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Dimitri’s eyes darken, turning almost black with hunger, and for a second, I think I’ve got him. But he only pulls his hand out of his pants and crosses his arms, watching me with that infuriatingly stoic expression. His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t touch himself again. And somehow that makes me hotter, my body responding to his restraint without hesitation—my clit swelling as I rub the soap deeper into my skin, slower now, more intentional.
But it’s not enough.
When I can’t take it anymore, I rinse off, letting the water wash away the foam. Then I unhook the showerhead from the wall and aim the pulsing stream down my body. It hits my tits first, before I guide it lower, over my stomach and down to where I’m throbbing.
A mistake.
Or maybe exactly what I want.
Unable to resist, I angle it right against my clit, and my legs tremble, my hips jerking as pleasure builds in tight, unbearable waves. My pussy clenches around nothing, aching to be filled, but I keep the pressure there, letting the water pound my folds until I’m breathing hard and right on the edge.
Dimitri still doesn’t move.
His face stays a mask of control despite the obvious tent in his pants—his cock has to be rock-hard by now. Only his eyes, tracking every motion, and the ragged rise and fall of his chest give him away. I think back to his comment about his self-control.
Damn him and his self-control.
I hang the showerhead back with considerably more force than necessary. All I’ve managed to do is get myself worked up, my pussy dripping, desperate for him, for an orgasm he’s clearly not going to give until I spill my guts. My eyes sting with tears of frustration and need—so much need that my muscles seem to tremble from it.
“Are you done?” he asks, his voice low and rough, as I twist the knob to turn off the water.
I nod and step out, my skin flushed, oversensitive, and painfully aware of everything again.
He grabs a towel from the cabinet and starts drying me off, his hands careful but firm, patting down my arms, my breasts—brushing my nipples enough to make me bite my lip—then my stomach, thighs… and finally between my legs.
I try to think pure thoughts, anything to distract myself from how badly I want him to drop the towel and sink his fingers into my soaked pussy right there and make me see stars. My teeth press harder into my lip, sharp enough to break the skin, to anchor me through it. When he steps back, the loss hits harder than it should. I sway slightly, my body protesting the distance even after how torturous it was to have him so close.
“Come on.” He grips my upper arm, and heat flares under his touch, but he doesn’t say a word as he leads me out of the bathroom.
His warmth radiates through his clothes, a steady contrast against my bare skin, still damp and cooling in the air. Every step keeps him near my shoulder, his presence hard to ignore, and leaves me painfully aware of how his fingers flex on my arm, how his breath brushes my neck.
He doesn’t take me to bed this time. Instead, he steers me toward the suspension bar mounted on the wall. I hesitate, staring at the metal cuffs dangling there. Fear and want twist in my gut, tangling until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
“Back against the wall.”
The command sends heat to my core so fast my legs nearly forget how to hold me up. I turn and press my back to the cool surface, the chill seeping into my skin and helping to slow the heady rush flooding my veins.
Dimitri takes his time.
He cuffs one wrist, then the other, lifting my arms above my head until the bar holds me stretched taut. The metal clicks shut, secure but not painful. Then he kneels and cuffs my ankles to the spreader bar, forcing my legs wide until I’m fully exposed, unable to close them, barely able to move at all.
“There.” Satisfaction laces his voice as he stands back to look at me.
He picks up a pair of nipple clamps from the nearby table. The silver teeth glint, and my throat tightens as he walks back toward me with them in hand. He stops in front of me, watching me, waiting… for what, I don’t know. When I remain silent, he lifts them.
My breath hitches as he pinches one nipple first, rolling it between his fingers until it’s hard and aching before snapping the clamp on. Pain flares, bright and sharp, then a blooming warmth that goes straight to my swollen clit. He does the same to the other, and I gasp, my spine arching into the sensation. Pain and pleasure swarm my senses, confusing me. Every breath tugs at the clamps, sending fresh jolts through me.
He circles to my side. I don’t see what he reaches for, but I hear the shift of movement, the kind that makes my skin tighten in warning before anything even happens. Then his hot fingers brush my neck, and fabric slides over my eyes.
A blindfold.
Darkness swallows my vision, making everything else sharpen—every sound, every shift of air, the weight of the clamps on my nipples, the cool press of the wall against my bare back.
My body tenses as I wait for what he’ll do next, ears straining to follow the soft sound of his footsteps. He returns to my side, and a light and ticklish feeling feathers down my arm.
Whatever it is moves up to my throat, down to my sternum, then over my clamped nipples until they throb harder. A sharper flick across my stomach makes me gasp, but the sting quickly blossoms into heat. I squirm, pressing into him without thinking, his body close enough that I feel the hard line of his cock against my hip as he teases me with that maddening, featherlike thing.
Whimpers escape my lips, my body begging for more, my pussy spasming around nothing as wetness slips down my inner thighs, cooling against my skin in the open air.
