Page 43 of Bound By Her

He moved quicker than before, but his gaze was sluggish. His eyes following her hem as she hiked up her skirt. Adria left it barely covering as she climbed on top of him.

“Hands above your head.”

He moved them. Maybe their submission would be easier than she thought. Leaning over him, breasts in his face, she secured each wrist with padded restraints. Every room in the house contained implements and the means to secure a submissive.

Adria found it was important to always be prepared.Running her finger along the insides of the cuffs, she checked for circulation.

When she was satisfied with his physical safety, she rocked back, her pelvis grinding along the length of him, leaving her wetness behind. He sucked in air and, eyes closed, let out a breathy, “Fuck that’s hot.”

Adria tried her best to ignore how his voice rumbled in her chest.

His eyes flashed open as her body moved off of him, fixing her skirt.

“One rule I forgot to mention, no masturbation or release without my permission.”

His eyebrows pinched together as confusion crossed his face.

“I wasn’t sure if you could follow that one or not, so I helped you out,” she said, pointing to the restraints.

The confusion flashed away, and his golden eyes narrowed, his gaze holding pure fire.

“I believe this is when you thank me for my generosity,” she said, with her sickly sweet voice.

A slew of obscenities flew from his mouth as he tested the restraints.

“My, well, I think someone needs a time out.”

And with that, she turned out the lights and left the room.

CHAPTER 12

CHICAGO

Jonathan paced inside Callen’s study. Heavy velvet curtains were drawn shut, dimming the room to a soft glow. The ambient lighting created long, dancing shadows on the cool, polished marble floor. Despite his best efforts to ignore it, Jonathan’s gaze kept returning to the hideous Chesterfield sofa upholstered in a garish crimson-red velvet. People who came from money always felt like they could improve an already good thing.

He attempted to mitigate his annoyance by pouring himself a drink.

Just a little while longer.

It was a sentiment he repeated regularly.

“Jonathan,” Callen said as he entered the room. “Apologies. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long.”

Jonathan downed the scotch in one gulp, pouring himself another.

“Tardy and incompetent, an excellent combination,” Jonathan said.

“Watch your tone,” Callen said, moving into the room.

Jonathan, dropping all semblance of decorum, threwhis glass, shattering it into a million pieces on the opposite wall.

Two figures appeared, but Callen waved them away.

“I had one request, Callen, ONE!” Jonathan held up a singular finger, in case the imbecile missed his point. “I feed you information, and you stay OUT of my affairs.”

Callen’s gaze flickered towards the broken glass, looking as if the jagged shards were only a minor annoyance. He said nothing and instead moved to the bar. Retrieving two glasses, he walked to a shelf and moved two books to the side, revealing a hidden bottle.

“Macallan 1926, bought it at auction for two million. It’s regarded by many as the most expensive scotch in the world.”

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