Page 173 of The Billionaire's Baby
He nods.
"But..." I swallow, "you hate being tied up."
He glances down at the rope, then back at me, "Apparently, it depends on the person who's doing it."
"Oh." I wrap the length of rope around my palm, allowing the rest of it to trail to the floor.
It's the same rope that he'd used that first time he'd restrained me. The late afternoon sunlight slants through the window of the cabin, and highlights the reddish gold sparks woven through the cord.
He backs away and I follow his progress as he saunters over to the bed. He sits down, kicks his legs out in front of him. His thighs are powerful columns of strength and his stance is wide enough for my attention to stray right to his crotch. The fabric of his pants tented there indicates that he's already aroused. It's something I have yet to get used to, for the man has the stamina of someone who can push himself to the limits and recover quickly enough to start all over again.
I lick my lips and his gaze narrows. I walk over to stand in front of him, weave the piece of rope about my palm. He tips his chin up, trains those flinty grey-blue eyes on me. My stomach trembles and my heart begins to race. Oh, hell, one glance from him and I'm already a goner. How the hell am I going to do this?
I let the rope slither to the ground, then reach forward and push the jacket down his shoulders. He shrugs it off, holds my gaze as I unbutton his shirt. My fingers graze his skin and he hisses. His blue gaze deepens, until his irises seem almost black. Oh, wow, that's never happened before. Is he turned on? His jaw tics and a vein throbs at his temple... Ah, okay, he's more frustrated. "Is it tough to hand over control, for even this small amount of time?"
He bares his teeth, "What do you think, wife?"
I swallow.Wife.Jesus, will I ever get used to him calling me wife?
"I think..." I finish the task of unbuttoning his shirt, then shove it down his shoulders. The material catches around the tense bulge of his biceps, and I tug it down. He flicks the shirt away, places his hands on his thighs.
His shoulder muscles knot, his chest planes ripple, and the tendons of his neck stand out in relief. I rake my gaze down the expanse of his beautiful torso, the concave stomach, the pants that ride low on his hips. My pulse begins to thud and my heartbeat ratchets up. I am this close to throwing myself at him, wrapping myself around him, and straddling him, and riding against the rough fabric of his jeans until I come.
"You were saying?" The alphahole smirks, knowing full-well that I can barely string together a complete sentence right now.
"I think..." I mumble, "that I should bind you up while I still have my faculties about me.
He holds up his hands, his expression innocent, and damn, if that doesn't make me suspicious. Arpad f'ing Beauchamp, offering himself up, all meek and tame... Nah, he’s up to something. But what?
"Put your hands behind you," I order.
His smile widens.
"I mean it." I scowl, "Come on, Arpad, you promised you'd comply."
He hesitates, then obliges. He folds his arms behind his back, thrusts out his chest. Corrugated ripples of muscles stretch his torso, and my fingers itch to rake my nails down that gleaming expanse. Sweat beads my brow and my toes curl. Damn it, why am I holding back? I lean down, run my tongue around one erect male nipple.
A groan rumbles up his chest. I drag my nails across the hardened nub of his other nipple and his body jolts.
"Fuck me, what the hell are you trying to do, Sparks?"
"I'm getting to know my husband's body, you mind?"
He stiffens, then a chuckle rolls up his throat. "I don't mind at all, darling. In fact," he leans back, allowing me more space, "I insist you not stop until you get to know every part of me as well as yourself."
My heart thuds against my ribcage and a melting sensation coils in my chest. Suddenly, I want to feel myself naked and plastered to every inch of him.
I reach down, lower the zipper of his pants, and there's only Arpad. Hell. I stare at his engorged length that springs free and stands upright against his stomach.
"Fuck me."
"If you don’t get on with it, that's exactly what I'm going to do," he growls.
I swallow, and tug on his pants. He lifts his hips, allows me to pull off his pants. I straighten, unable to take my gaze off his thick cock. Its head almost purple with the intensity of his arousal, beads of precum lace the slit on the crown. My mouth waters and my chest hurts. The flesh between my legs aches with so much need that my legs tremble. I bend, grab the rope, then straddle him, one knee on each side of his waist. He tips up his head, his blue eyes stalking my every move as I reach around and begin to wind the rope around the arms he still has folded behind him. With every move, my still clothed breasts brush his chest. The heat of his body seems to intensify; the strength of his dominance pushes into my chest, pins me down as I manage to loop around his wrists, once, twice, a few more times. I knot the rope, tug to secure it again and again. My twists are nowhere as neat as how he'd bound me—I can’t even see what I’m doing—but it will have to do.
I lean back, perch on his lap, then glance up into his face.
"Done?" He lifts an eyebrow.
