Page 32 of Tempting Kat
Katarina
Holy shit.
My legs are strapped to a fucking wall, spread-eagle like a Thanksgiving turkey, while some rich, faceless stranger prepares to do God knows what to my pussy. And I'm letting him. No—I'm begging for it.
What the actual fuck, Katarina?
My heart's racing so fast I can barely breathe. His voice alone is enough to make my panties soaked through, all deep and commanding like he's used to people falling at his feet. Which they probably do.
“You look perfect like this,” he murmurs, his fingers trailing fire up my inner thighs. “Trapped and helpless.”
I should be insulted. I should be kicking—well, I can't kick, but I should be telling him to go fuck himself. Instead, I'm practically panting like I’m in heat.
“I'm not helpless,” I manage to say, trying to keep my voice steady. “I can still say no.”
His chuckle is dark, dangerous. “But you won't.”
The worst part is he's right. I won't. I don't want to.
Vivian's words keep echoing in my head from when I asked her about him. “Girl, he's like sex on legs. Old enough to know exactly what he's doing, young enough to do it all night.”
I squirm against the restraints, testing them. They're soft but firm, giving me just enough slack to move slightly, but not enough to close my legs. The vulnerability of it sends a jolt straight to my clit.
“Getting restless already, kitten?” His fingers trace higher, skimming just below the edge of my panties. “We've barely started.”
“I'm not usually this patient,” I say, trying to sound bored even though my heart's about to burst through my chest.
“Maybe I just get off on being tied up,” I challenge, trying to sound confident despite how my voice shakes.
He chuckles, the sound dark and rich. “No, kitten. You get off on this—the danger, the unknown. The fact that I could be anyone.”
He's right, and I hate that he's right. Two weeks ago, I was bored out of my mind, tending bar and designing logos for shitty startups.
I feel a sudden tug at the crotch of my fishnet stockings, and then—RIP. The sound echoes in the small space as he tears them open between my legs.
“What the fuck?” I jerk against the restraints, startled by the sudden destruction of my perfectly good fishnets.
“Don't worry, kitten. I'll buy you a hundred more.” His voice is smug, satisfied with the damage he's caused. “I needed better access.”
I can't see what he's doing, which somehow makes it a thousand times more intense. My other senses go into overdrive—the sound of his breathing, the feeling of his fingers tracing the edges of the torn opening.
“Oh, look at these pretty little panties,” he murmurs, and I feel him hook a finger under the silky fabric of my thong. “Such a tiny scrap of nothing.”
He pulls the fabric up, sliding it between my folds on either side, and I gasp as it creates the most exquisite pressure against my already throbbing clit.
“Fuck,” I hiss, my hips jerking forward involuntarily.
“Look at that,” he growls, his voice dropping an octave. “Your greedy pussy lips are just swallowing up this excuse for underwear. Goddamn. It's like they're hungry for it.”
The crude description makes me blush and throb simultaneously. I should be offended, but instead, I'm so turned on I can barely think straight.
“You like when I talk about your cunt like that, don't you?” he asks, tugging the fabric tighter. “When I tell you how fucking wet and hungry it looks?”
“Maybe,” I gasp, trying to maintain some semblance of control even as my body betrays me.
His fingers trace the edge where fabric meets flesh. “And this little landing strip...fuck, that's sexy. I hate when women go completely bare.”
I'm not sure why his approval sends another flood of wetness between my legs, but it does. My breathing is ragged now, my chest heaving with each inhale.
