“What gift?” I joke.
He releases one of my hands, and in less than a second, his palm is under my ass, pinching my sore, heated skin.
I yelp. “Daddy!”
He pinches again. “What are you going to gift me, naughty girl?”
“My pussy,” I shout.
He chuckles. “Is anyone else ever going to touch that pussy?”
“No, Sir.” I’m breathing hard. He has the strangest ways of driving my arousal through the roof.
“Including you?”
I bite my lip.
He pinches me a third time, harder. He keeps moving to another spot on my bottom, spreading the pain.
I cry out. “I won’t touch my pussy.”
“It’s a very greedy pussy, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good girl. I’m going to teach you a lesson, and then I’m going to claim what’s been mine for the last four years.”
So possessive. It’s so fucking hot. “Yes, Sir.” I don’t know what the lesson is, but I like the second part of the declaration.
Camden climbs off me, taking the covers to the foot of the bed as he does so.
I rise onto my elbows to watch as he stands next to the bed to remove his boxers. I try not to react, but it’s darn near impossible. Jeez. His cock is… Well, I have no frame of reference, but surely they aren’t all that large.
He opens the nightstand, grabs a condom, and rolls it onto his length. All the while, he watches me. When he’s done, he reaches into the nightstand again. This time, he produces a pair of pink fuzzy cuffs.
My breath hitches. I didn’t see this coming. But I rarely see anything coming with this man. He keeps me on my toes. I like it.
I’m not sure I like his smirk when he climbs between my legs and cuffs my wrists to the headboard without a word.
I am sure I like the way my body lights on fire as the second cuff snaps into place.
I’m not sure I like the way he’s laughing as if this is funny and he knows something I don’t.
I am sure I’m going to lose my mind when he slides his hands to my breasts and circles my nipples.
I arch my chest upward, bucking against him.
He lifts his hands off my chest. “Grab the headboard, naughty girl. Hold on to the rungs so the cuffs don’t bruise your wrists. If you let go of the rungs, I will punish you in a way you will not enjoy.” He lifts a brow.
I believe him. I’m starting to recognize the difference between when he’s teasingly threatening me with discipline and when he’s seriously going to punish me. I may be pushing things too far because I don’t think I’m going to like it when he enforces a real punishment. I grab the rungs above my head as though my life depends on it.
“Look at me.”
I lower my gaze to his.
“Good girl. Have you heard of edging?”
I gasp. The blood drains from my face.
