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“Shh.” He quickly presses the fingertip to my lips. “Don’t forget, Rae: You are not to speak. Not even one word. Nod if you understand.”
I nod meekly.
Once it’s clear that I’m listening, his hand returns to my stomach. He slowly, slowly,slowlystarts to tease my dress up. It rises from my kneecaps, up my thighs. He stops when it has settled just above my underwear.
His fingertip traces up the edge of my panties, following the elastic where it meets my thigh. He goes across the waistband until he’s level with my belly button, then straight down, grazing a line from north to south that passes over my center.
“Wet already,” he notes with a distant, almost sad expression. “That’s good. That will make this easier.”
I want to askwhatexactly it will make easier, but I bite my tongue. The rules are clear: No speaking.
He repeats that same excruciating lap: tracing the outer seams of my underwear, pausing at dead center, then floating down over the growing damp spot. It’s the lightest possible touch, but as he does the fourth circuit, and the fifth, I feel a frustrated whine building behind my clamped lips.
Eventually, he sighs. His fingers hook into my waistband and tug the fabric down. He slips my panties off, folds them neatly, and sets them aside.
Then he returns to sit next to me.
His eyes remain locked on mine as his hand cups my calf and slides upward. It rotates toward the inside of my thigh as he gets higher and higher. The first brush of his fingertip around the very perimeter of the bare, slick flesh at my center makes me gasp. But he’s careful to avoid where I want it most. It’s allclose, almost there,but never exactly dead-on.
I’m starting to get the feeling that that’s very, very intentional.
We do it again and again. Up over my hip, across my waist, down the other side. The circle gets smaller and smaller, but only by a millimeter or two at a time. Maybe not even that.
My throat is starting to hurt from holding back whimpers, but I don’t dare make a noise. Not when he looks so… so…
What’s even the word for it?Solemn,maybe?Sad,kind of? I’m not sure, and he’s in no rush to explain himself.
It must be twenty more minutes of that route, light as a whisper, again and again. Lukas’s face doesn’t change whatsoever.
When he finally,finallypasses over my clit, I very nearly sob. He taps it once, almost like the push of a button, and my hips buck upward.
He nods as if to say,Right on schedule.But then he just returns to that winding path.
I could cry. Why is he doing this? What’s the end goal here? He’s been so thirsty for me since we first holed up in the brownstone, so open and eager, full of life and love.
This man who’s torturing me looks almostgrimas he does it.
We start from the beginning all over again. Big, wide laps, then smaller and smaller, until,thank God,he touches my clit once more. A bit more pressure than last time, and after, he glides that fingertip down to dip into the gushing wetness. I sigh and squirm.
Now, he charts a new course. He goes from my swollen, throbbing clit, into my wetness. One, then the other. It’s still way too light to make me cum—he said I had to wait for permission for that, anyway—but it’s plenty sufficient to make me goinsane.If it weren’t for the ties around my wrists and ankles, I would’ve been clawing at him tohurry the fuck up already.
But he anticipated that.
That’s why I’m tied up, I suppose.
Lukas’s second hand comes up. He starts doing laps around my swollen bud with one fingertip while the other assumes the work of going up and down, up and down my entrance, though he never slides it inside me. Still, his face is made of stone.
I can feel the tendrils of an orgasm starting to gather low in my belly. That new but already-familiar tightening. My nipples perk up, my breathing intensifies, and I find myself straining at my bonds. I start to flutter my eyes unconsciously and rise up toward his teasing hands.
I’m close—I just need a little teensy bit more. More pressure, friction, anything.
He gives it to me… sort of. Two fingers slide inside while his other hand keeps working my sensitive spot.
Yes. Yes.Oh, yes, I’m so close, I’m going to cum, and this fun little game has all been worth it, I haven’t lost him, nothing is wrong, he just wanted to show me something new, and here it is, here it is, here it?—
Wait.
What?
