My Ex's Father (Olivia & Dylan) Book PDF Free
I attempt to move my wrists, the rope giving me only a couple of inches and then pulling back on me. This is a new feeling, but the lack of control makes me relax even more. Whatever happens now, I don’t have to feel guilty about it. It’s out of my control. And that is so liberating.
I smile. “Green.”
Dylan cups my jaw. Obsidian eyes sparking with fire like a blacksmith’s forge. His thumb drifts back and forth across my skin. We are suspended in time, an animation that feels like it may go on and on forever.
“You look beautiful like this, my pet.” A finger feathers my skin.
My pet. The space between my thighs grows wetter.
“Mine to observe. Mine to control. Mine to devour.”
Oh lord, belonging to Dylan is an aphrodisiac.
My eyes drift and then skitter to the crop.
He looks over his shoulder at the wall and then smiles. “You’re curious…”
I nod.
“Use your words.” He lifts his hand from my jaw.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good girl.” He goes to the wall. “Tell me when.”
Dylan ghosts his hands over the instruments of torturous pleasure. The paddle, the feathered bow, the belt
–
“There.” My entire body jumps as his hand touches the crop like it’s somehow an extension of me.
His fingers trail down the leather. “You like this?”
A knot of pleasure builds in my belly. I nod.
“Words, swan.”
“Yes.”
“You want to feel it.”
“Yes.” The word is a mere breath.
Dylan chuckles. “Well, you’ve been so good, I don’t see why I shouldn’t reward you.”
He unhooks it from the wall, the muscles on his forearm bristling as he works it into his grip. He’s done this before. The movements are innate, choreography built into his muscles.
Circling to the side of the bed, he looks down at me with the intensity of a hawk. “We’ll have to do some preparation, of course.”
I’ve never been one to take it slow in the bedroom. Sex is messy and uncomfortable, and most men don’t know or don’t care enough to do better.
But here? Now? All I want is for Dylan to take his time with me. Have him tease me until I can’t take it anymore.
I want him to break me down and build me back up.
Dylan’s hand touches my thigh, running up my skin until it reaches my underwear.
Wanting no barriers between us, I lift my lower body the best I can, my hands clenching in their restraints.
He slides the tiny piece of fabric off me and then pushes it into his pocket. “For later.”
“You’re dirty.”
Dylan’s eyes narrow.
His hands caress my thighs, first one, then the other.
His hands are mapping my skin, and he is so close and yet so far from where I want his hands.
He just looks at me and massages my thighs for a while, until three sharp slaps hit each thigh in quick succession. All in different spots.
All the air in my body leaves me to be burned by the heat spreading from those scorching hits.
Then he just steps back. He admires my exposed body. His eyes fall to my blushing, gushing center, and he groans like he’s some sort of sculptor who is taking in his finished work.
Suddenly, he engages the crop against my thigh, a tiny whisper of touch.
I gasp. A torturous, pleasurable churning starts in my belly.
“Leather is one of the most luxurious materials.” He moves the crop back and forth against the inside of my thigh. “Expensive leather is soft and supple.”
The crop slides further toward my center, teasing at my lips. I hold my breath.
“Which is why it’s amazing how much power a tiny square of leather has.”
He flicks the leather against my inner thigh. A teensy pinch.
I inhale sharply.
“Did you like that, my swan?”
“Yes.”
He flicks the inside of my other thigh. “Yes, what?”
“Yes, sir.”
Dylan considers. “That will work. For now.”
Gosh, what does he want me to call him?
Dylan stares at me for so long that I wonder if I’ve somehow frozen time. Then he flicks the crop between my thighs with a quick flick of his wrist.
I gasp, pulling my body back with the leverage from my binding. It’s reflexive, my nerves curling tight within me, a subconscious part of my brain saying, “Pain! Retreat!”
However, above all of that is the budding rose between my thighs. It aches for more. The dull pleasure zapped by the slaps, electric shocks of arousal straight to my bloodstream.
Fuck, it’s like a drug.
“You’re dripping…” Dylan licks his lips. “You like it, don’t you?”
Before I can confirm, he thwacks the inside of my thigh again.
I whimper. It burns more. The same spot being abused again and again. Harder and harder. I can’t wait to see the mark it makes.
“You were made to bear my marks. Beautiful. So responsive.”
Dylan slides the crop up between the lips of my pussy, coating it in my juices. He extends it up over my mouth. “Lick.”
I flick my tongue across the leather, getting a taste of my essence mixed with the musky material.
“How does it taste?”
I sigh. “Good.”
Thwack-thwack. The insides of my thighs are vibrating from the snare of pain, tingling up to my center. My hips buck in response.
Dylan’s forehead pinches at the center, his lips part. For a split second, there is a breach in the mask of his domination. It’s clear how badly he wants me. How he wants to taste and feel me. Yet he is still fully clothed.
“I want to see you.”
Something flashes in his eyes, and he resets into his domination. “I’m sure you do.”
My heart thumps in my chest.
“But you don’t always get everything you want, Swan.” Dylan places his finger on my clit as the crop licks my thighs, over and over again.
“I get what I want. And what I want is to watch you come apart.”
My breath quickens, the exquisite mix of pleasure and pain makes it hard to tell which is which. “Oh…”
