Page 149 of Cloudy With a Chance of Bad Decisions
“Think about it.” This was bullshit. Total bullshit. There’d been no reason behind my desire to immobilize him other than my need to see that prettypale skin trussed up because of me. But if the idea I was this diabolical, conniving Dom made George hard then I would let him believe it.
It was part of the show.
That’s what Dominic had told me. That sometimes it was the mind games that made it better, not necessarily always the physical.
“You…wanted me to…be…” George’s voice was so faint I could barely hear it despite the fact his mouth was close to my ear. “You wanted me to be still.”
“That’s right,” I agreed, a shiver running down my spine. “Why, George? Why would I want that from you?”
This time his answer came faster. “Because it helps me relax. It helps me…pay attention.”
Huh.
Yeah.
That was great. I liked that. “I like when you pay attention to me,” I husked. “Love it, actually.”
George whimpered. His legs were shaking, not because this position was particularly challenging, but—probably the adrenaline of being tied up in a semi-public location.
“I want you over there,” I told him, releasing his neck and hip and stepping back. He whined, a sad forlorn sound.
“Over t-there?” George peeked over his shoulder at me. It was the same look he’d given me on the beach, demure and through his lashes.
“That’s right. Leaning on that—” Fuck, what were they called? “The hoist. Over there.” I would’ve had him hold his arms high up and dangle a bit to get his blood tingling, but I worried that position would exacerbate the burn on his hand. “I want you to be still when you get into position. Doesn’t matter how I touch you. Doesn’t matter what I do. You hold position until I tell you to let go. Do you understand?”
“I understand.” George stumbled toward the wooden beam I’d indicated, his hands already held out in front of him. With his forearms against thewood for balance, the ropes that twisted around his wrists were even more obvious. So fucking pretty. Jesus. He was a work of art.
“Are the ropes too tight?” I double-checked as I stepped behind him once more. “How do they feel?” I had no idea if the new position would tug them uncomfortably, and hoped to god it wouldn’t. George shook his head, and I relaxed.
“They’re fine,” he promised, in that same throaty tone that made me want to pound him into the floorboards. “They feel good.”
“Perfect. If that changes, you tell me.”
“Yes.”
His response felt empty. Like it was missing something. It was easy enough to figure out what that was.
“Yes, what?” I asked, kicking his legs apart for a second time that day. He wiggled, sneakers skidding on the wood as he settled into place.
“Yes, Counselor.”
Christ, that was a thrill of its own. He was so fucking perfect it made me feel like I was losing my mind. “How’s your burn, baby?” I slipped my hands up his forearms, fingering the bandages still wrapped around one of his hands. “Is it hurting at all?”
“No.”
“Okay.” I pecked his flushed ear in appreciation. “That’s it.” It was impossible to retreat now, not with his back pressed flush against my chest. I angled my hips, slotting my cock against his ass as I leaned back to admire him. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to feel your ass like this,” I told him, eyes slipping shut as I focused on the feeling.
The fabric barriers between us were slippery with sweat and precum, damp as the head of my cock twitched and caught between his cheeks. When I lowered my hips it dragged my foreskin up, and god—was that…Jesus.
“Mmm,” I sighed, flexing forward, then back again, enjoying the way his ass cheeks clenched. “You…”
“I…?” George replied, breathless. He was still like I’d requested, frozen. But the way he trembled, and the flush to his cheeks and ears made it obvious he was as into this as I was.
“Are you hard too?” I asked, falling into character easily. “Do you…I mean—when you look at me…do you…”
“Yes,” George whined. “When you sit down, you…you spread your legs. I don’t know if you noticed you do that? But I can’t help but…imaginehow big your dick must be if you have to sit that way.”
“Christ, you really are a slut.” Back to mean, my voice dropped even lower. “Bet you like to picture what my dick tastes like too.”
