we did this. It would serve me right for him to say no.
“Right,” he said softly. “I remember now. I can’t touch you for fifteen minutes.”
“Yes.”
He was in front of me. I felt his heat but could not bring myself to look at him. “And what happens after fifteen minutes?”
The arrogance I’d used to my advantage last time had fled me. I had no clever comeback. No promise of what I could do to him in that fifteen minutes. I just knew that I wanted him. Plain and simple.
“After fifteen minutes, all bets are off.”
“And I can touch you?”
A warmth washed over me. The prospect of him touching me caused both excitement and anxiety. The mere thought made me feel vulnerable. Exposed. At his mercy. But a deal was a deal.
“Yes.”
“And no thoughts of running a blade across your throat while I’m tied up?”
I looked up at him at last. “Like it would do me any good.”
“Exactly.”
He reached behind himself, took off his apron, and ripped off its strap. “If we do this, will you finish what you start?”
He asked it while holding the strap out to me, giving me permission to tie him up. For some reason, the thought of him tied up gave me a hit of confidence, even though I knew it would do absolutely nothing to stop him should he want out.
“And if I don’t?” I asked. I wasn’t a tease. I was pretty sure about that, but if something happened… I wanted a guarantee of some kind that he would not become the bad boy I knew he could be.
“Like I said before, Dutch, I’m not pubescent. I’ll survive if you want to stop, but just barely. I might need CPR.”
I let out a soft laugh.
He showed me those dimples again, then fetched the chair, sliding it to the center of the room. He sat down and crossed his wrists at his back, a challenge glittering in his eyes. The width of his shoulders became all the more evident in that position, and I had to take in his form for a moment before walking around to the back of him.
I knelt down and wrapped the strap over his wrists. He let his fingers slide over my hands as I tied. The movement, so small and seemingly inconsequential, sent tiny shivers up my arms. When I finished, I bent forward and kissed his palms. His long fingers glided over my cheek and neck.
When I stood, I walked to the timer, set it, then turned back to him. “I only have fifteen minutes,” I explained as I peeled off my boots, jeans, and underwear. I had to save every second I could.
The sweater I wore hung past my hips, so he didn’t really see anything, but he gave a low growl and let his head fall back as though he now regretted being tied up.
I straddled him like last time and drove my fingers into his hair. He focused on me, his glistening gaze sharp, his sleek muscles hard. I kissed him, softly this time, the act unhurried and intoxicating. When he opened to me, he tasted like storm clouds and rain. I settled on him, and he drew in a cool breath of air between our mouths. His erection teased and tempted me, and I pushed into him a little harder. A whispery moan escaped him, and he tilted his hips into me. The friction caused a jolt of electricity. I clutched his shoulders, and he did it again, rubbing my clitoris, sparking a fire deep inside me.
Unable to hold the swirl of arousal in check any longer, I reached between our hips and yanked up his T-shirt to reveal the rungs of his stomach, before returning to his face. His fire had grown even brighter, but I focused. Saw past it. Concentrated on the man behind the inferno.
Scooting back, I brushed my mouth over the smooth skin of his chest. Grazed my teeth over a nipple. Flitted my tongue and suckled.
The strap creaked against the strain of his hold, but he kept his word. He stayed tied to the chair, but I felt the struggle raging inside him. The rise of temperature. The tightening of muscle.
I let the shirt fall and turned my attention to his jeans.
Every move I made caused a burst of adrenaline to spike inside him. That, in turn, caused the exact same reaction in me. Every point of contact, every nuance of desire sent a ripple of ecstasy shooting to