Mardi Gras

his lover, she thought.
But, no—that hot anticipation leaking from his eyes was only the beginning of being his lover, the before part.
She felt herself taking steps toward him, her shoes clicking across the polished hardwood without her consciously deciding to go. Suddenly, he was like a magnet to her. Reaching him, she boldly lifted one leg across his lap, her skirt rising nearly to her hips as she straddled him.
His hands came to rest low on her outer thighs, skimming quickly upward, past the lace tops of her stockings, under her skirt, onto the thin elastic strap of her panties. A low growl left him and her entire body pulsed, heavy as the beat of a drum. Her pussy pressed against the delectable length of his cock through his jeans, setting off waves of pleasure that felt like tendrils stretching out through her cunt. No, this is what it’s like to be his lover. Or it was getting damn close, anyway.
“Kiss me,” she said feverishly.
Their tongues met at the precise second their lips did, in a warm, sensuous connection that felt natural and right, the sensation melting through her like ice cream left out in the hot Louisiana sun.
She never made the conscious decision to begin unbuttoning his shirt, but the buttons slipped free beneath her fingers, one by one. His hands left her hips, then grazed her sensitive breasts as he worked at her buttons, too. Each kiss grew more intoxicating until she was finally pushing his shirt from his shoulders, running her hands over the muscles there, splaying her fingers across the broad, sexy expanse of his chest.
He shrugged out of the shirt before finally undoing the last button on her blouse and urging it off her shoulders as well. She didn’t bother taking it off completely, letting the sheer gauzy fabric fall about her upper arms in a way that felt lightly—deliciously—
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binding when she moved. Besides, it was too much trouble to pull her hands away from his finely sculpted body, half of it now bared for her.
His kisses trailed from her mouth over her jaw, onto her neck. She arched against him, pressing her hungry cunt harder into his erection, leaning her head back to welcome his barrage of kisses. His mouth soon sank to her chest, the upper swell of her breast. Her pussy tingled and her pulse raced.
His hands found the two sensitive mounds of flesh just below, lightly cupping the outer curves as he brushed his thumbs across her lace-covered nipples. A slight whimper escaped her as his kisses spanned the valley between, then traveled up onto the other rise. Her breasts had never felt so sensitive, like a gift she wanted to give her man.
He dropped his touch back to her hips, her ass, helping her, because without quite realizing it, at some point she’d begun to move against him, grinding against the irresistible column of stone beneath his jeans. Oh God, at this rate, she would come soon, before the action even really got underway, which she didn’t want—but how could she resist?
Her body was in charge now, writhing against him of its own volition.
He nipped at the hard peak of her breast through the lace that barely covered it, and she cried out. The delectable sensation shot straight to her pussy and nearly pushed her over the edge. She moved harder against him, wanting more, more.
His palms roamed her body oh-so lightly, his touch at once a tease and the most wonderful stimulation. She heard herself panting—him, too—and looked into his eyes to find the same fire as before, only burning hotter now. “You’re so sexy, baby,” he murmured. “So fucking sexy.”
He framed her face with his hands and drew her in for a deep kiss that reached all the way to her soul, just as he slipped his fingers beneath her mask and began to remove it over her head.
She pulled it back into place, yanking his fingers away. “No,” she snapped.
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It killed her mounting pleasure, and the orgasm that had felt so near… But that was actually good, despite the frustration roaring through her body. Because she’d clearly forgotten her plan, gotten off track.
Time to get back on.
“Why?” he asked. “I want to see you. I want to see your face, Mina.” She shook her head, and then—as painful as it was—extracted herself from his lap.
The move racked her body with loss, but that, too, was worth it, since his attempt to remove her mask was a wake-up call. No more letting her own desire get the best of her. Time to take control. Completely.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, rising to his feet.
She pressed her palm to the center of his chest and pushed him back down. “Sit.”
“What?” he murmured, looking confused.
“You’ve been a bad boy,” she said, moving to the shopping bag she’d placed just a few feet away on her previous visit to the apartment. She pulled out one length of the heavy white rope she’d purchased and walked behind his chair. “Give me your wrists.” He cast a brief glance over his shoulder, clearly surprised, but then his expression softened as he shifted his arms behind him, through the lowest opening on the ladder-back chair.
Mia drew in a deep breath as she placed his wrists one over the other, then began to tie him up. She purposely avoided tying him to the chair, wanting him bound but still able to move around at her will. A dart of dark pleasure pierced her chest as she wrapped the rope, tightly, over and under, wondering if it was biting into his skin, wondering if he was enjoying that.
Even after her initial delight at hearing Ty and Jack’s conversation in the office earlier in the week, she’d never truly expected to derive any deep thrill from taking on the role of dominatrix, but already, she could tell she’d been wrong. She liked tying him 34
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with the rope far too much, each twist of it around his