A French Whipping (7 page)

He could kiss. Man, oh, man, could he kiss. She could feel herself, wet and slippery from kissing and touching him in the bar, and knew that she was going to come quickly once he slid inside her. It felt like it had been forever since she’d actually looked forward to sex; it had been at least a year since she’d had anything but her hands to get herself off.

They walked two blocks in silence. Blake thought they might go the entire distance back to his apartment that way, but he surprised her, dragging her around in front of him and pushing her against the brick wall of a bank building.

“I’ve been thinking about fucking you since last week. I haven’t stopped thinking about it.” He stroked her cheeks with his fingers, slid his knuckles over her ears while his thumbs pressed her mouth open. “I do want to tie you. I want to tie you with your legs spread wide and taste you with my tongue.”

Blake felt her knees soften at the thought. He would do it. He would be infinitely patient as he tied her in a knot of desire, his tongue teasing and licking as he worshipped her, and then he’d unravel her, make her come until she was limp and exhausted. She knew that because she knew him. A meticulous, patient man, a man who liked to figure out how things worked.

“Oh, God,” she gasped. She hadn’t thought it would be this . . . conflagration, this heat that made her pussy swell and throb with need for him. He was Nick, for God’s sake.

He was studying her face, his eyes heavy-lidded as he studied the effect his words had on her. “You like that?”

She nodded. She wanted him to take her that way.

“Say it,” he murmured gruffly. “You have to ask me for everything you want, so there’s no mistake, so I don’t scare you.”

Scared was the furthest emotion from Blake’s mind at the moment, but she knew what he meant. She’d been hurt, and sometimes the past had a way of leaping to the present. He wanted to make sure. Sweet man. Her friend.

She gripped his thick dirty-blond hair to hold him still and met his eyes. “I want you to tie me up in front of that big fireplace and spread my legs and put your mouth on me until I scream. And then I want you to slide your big dick inside me, over and over, until both of us come so hard we can’t move until tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, fuck.” He laughed and pressed his forehead against hers. “I should have known better. I’m going to come right here.”

“Don’t you dare.” She pushed him away and took his hand again. “Come on, hurry.”

They half walked, half ran the rest of the way to his apartment building, not stopping until they were in the elevator, where he pushed her up against the wall again. She returned his embrace enthusiastically, spreading her legs so that he could settle his cock between them. When that wasn’t enough, she lifted one long leg over his hip and ground herself against him, trying to soothe the aching pulse between her legs.

“No, you don’t.” He pushed her leg down. “You’re not going to come until I let you.”

Blake bit her swollen lip and stared at the signal in the elevator that slowly ticked upward.
Slowest fucking elevator in the universe.
When they reached the tenth floor—the penthouse—he pulled her into the small entryway and punched a code into the keypad next to the door.

The entryway had tall ceilings and a domed skylight above, currently covered in droplets of water. Double doors made of some kind of polished metal were engraved with an art deco design that hinted at fish and the sea.

With the sound of sliding metal, the locks disengaged and the doors opened inward, revealing his enormous living room, the fireplace dominating one side. Wide-planked reclaimed wood floors gleamed in the light from a single standing lamp.

Blake stepped inside and heard the doors close as he followed closely behind her.

“Keep walking,” he ordered, and she laughed.

“Bossy.” She walked forward, stripping out of her coat as she did, and tossing it over the back of a brown leather chair.

He came up behind her and set his hands on her hips. He didn’t move, just held them there, his fingers gently sinking into the skin of her hips.

Blake held still, wondering what he was thinking as they stood there together. She could feel him—still hard—pressed against her bottom, and she shivered.

“I’ll start the fire,” he murmured in her ear. “Would you like some wine? Water?”

Blake hadn’t felt nervous when he was touching her, but now, when it was time to take off her clothes, she could feel a slight tension invading her muscles.

“I’ll get it. Would you like something?” They were being too polite now. She could feel it. She wanted to do something to get back on familiar ground. They were friends. She could get her own wine.

“I’m fine.”

