Page 117 of Fragile Sanctuary

Anson reached above me, weaving his belt through the bars and around my wrists. My pulse kicked into overdrive as he fastened the leather and gave it a testing tug. His face was close to mine but not touching in any way. “Too tight?”

I gave my head a tiny shake. “No.”

“Good.”

Then he was off me and the bed. He moved to my nightstand, opening the top drawer and pawing through the contents.

“Hey,” I protested. “What’re you doing?”

Anson shot me a wicked grin. “That first day in the hallway, thetime you left me with the worst case of blue balls known to man?” I just gaped at him in response. “You threatened me with a toy. And I think it’s time for a little retribution.”

“You’re not,” I said through gritted teeth.

He opened the second drawer, and his eyes lit up. “Bingo.”

Anson pulled out a black velvet drawstring bag. Opening it, he retrieved a compact, gold bullet vibrator.

My face flamed. “Anson,” I growled.

He rolled it between his fingers, testing the weight and then turning it on and testing the speeds. “Perfect.”

He moved to the end of the bed. “Spread your legs. Time for me to give you a little of the torture you’ve given me.”

Oh, hell.

Heat and wetness pooled in my core. But I wanted to obey. Wanted to be at this man’s mercy.

Slowly, I parted my legs.

“Such a beautiful sight,” Anson murmured, his gaze fixed on the apex of my thighs.

He lifted one knee onto the bed and then the other, settling between my legs.

“Already glistening for me.”

My hips rocked against the mattress, needing some sort of contact, anything.

“My greedy girl,” Anson cooed.

He trailed a single finger up my thigh to my center. That finger circled my opening, teasing, toying. I whimpered, trying to shift my hips to get more of him.

Anson’s other hand whipped out, sending a stinging slap across my thigh. “Still.”

The sting of one hand crashed against the pleasure of the other in a delicious stew of sensation. All I wanted to do was move. Get more. But I stilled. My hands tightened on the headboard’s metal bars.

“Good girl,” Anson murmured and slid two fingers inside me.

I let out another whimper, my legs and hips dying to move.

“Let’s see how still you can stay.” Anson’s fingers slid in andout of me, over and over. It was a torturously slow pace, completely unhurried.

My mouth opened and closed, trying to back my demands for more.

“So perfect,” he crooned, and then his fingers curled in a come-hither motion.

I moaned. It was loud and desperate, but I didn’t even care. Anson hadn’t said a damn thing about being quiet.

“I love the noises you make. The whimpers and moans. The way you suck me in, desperate for more.”

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