Page 4 of Texas
Liking where this is going, I give her a half smile. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone came in a sex shop.”
She laughs, low and throaty. “If someone walks in, I’ll just tell them I’m tied up.”
My eyes flick toward the bondage section. “You into that?” I ask and her smile turns positively filthy.
“You want to find out?” She grabs my hand and pulls me two aisles over, to a wall lined with cuffs, collars, gags, floggers, and enough rope to rig a sailboat. There’s even a full leather body harness with silver rings that makes my eyebrows rise. Jax picks up a pair of black leather cuffs and holds them out to me. “These are soft on the inside. Real gentle. But strong. Won’t break, even if she begs.”
“And if I don’t want to do gentle?”
Stepping closer, her voice drops. “I don’t usually beg. But I might for you.”
Fuck me sideways. I take the cuffs from her, testing the weight, the buckle, the give. “You’d let me strap you down right here?” I ask and she nods, her eyes locked on mine.
“If you tell me to.” I glance around the store again. Still empty. Just flickering fluorescent lights and the faint moans coming from a porn loop on the screen behind the counter. There’s a mirror mounted high on the wall near the ceiling, angled just right. I catch a glimpse of myself. Tight black tee, faded black jeans, heat-flushed skin, the strap-on still in my hand. I look like someone who could wreck a girl and walk out without a backward glance. And maybe I’m exactly that. My hair is wild from the ride, jaw tight, eyes sharp. Not pretty, not soft, just raw power, and for the first time in a long while, I recognize the woman staring back at me. She’s dangerous. She’s alive.
“What’s your safe word?” I ask, already reaching for the harness.
She licks her lips. “Don’t need one. I trust a woman who rides a Harley.”
“That’s a dangerous kind of trust.”
Stepping even closer, her breath is warm against my neck. “Then make it worth the risk.”
I press her back against the bondage display, the wall of toys rattling slightly behind her. She doesn’t flinch. She tilts her head back, exposing her throat, and I kiss her there. Just once, just enough to taste the salt on her skin. I reach down, trail a finger along her waistband, barely under the hem of her tank top.
“You got a private room in this place?” I ask, my voice a growl.
She nods, breath hitching. “Staff room. Lock on the inside. No cameras.”
I grin. “Show me.”
Turning without another word she leads me through a beaded curtain behind the counter, and down a narrow hallwaythat smells like incense and sex. The staff door creaks open, and I step inside behind her. The room is barely bigger than a closet. One battered desk, a cracked leather couch, a mini fridge humming in the corner, but it’s private, and that’s all I need. Jax shuts the door behind us and turns the lock with a soft click that sounds like permission. Her eyes are darker now, with her lips parted like she’s already imagining what I’m going to do to her. Good. I want her imagining. I want her trembling.
I toss the harness and the thick black strap-on onto the desk, then turn to her. “Strip,” I say. She doesn’t hesitate. Her hands go to the hem of her tank top, dragging it up and over her head in one fluid motion, revealing a black lace bra that barely contains her full tits. She kicks off her boots, unbuttons her jeans, and slides them down her hips. No panties. Fuck. She’s ready for this.
Taking a moment, I just look. Drink her in like smooth whiskey after a long day. Her body is lean, all muscle and ink, curves in the right places, and that look in her eye, that mix of defiance and surrender, makes my pulse spike.
“Couch,” I say. “Face the wall. On your knees.”
She moves, climbing up onto the couch, facing the backrest, her hands gripping the top edge like she already knows what’s coming. I grab the cuffs from the desk, step behind her, and fasten one around each wrist, then thread the connecting strap through a metal bracket holding a shelf on the wall above the couch. It’s not what it was built for, but it’ll hold. She’s not going anywhere.
“You good?” I ask, my voice low.
She nods, breathless. “So fucking good.”
Stepping behind her, I run my hand slowly up the back of her thigh, over the curve of her ass, and between her legs. She’s soaked. Dripping. I trail two fingers through her lower lips andpress them into her slowly, just to feel how tight she is, how much she’s already clenching around nothing.
“Fuck,” she moans, pushing back against me.
“Patience,” I murmur. “You’ll get more than you can handle.”
I slide my fingers out of her and grab the harness and strap-on from the desk, strapping it on over my jeans. The leather hugs my hips like it was made for me, the thick black shaft jutting out in front of me, heavy and solid. I stroke it once, slow and deliberate, as she watches me over her shoulder, shifting on the couch like she can feel it already.
“Look at you,” I say, stepping behind her again. “Tied up and begging for it.”
She moans, low and needy, and I line up the head of the toy with her entrance and tease her, running it through her folds, letting it drag over her clit. She jerks forward, but the cuffs hold her in place. “Please,” she whispers. I thrust in. One long, slow stroke, burying the strap-on deep inside her. She cries out, her back arching, and I grip her hips, holding her steady as I start to move. Slow at first, letting her feel every inch, then faster, harder, the sound of leather slapping on skin filling the tiny room.
She’s loud, raw, unfiltered. “Yes, fuck, yes! Harder. Don’t stop—”
