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

She turned her head up to him. He was sitting, waiting. “But…how… I can’t.”

He looked at her a moment, then reached beside him to pick up the cane again. Kat’s heart skipped. She lurched forward and picked up a blue one between her teeth, then shuffled forward making small sounds of panic. Her heart flipped over with relief as she heard the cane set down again. He reached for the paper figure and stroked her cheek as he took it. “Good girl. Bring them all.”

It took awhile. She got better, over time, at moving and leaning. A few times she even managed to get two at once between her teeth. A couple times he chided her not to drool on them, an embarrassing reminder of just how turned-on she was. The way he sat and watched while she crawled around to do his bidding had her pussy aching.

She saw mostly cranes and floor, but every so often she raised her head to see his hairy calves, his knees with their sculpted muscle, his cock standing up hard and thick. In time she realized he was stringing each crane she brought on a length of fishing line. A bead at the end prevented them from falling off. She lost count of how many cranes she retrieved, but noticed him tie off one strand and lay it across the desk, beginning another. Her back and thighs began to ache near the end. He made soft sounds of encouragement as her energy started to flag. When she brought him the final crane, he took it and leaned to kiss the top of her head. She arched her neck to look up at him, then huddled on the floor at his feet, overcome.

His eyes, the way he’d looked at her. Pride and approval, affection and hot animal hunger. She laid her cheek against the carpet and wept.

The tears slaughtered him. She destroyed him.

She could have brought a knife and asked to kill him in that moment and he would have helped her plunge it into his chest.

He was out of the chair and draped over her back before he knew what he was doing. “Kat,” he sighed against her ear. “Don’t cry. You’re such a good girl.” She sobbed harder, great heaving sobs that pressed her back up against his stomach, the scratchy rope an irritant between them. Release her, idiot. He slid his hands beneath her, braced her, held her tight as he released the clamps. Her breath caught as the blood rushed back into her sensitive nipples. He went to work on the knots next, untying her with an alacrity that bore no resemblance to the slow, deliberate way he’d originally tied her. Her sobs weakened as he worked, diminished to intermittent sniffles. At last the rope loosened and slipped away. As soon as her ankles were free, she moved to get up.

“No.” His voice sounded loud in the silent bedroom. His hands closed on her hips, held her still. “Don’t move yet,” he said more softly. “Give your body time to adjust slowly. And give me time to check you.” She stayed still, shivering, not resisting him. He released her hips and reached for her hands, inspecting her wrists for cuts or chafing. He’d used soft rope but with beginners there was always a risk of damage. He was relieved to see only redness, no abrasions. He placed her hands on either side of her head and then moved down to her ankles. They were unblemished, no abrasions or cuts either. He circled them with thumb and finger, marveling at their shapeliness. Wondrous, compelling femininity.

“Okay,” he said, reaching for her waist again. “Come here. Don’t try to stand up yet.” He pulled her into his lap and tucked her head under his chin. He held her—a huddled bundle—against his chest to warm her and felt the moisture still on her cheeks. “Okay, okay,” he murmured against her hair. She moved one leg, pressed it against his throbbing erection. He was close to bursting for her. The bedside table was right there. He shifted to his knees, sitting back on his ankles. He reached over with one hand and got a condom from the drawer, still cradling her with the other hand. She was floppy, loose in his grasp, still in subspace. He ripped the condom wrapper open with his teeth and nudged her aside to roll it on. He positioned her slender body on the head of his cock.

He wanted to thrust deep, to yank her hips down onto him. He didn’t. He eased into her, his hands all over her. Hips, breasts, back, stomach, every magical female plane. He took her face between his hands and thrust his tongue in her mouth, capturing her faint moan, a resonant secret. Her thighs tensed and she shuddered as he finally filled her completely. He tilted his hips, thrust upward so she took him to the very hilt. She twitched her hips and he groaned from the sensual tease, pulling her closer. Her arms reached for him, clasped around his neck as she plastered herself to his front. He began to fuck her. He wanted to possess her. He ran his hands up and down her back, pinching, scratching, massaging. Each small arch she made, each shivery undulation sent sparks of heat flashing to his pelvis. Soon he felt a feverish need for release.

“Oh,” she sighed against his ear. “Ryan…”

With a growl he pitched forward and laid her on the floor before him. He splayed her legs wide and levered himself over her, pounding into her with his weight supported on his arms. Below him, she arched and met his thrusts with equal fervor, her arms thrown high over her head. She closed her eyes and he almost ordered her to open them, but then he felt her shudder and tense beneath him. He felt her walls grip him, contracting in rhythmic beats of ecstasy, an