Page 69 of The Sebastian Guarantee
“Watch?” he repeated, spellbound.
She held the device near the hollow of her neck, then trailed the humming vibrator between her breasts and past her navel. “I distinctly recall you growling at me,” she began, slipping the Wham Bam into her panties, “commanding me to make you want to taste me.” She gasped as the titillating vibrator met her sensitive bundle of nerves. “And make you want to touch me,” she moaned, arching her back.
Even if the lodge had been on fire, he couldn’t have moved. The damned world could be ending, and he wouldn’t have been able to tear his gaze from the woman wrapped in pink lacy lingerie, currently owning her sexuality like a man-eating boss.
“I’m . . .” Phoebe breathed.
He wrapped his hand around his thick shaft. “Yes?”
“Just . . .”
“Uh-huh,” he growled, working his rock-hard cock.
She hummed along with the vibrator. “Following . . .”
It was almost too much to take. “What are you following?” he gritted as he masturbated alongside her.
“The Sebastian Guarantee,” she moaned. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she flew over the edge. Chest rising and falling and hips rolling, she was glorious. It would be no hardship if he never saw again, and this was the last vivid image ingrained in his mind.
He covered her hand that was working the vibrator and absorbed the titillating beats. The erotic pulse intensified his drive to have her. He pressed her hand, increasing the pressure and lengthening her release. And holy hell, he watched her ride out each wave of pleasure. She sighed a dreamy sound and removed the Wham Bam from her panties.
He’d never say no to watching her get off, but he wasn’t about to play second-fiddle to a sex toy either. He turned off the device and set it aside. “The pop quiz is over.”
With flushed cheeks and another dreamy sigh, she looked his way. “How did I do, Coach?”
He peeled off her G-string and threw the bit of lace and silk over his shoulder. “A-plus. Objective achieved.”
A bit of blue caught his eye, and an idea sparked. He glanced at the black leather padded headboard and studied a decorative element—a slim strip of empty space running along the bottom, interspersed with spindly iron rods. And his idea morphed into a plan.
“In addition to you acing the exam, I’ve got even better news,” he said, baiting her.
“What’s that?”
“An extra credit assignment.”
The sated look in her eyes gave way to lusty longing. “You know how I love earning extra credit.”
Hell yes, he did.
He picked up the blue Hermès tie and dangled it in front of her. “Raise your hands above your head.”
Phoebe’s gaze bounced from him to the silky strip of fabric.
“You mentioned you like being tied up,” he reminded her.
She chewed her lip. “I did?”
He nodded. “Yesterday, when I blindfolded you, you said”—he wrapped the tie around her wrists—“that you like your bindings tight.” He crisscrossed the material and pulled the ends of the tie. The silk snapped as he bound her wrists and fastened them to one of the iron rods.
Her breaths quickened. “I don’t know why I said that. It must have been nerves. I’ve never been tied up before.”
He covered her body with his and nudged the tip of his cock against her sweet, wet heat. “I’ve never tied anyone up,” he confessed, gazing into her blue eyes—blue eyes that threatened to swallow him whole. He wasn’t lying. He didn’t do this with other women. For all the sex he’d had, he’d never wandered into light bondage. It required a level of trust he’d never experienced with another person.
The question was, did Phoebe trust him?
He watched her closely.
Her hesitant expression melted away, and the mischievous glint returned to her eyes. She moved her arms, then tugged against the iron rod—the sexual equivalent of kicking the tires to check a car’s worthiness. “It appears I do like a tight binding,” she purred.
