Page 8 of Always Alchemy

I raise my eyebrows. Is he serious? ‘Because I can.’

‘That seems fair,’ he murmurs, tugging my head to one side with the hand fisted in my ponytail so he can drop kisses along my jaw. ‘But you go first.’

With Adam’s help,I make quick work of my dress—a fitted, strapless sheath in oyster-coloured satin that hits mid-calf and makes me feel like Lily Collins inEmily in Paris.Omar Vega pushed it on me last week, claiming it was a sample that could use a couple of fabulous outings. It’s gorgeous, and its built-in corsetry negates the need for any underwear except for a tiny cream lace thong.

No bra required (a benefit of small boobs).

My boyfriend’s expression shoots way beyond appraising to plain predatory as he holds my hand so I can step out of it. I’m left in just a pair of strappy platinum Jimmy Choos and my thong—but not for long. He lays the dress over a chair and steps towards me, looming over me as he hooks his thumbs into the sides of my thong and slides it down my legs.

When he stoops, it’s gallant enough to be at odds with the look on his face. And when he’s relieved me of it, he presses a kiss to my navel.

I stare down at him. That upturned face. Those beautiful eyes. They beseech me, and I already know I will give him everything.

I rake my fingernails through the curls at his temples, and he shudders with quiet pleasure, his eyes drifting closed for a moment.

‘Now what are you going to do with me?’ I enquire. That wolfish grin makes a swift reappearance. He gets to his feet, his palms gliding up the sides of my body as he does.

‘I’m going to make sure I get you exactly the way I want you. Get on the bed on your back, sweetheart, and starfish for me.’

I shoot him a saucy smile and do exactly as he asks, lowering myself down on the bed and stretching out, arms and legs spread wide. The room is wonderfully warm, the black satin sheets cool and sensual against my bare skin. I slide the sole of one foot over the luxurious fabric.

Adam casts me a glance that’s equal parts approving and possessive as he strolls over to the low, wide lacquered cabinet that runs along one wall. I take advantage of his back being turned to hoist myself up onto my elbows. Heopens both doors and crouches, rooting inside as metal clangs on metal.

I have my suspicions about what lies ahead for me tonight, aside from the delights of Mr Wright’s twitchy palm, that is, but?—

Yep.

I was correct.

He stands and turns, triumphant, two metal bars of identical—and considerable—length in his hands. They each have what look like a pair of leather cuffs with belt buckles dangling from them.

No cheap, nasty velcro closures for the esteemed patrons of Alchemy, I suppose.

I draw in a shuddery breath, because I don’t need to rummage in the recesses of my lust-addled brain for basic geometry to predict that those bars, or poles, or whatever they are, will force my legs into a seriously wide angle.

‘Arms first,’ my boyfriend says, looking awfully pleased with himself as he puts a knee up on the bed and crouches over me. ‘Let’s make sure you stay out of mischief.’

‘Good idea,’ I tell him.

‘So obliging,’ he murmurs, focusing on the task of wrapping the soft leather cuff around one wrist and securing its buckle.

I decide not to mention that I’m obliging far more readily than I might if I didn’t know that my price for speed would be Adam undressing for me.

Oh, and lots of orgasms, presumably.

Having him restrain my legs is intense. It’s not just the inflexibility of the steel bar I’m now straddling, or the ominous hug of the leather restraints around my ankles. It’s the filthy, filthy thoughts that flit, clear as day, over my filthy,filthy boyfriend’s face as he does it, sneaking long, lascivious looks at the parts of me he’s exposing so uncompromisingly.

‘Show me,’ he orders when he’s done, nodding at my right ankle. I jerk my feet in their restraints, but there’s no give. I’m spreadeagled across the bed, and I may as well be trussed up on one of those St Andrews crosses in The Playroom that make Adam smirk each time he spots them for all the mobility I have.

‘I can’t move,’ I say, the slightest edge of panic audible in my voice.

‘Oh, but you can, little one,’ he says, grabbing the spreader bar in its centre and raising it in a smooth arc until my legs make a perfect ninety degree angle with my body. ‘Bend.’

I bend my knees as he pushes down until I’m doubled up, taut nipples brushing against my thighs. I swear to God, he looks like a kid who just found a PlayStation under the Christmas tree.

‘Entrancing,’ he murmurs. ‘That’s not sore?’

Our eyes meet, and his soften.

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