Pain And Pleasure 18+✓

Thirteen

He's pulled my dress up to where my hands are bound together above my head. Half-naked,  I'm laying on my back and his hand is stroking my hair smoothly—almost tenderly—his invisible gaze well-felt on my face.

Rapid breaths expells through my nose, barely holding my body in place.

His lips scrape on mine as he says, "I'm sure you won't need the safe word today, Arabella. But it's clever to have it beforehand," while padding his thumb on my bottom lip.

"Really?" I breathe, my focus on his subtle touch, ever teasing without transgression. "Does that mean—"

"It simply means I won't fuck you tonight." He chuckles lightly. I frown. "Unless you claim it yourself, which I certainly don't mind." He unhooks my strapless bra as he says this.

Claim it? Never!

But it's such a relief. No sex unless I ask for it—which is very unlikely.

I guess?

Like dough he toys with my now-freed breasts, his big palms cupping them possessively, rubbing and circling my aching nipples with his thumbs. Damn, I can feel them hardening, and my breath hitches when his wet lips touch them.

I flex and my mouth widens slightly, shocked by the electric impulse. My hands are restrained by the cuffs, and he pins them with his strong grip so that I don't move at all. And then, much to my ecstasy, he buries his face into my chest, savouring my breasts, sucking my nipples as though he's feeding off them.

Christ! I cry louder, pleasure inexplicable. Overwhelming.

He pulls back momentarily and catches his breath. "Are you scared of a little pain, Arabella?" he asks me.

I'm breathing heavily, but my answer is evident. I'm not sure what little pain entails, honestly. Pain is pain.

"Tell me. Are you?" he repeats.

"I-I don't know." It's the truth.

Responsively, he bites on my one nipple, and sharply I moan at the nippy effect. A giggle escapes him—rare and pleasing to hear. He sucks it gently, and automatically my body relaxes at the soothing move of his tongue.

I'm already breathless when his one hand holds my thigh, coaxing it toward his hip so he touches my big ass with ease. Do I love it? He rubs me gently and well... it feels splendid. Holy shit, this is not part of the plan, is it?

He bites my other nipple. I nearly jump.

Mind calloused, I inhale fast as if I've been slapped heavily from a slumber. I can feel his smile. He kisses my flat stomach, caressing my breast with one hand as I wiggle beneath him. Again he bites my nipple, stoutly. I cry loudly, and when he sucks it my tummy clenches tight.

"I want to hear your thoughts, Arabella. Does it hurt?" His condescending voice is superior even without shouting.

Hurt? Not really. Maybe it's a bit pungent, but something is arousing about it that makes me want to have him repeat the same process—a tiny addiction.

"Arabella!" he snaps, lips back on mine as he shifts upward.

Damn, when he calls my name I feel weak. No one calls me Arabella except my parents who are no more. Very few people know my full name. To my family and the rest of the world, I'm just Ara, but to him, I'm Miss Lincoln and Arabella when he's in his shady element—like right this moment.

Nothing seems to keep my body relaxed when he touches the waistband of my underwear. Rolling in the deep by Adele is what I hear from my long-forgotten mobile, but I pay no attention to the song or its tune. I'm panting heavily, needy and hungry for his touch between my legs.