The skirt has an elastic waistband, and I ease it over my hips, then let it drop to pool around my feet. I step out of it, but I keep my sandals on. Damien hasn’t told me to remove those.
“Now the shirt.”
I pull the loose blouse over my head and toss it on the table. I’m naked now, illuminated only by the glow of the nightlight burning by the bathroom door.
Damien doesn’t shift position at all, but I hear the slow sound of him drawing a breath. And though it may be my imagination, it seems to me that the air between us is heating up. I know that I’m suddenly very, very warm.
“Kick off your shoes, then spread your legs.”
I do, then stand still with my legs parted as he walks slowly around me as if I’m some slave girl for sale on a dais. He makes two circles around me, and on the second he pauses behind me. He slides his hand between my legs and cups me from behind. His fingertip brushes my clit, and my flesh quivers in his hand. I bite my lower lip and close my eyes to keep from moaning. It takes every ounce of my willpower for me to remain still.
“Do you want more?” he asks, his finger slowly caressing my sex.
“Yes.” The word comes out raw and strangled.
Slowly, he pulls his hand away and circles back to face me. “Go to your room and get on the bed.” He leans in close, and his lips brush my ear as he speaks. “No touching. I need your promise, Nikki. And this time I need you to keep it.”
I nod. “Okay.”
He looks at me, then slowly lifts an eyebrow.
“I mean, yes, sir.” I want to ask him when he’s coming to the bedroom, too, but I know better. I go, I lie down, and I wait, expecting him to enter with that mysterious case.
I am crazy with need, with longing, with that damned anticipation. I’m flushed and hot and swollen. My breasts and my clit are so sensitive that I think I’ll come if the air conditioner kicks on. I want to touch myself with wild desperation, but I remember Damien’s words, and I keep my legs spread and my arms wide, afraid that if I don’t lay like that I’ll be tempted to squeeze my legs together in an attempt to find satisfaction.
The position doesn’t help my distress, though. It only makes me hotter. There’s something so exciting about being wide open for Damien. My nipples are tight and hard, almost painful. I long to feel his teeth graze them, to feel his hand stroke me, his cock inside me.
Where the hell is he?
And then I hear the television snap on.
I groan aloud, and even though he’s all the way in the next room, I’m positive that Damien has heard me—and that he’s smiling.
I’m alone, horny as hell, and not allowed to do anything about it. He’s out there, undoubtedly feeling smug, flipping channels at random.
This, of course, is my punishment, and by the time he turns the television off half an hour later, I am about out of my mind with the need to be fucked.
Just when I’m starting to fear that he’s going to leave, he appears in my doorway and leans casually against the frame. “I like looking at you,” he says.
“I like you touching me better.” I’m actually pouting. He’s reduced me that far. “That wasn’t nice.”
He laughs. “Sweetheart, that was nothing.”
My pulse picks up again as he bends down and picks up the case. It was out of my field of vision by his feet, but now he brings it and sets it on the bed and opens it. The top opens toward me, so that I can’t see the contents. His mouth curves down as if he’s considering a variety of options, then he pulls out a jewelry case and sets it on the bed.
I frown, wondering what that could be about.
The next item doesn’t make me wonder—I get what it’s for right away. It’s a whip. The kind with several thin bits of leather attached to a thicker handle.
“A cat-o’-nine-tails,” Damien says helpfully.
“Um, uh-huh.” I bite my lower lip. The rational part of me is thinking ouch. My sex, however, is throbbing with anticipation.
He sets the whip down and opens the jewelry box. Inside are two silver rings, each with two small metal balls on them. They are connected by a serpentine chain. He picks one of the rings up and pulls it apart so that the two balls separate, leaving a gap in the ring. He slides one side of the jewelry box into that gap and then releases the balls. They spring back, clamping to the cardboard.
My brow furrows. I don’t get it.
I can tell that Damien sees my confusion, but he says nothing. He just smiles and puts the rings and their chain on the bedside table. He closes the case and puts it on the floor, then he picks up the cat-o’-nine-tails and runs the thin strands of leather through his fingers. After a moment, he sets it beside me, then reaches down to cup my swollen sex. I arch up, silently begging for his fingers inside me, stroking me.
“You’ve been very naughty. I don’t think I should make you come.”
“I really think you’re wrong about that,” I manage, and am rewarded with his laugh.
“Close your eyes. Can you keep them closed, or should I blindfold you?”
“I’ll keep them closed.”
“Is that a promise?”
“Yes,” I say without hesitation. I’ve already learned that the punishment for breaking a promise isn’t really punishment at all. Even so, I’ll try to keep my word.
I feel him moving near me, then he tells me to lift my hips. I do, and he slides a pillow under me.
“Keep your legs spread,” he says. “Yes, like that. Oh, baby, you’re so beautiful. Beautiful and open for me.”