Page 116 of The Vigilante's Lover
Then the smell. Spicy and fruity. The red wine.
I feel his hair tickle my skin, then the hot lapping of his tongue. When he withdraws, I shiver from the chill where he’s left me damp.
Then he’s at my mouth, and he tastes like the wine. We touch nowhere but our lips, and I lift into him, trying to create pressure.
But Jax is elusive and doesn’t allow me even a small measure of control.
“One more thing,” he whispers. “And then I’m going to take you however I want.”
7: Jax
Mia keeps surprising me.
I pull away from her naked body, arms tied over her head, ankles lashed to the bedposts. The sun caresses her skin, flawless and smooth.
I can’t help myself, but let my fingers travel down all the planes and curves. The swell of those luscious breasts, the tightly puckered nipples, the small bump of her ribs and the concave of her belly.
I take a firm grip on both hips, squeezing. She’s spread wide, open for me. Just to torture her, I lean down and run my tongue along those tender exposed parts of her. They are mine, and even my jaded self revels a bit in the fact that they have only ever been mine.
She seems none the worse for wear for having lost her virginity the night before. Her pain threshold is high, perhaps. Maybe that’s why she likes what she does. It bodes well for a Vigilante to withstand anything. And for Mia, maybe even to like it a little.
My erection jumps at just the thought of it. I’ve unleashed every brutal instinct I’ve ever suppressed in the name of being a gentleman on this girl, and she wants more. I keep waiting for her to tell me to stop, to show any sign that I should go back to something more traditional, more vanilla, as they say.
But she doesn’t. Danger is in her blood.
She’s utterly still. Listening. I won’t give her a hint of what’s to come. Watching her glisten up with every new sensation is my obsession.
This one last thing will require a bit of preparation. I have nothing on hand that is designed for what I’m about to do, but Vigilantes know how to craft a tool from whatever materials might be available.
I snatch up one of the pillows. As expected, they are high quality and filled with feathers. I rip open the end. Mia startles a little at the sound.
The feathers are light and soft. Perfect. She’ll think it’s a break from the more intense striking play, like with the belt. But she’ll be wrong.
I jerk a tissue from a container next to the bed. I roll it in a line. To make the feathers behave, I grab a handful and dunk the tips in the watery remains of the Old Fashioned. The wet ends are much easier to tie together in a tight clump, like a feather duster. I knot them securely with the rolled-up tissue.
I touch it to the tender spot under her chin.
Her concerned expression softens when she feels it.
“Ahhh,” she says, opening her neck to the sensation.
She doesn’t seem to realize that there is not much that is more difficult to manage than a prolonged tickle.
I drift down, encircling her breasts. She writhes a little, enjoying the soft caress.
I dip it into her belly button. She smiles, almost giggling.
I stay there a little longer, knowing we’re going from a tickle to a forceful irritation. Mia’s movements begin to become more forceful, trying to shift the prickle to new areas.
It’s getting to her.
“Jax,” she says. She’s still in the realm of normal sensation, unable to push past it. So far she’s enjoyed the short painful strikes of flogger or belt, but this is a whole new level. I will push her, just to see if I can takeher into that euphoric space where pain and pleasure cross back and forth over the same threshold.
I shift down, just below her belly, but not any farther. For a moment, she is still and patient, but then she begins to squirm again.
Her breathing speeds up. She’s trying to manage it. I drop down, hitting her squarely where she is most sensitive.
At first she moans, enjoying the attention to those delicate parts. But then she’s struggling against her bonds, arms thrashing.
