Without warning, he enters me, sheathing himself in me completely. It’s everything, and so much more. I know women say that all the time, but it’s the truth. Nothing compares to this. I stretch around him, my knees falling open for him.
Unfortunately, I remember he’s not wearing any protection. It takes me a moment to come back to reality. I break the kiss. “Uh, forgetting something?”
He shakes his head, driving his hips forward. “I’ll pull out.”
My head hits the cushion behind me with force, every movement of his hasty and rushed. He’ll pull out? What the fuck? “No. You need a condom,” I tell him, trying to wiggle my hands loose from his iron grip. I can’t risk pregnancy, or worse, I have no idea if he’s clean or not.
He stops kissing me and halts his movements. “Seriously?” He pants, his chest shaking as he holds himself above me.
“Yeah, dude. Wrap it up.”
Groaning, he pulls out, stands, and retrieves a condom. It gives me a chance to admire his long, lean body. Every muscle is defined, every angle of him sharp and gorgeous. It’s like they carved him from stone and put him on earth for me to drool over. A drawer opens and slams shut, and he brings the packet to his lips. Ripping the condom wrapper open with his teeth, he tosses the package to the ground and rolls it over his length. I watch. Okay, I drool. He’s long, thick, and standing straight up, the tip just past his navel.
With his hooded gaze on me, he motions with a flip of his hand to the table, breathing through his nose, eyes narrowing.
Rolling my eyes, I stand up. “Can’t you just tell me what to do instead of motioning me around?”
He leans forward, his breath blowing over my face. “Get on the fucking table,” he rasps.
He doesn’t need to say another word. Actually, by the glare on his face, I shut the fuck up and get on the table.
Before I can take another breath, he sweeps his hand over the table covered in plot maps, and he has me laid on the table as he fumbles with a rope on the floor. Capturing both my wrists together, he angles them above my head, much like he did on the couch.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask, but it’s pointless because you and I both know he’s not going to tell me. With his brow furrowed in concentration, he binds my hands with the rope and secures it to the table leg. The boat creaks, a gentle rock set forth by his quick movements. I start breathing heavier and look down at my legs, thighs spread, ass cheeks sticking to the surface. What a predicament I’ve found myself in, all by saying I wanted to be owned. Maybe I should have thought that one through better.
When he’s finished, he straightens up and stares at me, the only light in the cabin the glow of the moon hanging low in the sky. He doesn’t move. He just looks at me as if he doesn’t know what to do now.
I blink, trying to get a better look at him in the darkness. Thankfully, I can at least still make out his beauty. “I swear to God, if your brother shows up and you leave me tied to this table, I will do something really bad to you.” My entire body breaks out into shivers. I’m not cold, I’m scared shitless about what he’s going to do next. “I’m not sure what, but it’s going to be bad.”
He snorts, as if that’s funny to him. With his hand below the table, he lifts it up, something shiny held between his thumb and index finger. I squint, trying to make out the object. He holds it up, jaw hard, looking primal and dangerous. “How do you feel about piercings?”
“What?” I swallow and nervously laugh. I ache for more, but at what cost? Say he pierces my clit and I get an infection? And that much pain, I don’t think so. Nope. I lift my head and run my tongue over my dry lips. “I don’t want one. I changed my mind. I don’t need to be owned.” I attempt to move my arms but get nowhere. Fuck, he tied those tight. They dig into my skin, burning. “Untie me.”
His brows lower, jaw squaring as his teeth clench. “Don’t fuck with me,” he growls, dropping the hook and dipping his finger inside me.