Shaking her head, Blake walked to the double doors on the right side of the living room and passed into the kitchen. Everything was gleaming steel and modern lines with cool, crisp blue accents. He had a wine refrigerator, though she wasn’t sure why; she never saw him drink wine.

She located a glass for herself and pulled out an Italian Barbaresco from 2007. Not the most expensive wine he owned, but it was definitely fancier than the twelve-dollar bottles she usually picked up at the corner market.

With a shrug, she located the corkscrew and opened the bottle with the ease of long practice. She was worth an expensive bottle of wine.
He can afford it,
she thought with a wry smile.

She poured herself a generous glass and headed back to the living room, carrying the bottle with her for easy access.

The fire was crackling cheerfully when she walked into the room, Nick’s shadowy figure outlined by the orange and red flames. He’d taken off his sweater, throwing it on the couch next to her coat, and wore nothing but his jeans.

There wasn’t an ounce of fat on the man. He was all lean, corded muscle, so toned that he could have been a stand-in for an anatomy class. She’d known he was strong, but holy shit, she’d never considered that he’d be this beautiful under those sweaters he liked so much.

Taking a hasty gulp of her wine to hide her astonishment, she set the bottle down on the glass-and-steel coffee table and strolled over to the couch. She sat down, bending over to loosen the laces of her boots with her free hand, and kicked them off as she settled back. Her boot socks were bright red with gray stripes.

He was eyeing her thoughtfully, as if debating the wisdom of what they were about to do. She didn’t want him to start thinking too much. Man thought too much as it was.

“I wish I’d known that’s what you were hiding under there,” she purred, gesturing to his naked chest. “I would have tried to get your clothes off sooner.”

He didn’t smile, but his eyebrow went up. “Your turn,” he suggested mildly, putting his hands on his hips.

Blake eyed him over the rim of her glass, which was—oops—nearly empty already.
When did that happen?

With a small pout, she removed one of her socks, wiggling her pink toenails at him playfully.

He immediately bent and removed one of his own socks, tossing it aside.

Grinning, Blake bared her second foot, hoping his jeans were coming off next. No such luck. He removed his leather belt, whipping it from its loops and snapping it with a sharp crack that made her jump a little.

He didn’t toss the belt aside, but held it loosely at his side, a not-so-subtle warning that had her gulping down the last of her wine and putting her now-empty glass on the end table beside the couch. He wouldn’t use the belt on her unless she asked for it. Part of her wanted to . . . very, very much.

“You don’t have any rope handy,” she pointed out. “Are you planning on using that belt instead?”

In answer, he tossed the belt aside and removed a coil of blue rope that shone like satin from the small of his back. It wasn’t thick and appeared to be two pieces of cord twined together, like the kind of rope that would be used as a tie-back for curtains.

Blake glanced to the windows. He had enclosed blinds, not curtains, so he must use the rope for something else.

Licking her lips, Blake stood and gripped the hem of her black T-shirt, drawing it over her head slowly, leaving her standing in front of him in nothing but her lacy black bra and the stretchy black pants she wore to the bar.

His eyes immediately went to her chest, which was rising and falling just a little too fast to hide her excitement. His nostrils flared and the muscles of his chest bunched as he undid his fly and shoved his jeans down to his ankles.

“Wow.” Blake felt her mouth drop open. She’d known he was big—she’d felt him at the bar—but she’d never have expected a cock that size on a man not that much taller than she was. Thick and at least eight inches long, his erection curved upward slightly, a guarantee that it would rub her in just the right spot.

Impatient with the game, Blake removed her stretchy black pants and sauntered toward him in her bra and panties. When she was within a few feet, she turned her back to him, drawing her hair to the side.

“Undo me?”

He kissed the back of her neck instead of answering and draped the coil of rope over her shoulder. Silky soft, the feel of it against her skin made her shiver with excitement. Reaching up with her left hand, she stroked the rope like she wanted to stroke his cock, sliding it through her palm.

