Page 80 of Hot Girl Summer

With the rise and fall of my chest, Danny’s fingertips follow the curve of my belly around the back of my waist, tracing a line from the bottom of my spine to my nape. Slow, measured kisses follow the shape of my hairline to the back of my ear. He buries his hands in my hair, gripping my scalp and softly dragging his teeth along my lobe. My breath hitches as he gently pulls my head towards him, the stretch a simultaneous mixture of discomfort and relief.

“Does that hurt?”

“No, it feels good. Keep going.”

“You Summer girls are something else,” he breathes, and it instantly gets me wet.

He kisses the tender spot on my shoulder, the warmth from his mouth instantly easing the ache, but the one between my legs remains. “Heat and ice are key principles to healing. So is rest, elevation, movement, and compression.”

“Where are you going with this?”

“I want to try something. It could be dangerous if we’re not careful, so I need you to trust me. It might help, but it might hurt, and I don’t want to hurt you.”

Anything.

“Fuck it, I’m just going to say it, and if I scare you off then I’m sorry, but something tells me you might be as perverted as I am.”

He’s right of course.

He pauses, and within seconds, he’s kneeling in front of me, his golden-green gaze fixated on mine.

“Ever since I saw you picking up that glass on the second day we met, I can’t stop thinking about having you bound, on your knees, and fucking you any way I can.”

The heat between my legs turns into fire, and I’m pretty certain my underwear is soaked through. The power his words have over me is unbelievable. It’s a lot to digest, but all I can think about is giving myself to him in all its entirety. Summer, Sophia, and everything in between.

“Why would that scare me off?”

“Because it’s not conventional.”

“Whatis? Last I checked, kink shaming wasn’t cool.” I pause, looking through my lashes. “I’m in.”

All of me is one hundred percent yours, Danny Pearce.

A slow smile spreads across his face, and he kisses me hard.

“First, we need to see if you can move your arms behind you—to see if there’s any pain there. You’ll never trust me if I cause real damage. Then again...” he pins me with those hazel green eyes and a shit-eating grin. I know exactly what he’s thinking, and I would be completely obliged for him to do his absolute worst to me.

I move my arms slowly behind my back. It aches a little, but it doesn’t hurt.

“Is that okay?” he asks, and I nod. “I’m going to tie you up with a guitar strap, promise you’ll tell me if you’re in pain?”

“I promise.”

He searches my eyes, presumably to make sure I’m being truthful. “I’ll be gentle. Think of this as a trial run. Do you know what a safe word is?” I nod. “Pick one.”

My gaze falls to his hands. “Southpaw,” I smirk, and he treats me to those dimples and a wide, filthy smile.

“Wait there,” he says, after gracing my lips with a quick, hard kiss.

Making his way towards the guitar-lined wall, he removes the strap from a Gibson, then picks out a pair of wireless headphones from a storage hook, and hands them to me.

“Put these on.”

I comply, and he kneels behind me.

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” I say. I’m apprehensive, but excited. And I trust him—that has to count for something.

“Neither have I,” his voice is muffled, but I can still make out his words. “We’ll go slow. Try to focus on the lyrics.”

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