Page 92 of Counterpoint
He did, crossing rope over limbs and torso and around the metal of the chair. Through the loops on the collar around Dom’s neck, adding to the wonderful sensation of being caught, being bound and held and helpless.
Kind of amazing how just a little pressure around his neck could send him skyward. Make him so hard he wanted to rock and buck and beg Adrian to get him off. In short order, he couldn’t have moved if he wanted to—and he didn’t want to. Not with Adrian so close, so flushed, and his pants tented like that. The way Adrian drank the sight of him made Dom dizzy.
Adrian fingered Dom’s nipple. Not hard, but playfully. The gentle tugging went straight to his balls, though, and he tried to rock his hips. Failed, then moaned at the conflict between pleasure and need and—wherever the hell he went whenever Adrian tied him up.
“In the clouds, aren’t you?” Adrian tipped his chin up. Looked down at him with those beautiful eyes.
“You make me fly.” The words were out before Dom even registered them. But that was true. He flew and soared. Different from a concert. So safe, too.
A smile, then Adrian stepped away. “I have a treat for you.” Then he vanished from view—heading for the fridge, from the direction. Dom couldn’t crane his body, nor turn his head enough to watch. But the sounds were of the fridge opening and closing. A knife cutting something. A dish. The clink of metal on ceramic.
Dessert. Adrian had said he had dessert. Dom hoped it was pie.
And yes, when Adrian returned, he held a plate with one of the most amazing slices of lemon meringue Dom had ever seen. “Oh fuck, Adrian.” He didn’t think he could want this man more. Now. Forever.
“Sunlight in your eyes and on your tongue.” Adrian set the pie down on the breakfast bar, pulled over the other chair, and perched on it.
“And you say you’re not a poet.” Dom swallowed. His skin was alive with sensations. The hard unyielding chair against his back, ass, and thighs. The soft, powerful rope pressing across his skin from his shoulders to his ankles. The strip of warm leather at his neck that he could feel with every breath and syllable and swallow.
Adrian didn’t reply. He just cut a piece of pie off with his fork and held it out to Dom.
He couldn’t do more than open his mouth—the way his collar was tied down didn’t permit him to move his head forward. Adrian slipped the piece of pie into his mouth, sending tingles down Dom’s spine, even before he closed his lips over the tines of the fork.
Tart and sweet exploded onto his tongue. Flakey crust. Perfect cloud-like meringue. Liquid lemon. The hard tines slid out over his lips and he moaned in ecstasy, every bit of his being overwhelmed by touch and taste. The citrus smell of the pie, the woodsy scent of Adrian. He closed his eyes because sight was too much to handle.
After he swallowed, Adrian’s mouth claimed his, tongue forcing past his lips. He moaned and squirmed and fought against the ropes, but couldn’t move.
Adrian could, though. Hands caressed thighs before one wrapped around Dom’s cock and stroked slowly.
Dom whimpered into Adrian’s mouth. This would do him in. There’d be a headline on some gossip site:DOMINO GRINDER SUCCUMBS TO ROPE BONDAGE, PIE, AND A KISS.
Adrian relented with a chuckle. “You taste so good.”
“You’re gonna kill me.”
“Oh no.” Adrian sat back and took his own bite of pie. “Not kill. Tease. Fuck. Make you cry out so loud the neighbors hear you again.”
Too much. Dom’s whole being was on fire. Body, mind, soul.
“Adrian.” There was an edge to his voice.
Adrian heard it. “Too much?”
“No.” Dom was swirling in pleasure, head so high, cock so hard. He didn’t know he could even exist in this state for this long. “Might come without you touching me.”
“Now wouldn’t that be a treat?” That fucking smile was light and heat, and Dom shivered in his ropes, the tugs and pulls cascading waves of pleasure over his heightened senses. “More pie?”
Dom opened his mouth. Each astounding bite was followed by more kisses and touches, until the pie was gone and Dom was a mess of moans and pleading. For freedom, for captivity. To be fucked so hard.
Adrian untied him from the chair and Dom nearly fell out of it. It wasn’t that his limbs were numb—his entire body was so turned on he couldn’t think straight. Like too many glasses of gin, but so much better than that. There was citrus in his mouth and he was in Adrian’s arms, with Adrian’s collar around his neck. “Upstairs?”
A huff of laughter. “Yes, babe.”
Adrian helped him up the stairs, as if he was in a drunken stupor, and Dom groaned in frustration, even as he got his legs back under him and he slid down from that perfect high.
“Dominic?” Adrian’s voice sounded strained. They’d made it to the second floor and into Adrian’s bedroom.
“You’re not gonna fuck me, are you? ’Cause you think I’m too far gone to consent?” Tears pricked his eyes. “You’re gonna pour me into bed, tell me you love me, and kiss my cheek, and—”