Behind her, he released the catch of her bra. Blake held on to the rope as he slid the straps down to her elbows. He took the rope from her shoulder and Blake let her arms fall, the bra hitting the floor with a soft
snick
.

She could feel the heat of him at her back, warming her, and then his chest was against her back and his hands had slid around her to cup her breasts. He still held the rope, and the silky softness teased her taut nipples. He worked the coil between her abundant tits and squeezed them together, trapping the rope with her soft flesh in a blatant imitation of what he wanted to do with his cock.

Moaning, squeezing her legs together, Blake arched her back and rubbed her silk-and-lace-covered ass against his cock, begging him to give it to her.

He kissed the curve where her neck met her shoulder, biting down gently.

“Tell me what you want me to do.” He punctuated each word with small nibbles, all while his clever fingers plucked and rubbed and teased her breasts.

“Take off my panties.”

He released her breasts, catching the rope deftly in one hand, and knelt as he drew her panties down her legs. The rope came loose from its coil as the panties fell to her ankles, and the satiny cord brushed her thigh, knee, and ankle before gathering loosely on top of her foot. He still held one end in his fist, pressed against her left hip.

“Oops,” Nick murmured.

Blake half chuckled, half moaned as he slid his right hand over her hip and down her butt to the back of her thighs, squeezing gently before reaching between her legs for the end of the rope. He pulled it taut, working it between her legs so that it pressed against the taut bud that already throbbed and begged for him.

“Did you know,” he said as he gently slid the rope back and forth between her legs, “that the end of a rope that is used to actually form a knot is called the working end?”

God. God. God
. It was fucking working, all right. “No,” she managed. “I’m going to come if you keep doing that,” she gasped, working her hips in opposition to the slow slide of the rope between her legs. It wouldn’t take long, just a few more seconds and she would—

He released the rope, letting it fall between her legs, and used his hands on her hips to turn her so that she faced him. He didn’t stand, though—his head was level with the soft blond curls between her legs.

He slid his right hand to the damp nest and worked one finger inside the swollen lips, testing her, his nostril flaring as he breathed deeply.

“Go lie down on the rug if you want me to fuck you.”

Blake obeyed with alacrity, stepping out of her panties and around him as she hurried to the thick, abstract-patterned rug in front of his fireplace. She lay down on her back.

“On your elbows and knees.”

Oh, man. Her favorite. With a moan, she flipped over onto her knees and lowered herself to her forearms, knowing that she probably made quite a picture with her ass in the air, outlined by the fire.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he said hoarsely. Blake turned her head to the left to watch him as he stalked toward her, admiring the taut grace of his legs and the heavy sway of his balls. He was carrying the rope in his hands. She bit her lower lip in anticipation. This was Nick. Nick was going to tie her up and fuck her.

She felt him go to his knees behind her, felt the brush of his dick against her ass, and then he bent over her, rubbing himself against her.

“Ask me to tie you.”

“I never knew you were such a tease,” she growled, half laughing. “Yes, please tie me.”

He reached under her to loop the rope around her bent elbow and secure it to her right knee. Blake gasped. He was going to secure her elbows to her knees, making sure she was fully exposed to him. She would be helpless, completely open.

Under less horny circumstances, Blake might have been embarrassed to be trussed up with her ass in the air, but she wanted him too badly to care at the moment. The tight silk resisted as she instinctively tried to stretch, the crisscrossed cord beneath her making a sibilant sound.

Nick covered her from behind and Blake stilled, breath catching as she felt the blunt tip of his cock pressing against her entrance.

“You’re wet.”

“I know,” she gasped. “Fuck me already.”

He drew a hand down her side to her hip. “Always in such a hurry. I’ve been thinking about this for a long time.”

“You have?” Blake was startled to hear her rough voice squeak on the words.
He’d thought about me like this? Tied up with my ass exposed?

“Umm-hmm.” He’d moved back again, and this time she felt two fingers ease inside the wet, swollen depths of her. He stretched her gently, murmuring incoherent sounds before she felt him shift. His fingers slid out of her wetly, and his tongue took their place, probing between her legs.