Fortune by Annabel Joseph (ebook reader for comics TXT) 📕

“For…for what?”

“For my pleasure.” His curt words made some wild drumbeat commence between her legs. Her stomach flipped over and fluttered, although she tried to remain outwardly cool. Inside she was anything but. Her pussy was already growing wet and ready for him. He pulled at her arms. “Let them fall naturally at your side. Stand straight and open to me.” Breathe in, breathe out. He put his thumb under her chin, tipped her head up and straight. He looked into her eyes with that dark gaze that burned and searched her expression. She stared back, knowing it was expected. What did he see? Why did she imagine he saw more than she even knew of herself? He put his hands on her neck and rested them there, not moving her or controlling her. She straightened unconsciously, then licked her lips.

“Are you going to put a collar on me?” she asked, trying to sound flippant.

“Not yet.” His voice didn’t sound flippant at all. “Someday. When I think you’re up for it.” He chucked her under the chin. “Baby steps. Now…” He stepped back and scrutinized her, tipped her shoulders back just one more iota. The positioning felt unnatural but he seemed to want that. “I’m going to bring your things in and put them in your room. You’re going to stand there and you’re not going to move. Not one inch. When I’m done bringing your things in, I’m going to take you in the bedroom and hurt you. Then I’m going to fuck you and put you to bed for the night. Any questions?”

She had trouble finding her voice. “No,” she finally managed. He gave her a dire look. “No Sir,” she corrected quickly.

With one last sweeping inspection of her body, he turned and went out the door. Kat found herself alone with her thoughts, standing naked and still at the behest of her Master. She was acutely aware of the heaviness of her breasts, the rise and fall of her chest, the vulnerability of her bared ass cheeks as the cool air blew across them. The mounting heat at the apex of her thighs.

He made several trips, pausing each time to inspect her on entering. Her face burned from the scrutiny. The third time, before he headed back to the car, he took her wrists and pulled her hands up. “Lace your fingers at the back of your neck. Elbows out. Stand up straight.” She swallowed and did as he asked. He wasn’t happy with her efforts. He pushed her elbows back until her breasts were forced even farther forward. Then, silently, he went around behind her and drove his knee between her legs. He began to spread them open, using his leather shoes to push her bare feet a distance apart on the floor.

She was strangled with lust and yet terrified. Cool air rushed up into her exposed center. She was terrified he would touch her and yet terrified he wouldn’t. He didn’t touch her, though, or say another word, just gave her another fathomless stare and turned away to make another trip to the car.

It felt like hours that she stood there, but the clock said ten minutes. He brought the last of her things in and then returned to take her arm, pulling her from her rigid stance. “You can unpack tomorrow.”

He didn’t wait for any answer to that and she didn’t attempt one. In his bedroom he arranged her again. She was already quicker at it. Shoulders back, hips straight, ankles together, arms at her side. He gave a small nod, acknowledging her progress, however minor. When she was positioned to his liking he turned away and undressed, taking his time. He took off his tie, hung it on the tie rack. Undid his belt, hung it on another rack. Folded his pants and shirt and put them in a pile for the dry cleaners. She watched his muscles as he worked, as he leaned and reached and strode to the closet. So much leashed power. It seemed inconceivable that this man spent his days performing neurosurgery, dealing in fine increments too small to be detected by the human eye. So much steadiness, so much finesse must have been required, and yet there was a wildness in him she could barely comprehend.

When he was fully undressed, he crossed in front of her to his bureau and pulled open the bottom drawer. It was filled with neatly coiled and tied-off bunches of rope of several thicknesses and colors. She watched as he sorted through them thoughtfully.

“Are you planning to hang me?”

He turned. “That would kind of defeat the purpose.” He looked back in the drawer, drew out some rope, twisted it between his fingers as if testing the weight and softness. He stood and came to her, unraveling the bundle. “Kat, have you ever heard of shibari?”

“Is that some kind of power drink?” He took one nipple between thumb and forefinger, pinching a sharp warning. “Uh…um…some kinky rope thing?” she guessed again.

“Shibari is another word for Japanese rope bondage. And it’s not just kinky stuff. It’s an art form.” He gestured back toward the drawer. “As you may have guessed from my collection, I’m pretty into it.” He lifted the frayed edge of the rope he held, drew it across the tender nipple he’d just pinched. She shivered at the ticklish sensation. “I’m going to tie you up, Kat.”

“Um, okay. For how long?”

“For as long as I want.”

“Somehow I knew you were going to say that.”

“Hush, you little brat.” He made her kneel, then pressed her forward until her forehead touched the carpet. “Give me your hands.” She reached them back and he took them, cinching them together wrist-to-wrist with the rope. He ran the dangling tails around her waist and crossed them at the front, then pulled them back up again.

As he worked, she rested her cheek on the floor and gazed over at the jumble