Read Online Five Golden Rings (Facets of Passion) by Jeffe Kennedy - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jeffe Kennedy
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was naked but for an easily removed dress and that it was because he wanted her that way.
Sometime long after midnight—technically breaking the rules, but she wasn’t going to point that out—they rode up in the elevator and Miguel slipped his fingers around her wrist, tightening there.
The doors opened into the quiet penthouse and he led her into it, then pressed her to her knees without a word. Something about his unspoken commands affected her more deeply than anything else. As if what went between them was beyond words.
Her arousal screaming up to another level entirely, she knelt and watched him unbuckle the belt, looping the soft leather around his hand.
Now she knew what it would be like and already part of her craved the high. She wanted this, even though her already sore bottom burned at the thought of still more punishment. He tapped the end of the belt thoughtfully against one palm, his anticipation barely restrained. Then, flicking a finger at her, indicated she should remove the dress.
It wasn’t easy, without his help with the zipper, but he seemed to enjoy watching her movements. When she was naked, dress tossed aside, he nudged her knees apart with the toe of his expensive leather shoes. Obligingly she spread her thighs, unable to tear her gaze from the tapping leather. He guided her hands behind her neck and stroked her back so she arched it, thrusting out her breasts, gilded by the tight gold rings. The room was so silent she thought she could hear the gentle surf, stroking the shore.
After an interminable time during which she posed for him, he urged her onto her hands and knees and, with a startling crack of the leather on her upturned ass, sent her crawling to the bedroom. The belt licked at her as she crawled, her nipples and clit unbearably swollen against the clamps, and she thought she might never get there, trying to race ahead of the whipping belt that drove her, mindlessly, to his bed.
She crawled onto it, panting, but not in tears like before. Instead, this time, each crack of the leather on her skin seemed like gasoline on fire. Lying face-down, she writhed on the cool sheets, almost welcoming the sting, keening along with it, anticipating the pleasure to follow.
“Kneel up,” he growled and she became aware that he’d stopped. Scrambling up, she knelt on the bed facing him. He held the belt in front of her face and, without knowing why, she kissed it. Smiling in satisfaction, he slid the leather around her neck, loosely threading the belt through the buckle so it dangled between her aching breasts.
Slowly, he stripped out of the suit, and she watched with famished patience. Naked, he rolled a condom onto his erection, laid his hands on her shoulders, pushing her inexorably back, so that, with her knees still bent under her, her back arched. Holding her like that, he plucked the rings from her nipples with his teeth, keeping her still while she writhed and whimpered. His hand delved between her legs, pulled out the bullet and snapped away the clit clamp in one nearly brutal move.
He plunged into her while she was still recovering, pulling her trapped feet from under her and thrusting her knees high as he pounded into her. She clung to his shoulders, transfixed by the feral light in his eyes, letting herself be taken.
“Sing, little bird. Come for me and sing your sweet song.”
Giving into the orgasm like she gave into him, she gave voice to the raw intensity of her pleasure.
December 29
Fifth Day of Christmas
Five Gold Rings
When she awoke on her fifth full day of vacation, Miguel slept next to her, buried face-down in a pillow, barely draped in a white sheet. The morning sun poured in like liquid gold, burnishing his dark skin, making him into a lean sculpture of a man.
Once again she congratulated herself on such a fine vacation find.
Letting him sleep—for surely he needed it, given the way they’d spent most of the night before—she took a long, refreshing shower.
Sometime long after midnight—technically breaking the rules, but she wasn’t going to point that out—they rode up in the elevator and Miguel slipped his fingers around her wrist, tightening there.
The doors opened into the quiet penthouse and he led her into it, then pressed her to her knees without a word. Something about his unspoken commands affected her more deeply than anything else. As if what went between them was beyond words.
Her arousal screaming up to another level entirely, she knelt and watched him unbuckle the belt, looping the soft leather around his hand.
Now she knew what it would be like and already part of her craved the high. She wanted this, even though her already sore bottom burned at the thought of still more punishment. He tapped the end of the belt thoughtfully against one palm, his anticipation barely restrained. Then, flicking a finger at her, indicated she should remove the dress.
It wasn’t easy, without his help with the zipper, but he seemed to enjoy watching her movements. When she was naked, dress tossed aside, he nudged her knees apart with the toe of his expensive leather shoes. Obligingly she spread her thighs, unable to tear her gaze from the tapping leather. He guided her hands behind her neck and stroked her back so she arched it, thrusting out her breasts, gilded by the tight gold rings. The room was so silent she thought she could hear the gentle surf, stroking the shore.
After an interminable time during which she posed for him, he urged her onto her hands and knees and, with a startling crack of the leather on her upturned ass, sent her crawling to the bedroom. The belt licked at her as she crawled, her nipples and clit unbearably swollen against the clamps, and she thought she might never get there, trying to race ahead of the whipping belt that drove her, mindlessly, to his bed.
She crawled onto it, panting, but not in tears like before. Instead, this time, each crack of the leather on her skin seemed like gasoline on fire. Lying face-down, she writhed on the cool sheets, almost welcoming the sting, keening along with it, anticipating the pleasure to follow.
“Kneel up,” he growled and she became aware that he’d stopped. Scrambling up, she knelt on the bed facing him. He held the belt in front of her face and, without knowing why, she kissed it. Smiling in satisfaction, he slid the leather around her neck, loosely threading the belt through the buckle so it dangled between her aching breasts.
Slowly, he stripped out of the suit, and she watched with famished patience. Naked, he rolled a condom onto his erection, laid his hands on her shoulders, pushing her inexorably back, so that, with her knees still bent under her, her back arched. Holding her like that, he plucked the rings from her nipples with his teeth, keeping her still while she writhed and whimpered. His hand delved between her legs, pulled out the bullet and snapped away the clit clamp in one nearly brutal move.
He plunged into her while she was still recovering, pulling her trapped feet from under her and thrusting her knees high as he pounded into her. She clung to his shoulders, transfixed by the feral light in his eyes, letting herself be taken.
“Sing, little bird. Come for me and sing your sweet song.”
Giving into the orgasm like she gave into him, she gave voice to the raw intensity of her pleasure.
December 29
Fifth Day of Christmas
Five Gold Rings
When she awoke on her fifth full day of vacation, Miguel slept next to her, buried face-down in a pillow, barely draped in a white sheet. The morning sun poured in like liquid gold, burnishing his dark skin, making him into a lean sculpture of a man.
Once again she congratulated herself on such a fine vacation find.
Letting him sleep—for surely he needed it, given the way they’d spent most of the night before—she took a long, refreshing shower.
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