Welcome to Mid Week Tease, where my author friends and I post a little something from a WIP, flash fiction piece or from some of our published work for you, the readers. As always, a HUGE thanks to fellow author Sandra Bunino for creating this weekly event.
This week, I'm pulling a piece from my work in progress file. Yes. I have a WIP file. *Smiles*
I'm never too sure of having multiple WIP's is a good thing or not, but at least I'll never run of of things to work on!
Here's a first draft, unedited piece, that we authors sometimes refer to as the word vomit stage.
The edge of the leather danced around my right breast in agonizing slowness. Stroke. Glide…. Retreat.
“Cause and effect,” he said, and today his British accent was more pronounced. Did touching me undo some of his control, even a little? “Have you ever considered the concept?”
“Not really,” I managed to say.
I shook my head, fanning the strands of my hair across the crisp white pillow.
“Well, then. Let us consider the concept. Shall we?”
Before I could respond, the leather, then his fingertips circled my areola.
“Cause is when every action produces a certain response to that action in the form of another event.” My nipples pebbled. His thumb brushed over one of my taut nubs and goose bumps humped my flesh. “Effect,” he said, gazing down at me. My pulse went wild.
Without another word, he slipped the blindfold over my eyes.
“Wait,” I uttered.
He pressed his lips below my ear. Then I heard and felt the vibration of his, “Shh….” when he removed them.
My naked frame quivered in excitement. Anticipation. Fear. He was everything I shouldn’t crave. Everything I shouldn’t want. He would ruin me, and I would let him, because even though I knew I needed to decisively end what was going on between us, I couldn’t, or I wouldn’t. I’d become a moth to his flame, intent on being burned up by insatiable desire.
The binding around my right wrist cinched tighter. A moment later, came the tightening of the left. Control. He had total control over my body. Over my pleasure. I went rigid. A storm of guilt and emotion let loose and wreaked havoc. I slipped my bottom lip between my teeth. Bit down.
“Makayla.” He gave me his velvet voice. As an anchor? A scolding? “Stop.”
A scolding, I realized and instinctively turned my head in the direction of the sound.
I waited for him to say more. To touch me. Do something to prevent me from thinking. Tell me everything would be okay. Take away this ache. Give me absolution. Maybe he’d be the one who would make the decision I seemed incapable of, and release me. But he didn’t, so the passing of time became measured in breaths.
A flick to my erect nipple sent a jolt of heat across my torso and caused me to part my lips with a shuddering moan. Another leathery stroke swept along the line of my collarbone, swirled within the hollow of my throat, dropped between my breasts, tickled my ribs, and inched lower. When he tapped my navel with the tip of the crop, I jerked—stomach trembling.
Several minutes, or hours, or forever went by without touch. The blindfold kept me from seeing, but my other senses were heightened. I became aware the only noise in the room was my own raspy respirations, and the whirling hum from the ceiling fan. Would he leave me? The thought of being left, exposed and trembling, took me under in a maelstrom of panic. I strained to hear him.
Did he leave me? I tugged at my restraints, making my wrists and ankles pull at the ties secured to the spindles of the bed.
Something brushed over the corner of my mouth. His thumb.
“Look at you, twisting and writhing.”
The relief I experienced, knowing he was still with me, was palpable. “I thought you—”
“Left?” he asked.
The sensation of his knuckles gliding along my jaw brought me back to him. He always knew how to bring me back to him.
“Do you really believe I would leave you?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know,” I said.
His low chuckle was another flashpoint of sensation to hold on to.
“Let me put your mind at rest.” He skittered the implement of his seduction—of my pleasure—of my torture, over my hip, along my inner thigh, down my calf, and then slithered up my other leg until he rested the small patch of leather on my bare mound, rapping out an erotic pattern in not quite stinging blows. Delicious sparks flowed to my clitoris and buzzed. Leaving you…” He worked my flesh. Tap-tap. Retreat. “Is not an option.”
I lost my ability to reason when he placed his palm just above my mound of Venus and pressed.
“Please,” I begged in a whisper.
“Will you give yourself over to me, completely?”
I bit at the inside of my cheek.
He moved the crop between my legs and patted the supple leather up my labia, stopping just shy of my stimulated clit. A moaned escaped my lips. Moisture pooled between my legs and I wanted to lift my hips upward, but his hand held me there in place.
I rasped, “Yes.”
“You will give me your pleasure how I demand?”
I licked my lips and nodded.
My pussy fluttered, reveling at the stern edge to his voice.
“Yes, sir. In every way you demand.”
I heard him move. Three heartbeats passed. To my left, the mattress dipped. An intake of breath gave me the spicy aroma of his cologne. His warm breath bathed my throat, my chin….
“Good girl,” he said, right before he took full possession of my mouth with his.
Fore More Mid Week Tease: