Sin. Sharon Page

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СКАЧАТЬ the touch of a velvet rope or silver shackles to her skin.

      A deeper excitement set her heart pounding. A troubled man enjoying kinkier pleasures was more apt to spill his secrets.

      Why had he not yet touched her?

      She lifted her hips and wriggled her bare arse to tempt him. Now she was truly aroused.

      “Bind me,” Lydia whispered in a throaty, alluring voice.

      A pressure, a roughness touched her calves. Finally. But this was not the softness of velvet or silk.

      Startled, she lifted, shoved a pillow aside, as something rasped across her ankles. She twisted to watch Rodesson wrap a length of rope around her ankles. He had brought rope!

      “I prefer velvet,” she protested. The rough fibers scratched. And would leave angry red burns.

      “Silence, captive.” The rope wound tighter, cutting into her skin. She could not escape these bonds. Her ankles were well and truly trussed and she found the sensation exciting.

      Perhaps she’d betrayed her apprehension, her shock at the way she was growing delightfully wet, for he gave her a gruff laugh and then bent to kiss her bare arse. No, not a kiss. He bit her cheek! Gently, but really.

      “Mind. I don’t wish permanent disfigurement.”

      He laughed, paying her no heed, and bestowed love nips all over her buttocks. Which, despite her protests, left her soaked and throbbing. The rasp of his jaw along her curves made her yearn for a deep and thrilling penetration in her derriere and she lifted her bottom up to him, hoping he took the hint.

      But no, the man instead resumed his work of tying her up. He labored with the knot at her feet for so long she was moaning in exasperation.

      “Shackle my wrists! Please, oh yes, please, my master.”

      Lydia fell back to the bed, burying her face into the softness of her mattress. She heard the clatter as he lifted them from the table and let out a happy whimper. They were locked, but the gold key was in the lock, ready for him to open it.

      She waited and waited, squirming against her sheets.

      “Damnation.”

      Bother, had he lost the key? Her heart thudded for long moments, her frustration grew. What was he doing? Apprehension grew beneath her irritation. She arched up again to see what he was doing.

      He knelt at the foot of her bed, his handsome features distorted in a grimace.

      Wincing, Rodesson dropped the shackles to the bed and massaged his hands. “Bloody rheumy hands.” He appeared to be in genuine pain. With her ankles bound, she rolled up onto one hip, watching him try to work his hands, to flex out the stiffness.

      But his gaze met hers and a look passed through his eyes that intrigued. He ceased his manipulations of his fingers. Instead he picked up a second length of rope. “Back on your belly, minx.”

      Truly excited now, she lay down again. Her famously large breasts squashed against the mattress. He slid the rope under her legs, and circled it around her thighs.

      “Your hands must pain you greatly when you paint.” Lydia kept a tone of sympathy and sensuality.

      His answer was a curt yes.

      He did not wish to speak of this. Was it due to shame? Or something more?

      He began to knot the rope that bound her thighs together, struggling, and she could barely breathe with excitement. Her honey flowed like a river between her thighs, her heart pounding, her throat tight. She would never wish to be truly captured, bound, raped. God in heaven, she knew what it was to have a man force himself on her. She had spent a lifetime ensuring she would never have to endure that again, yet by some perversity of her nature, she enjoyed—no, needed—to have Rodesson make her his prisoner.

      He lifted the jeweled cuffs. With muttered oaths, he struggled to control the key. She couldn’t see how he could hold a brush with such ruined hands. How it must hurt him to paint. How that gave her a sense of smug satisfaction. He had just produced a beautiful volume and every moment of his work must have been excruciating agony.

      Lydia turned to watch him once more.

      “Ah lass, it’s no use.” His broad shoulders drooped. So did his cock.

      “Give them to me.”

      He looked ashamed.

      “It is exciting to do this,” she prompted. “To shackle myself because you wish it. I know I dare not disobey…”

      He handed them over but his shaft did not swell or straighten. She must work harder to assuage his ego.

      He followed her gaze. “No need to worry about that, lass. That still works. It’s the hands that don’t. Can’t even bloody well paint—”

      Can’t paint? Had that one volume been his last? Did that mean she had no need to destroy him? She unlocked one cuff and clasped it around her wrist. Lined with velvet it was comfortable—she might enjoy the game, but she didn’t truly like discomfort.

      “Lydia, love—”

      She gazed up, looking as innocent as she could while locking the second cuff in place. The gold chain between them allowed her movement but she entwined it around her wrists to give the illusion she was completely trapped.

      “Lydia, you can’t let anyone know I can’t paint.”

      A secret. How delicious. How useful.

      “You are my master and I will obey.”

      “I am serious, gel. I can’t have it known that I can no longer…perform in that arena.”

      She smiled, the submissive once again controlling the man who wished to play dominant. “Now, my master, do you wish to fuck me?”

      “I do indeed.” His eyes narrowed and he licked at his lips. “My houri.”

      His hands did not trouble him as he lifted her hips up into the air, presenting her derriere and her quim like a heated mare. She no longer knew where she wished him to penetrate. The blunt head of his cock slid from her puckered anus to her bubbling quim and back, soaking her along the way. Her heart thundered as she waited for him to choose, to push inside. Something large pressed against the entrance of her bottom and she lifted toward it, relaxing. She felt herself open to receive…one of her own gew-gaws, a wand of ivory carved like an enormous phallus. His ministrations were gentle and slow, coaxing her to spread for her gigantic toy. Within a few strokes, he had it halfway inside.

      “God yes,” he groaned, “Take it deep, my beauty.”

      Lydia moaned in answer. “Push it to the hilt, my master.”

      Realistic ballocks had been carved as part of the phallus and these pressed into her parted cheeks. Goodness, it meant she was completely filled, the entire length within her. Rodesson held it in place with one hand and she felt him part her nether lips. Her moisture released in a flood, drawing a hungry groan from her lover.

      His СКАЧАТЬ