Honor Bound by Joey Hill (speld decodable readers .txt) 📕

opportunity to put her fingers on his face, actually feel what his facial muscles did as he smiled, laughed, frowned, concentrated . . . came.

She mewled as he removed the vibrator and harness, caressing her before setting them aside. “You’re so fucking hot and sexy, sweetheart. I wish you could see yourself. Every man there’s going to wish you were his to fuck.”

The unadorned male evaluation, spoken straight from his cock, was more believable than a hundred praises calculated to charm. When nylon rope stroked against her cheek, he let her touch it, follow it to the end to find the metal fastener. Without a command, she dropped her head back so he could attach the tether to the ring on the collar, above the St.

Christopher’s pendant.

He placed his lips there first, the sensitized skin above the collar, and she cried out, but kept her hands above her head as he’d ordered. When he drew back, he made an

approving noise. “This is yours, sweetheart. When we get there, you’ll wear this at all times. You’ll feel my touch through it. It’s ten feet long. Inside any range I pay out, you can touch and explore without fear.”

When his fingers collared her even above the strap, she dipped her head, touched the tip of her tongue to his knuckle. “I intend to show you off, and take fierce pleasure in knowing you’re mine. Mine to fuck in front of them if I want, or have you suck me off at a table while I share a drink with my friends. Sit you on my lap and let you go to sleep when you get tired. Dwell on the pleasure of having you in my bed.”

She’d never had a Master she trusted enough to go quite that public. So the searing pleasure of the idea with Peter surprised her. Belonging to him, serving him in front of others. She would feel their eyes upon her, the heat of their lust pressing on her as she served her Master.

As if he could follow her thoughts—and maybe he could, because she was sure her face reflected her arousal—he spoke in a voice laden with demanding lust. “Practice being on this leash. Give me the lap dance of my life, as if I’d ordered you to do it there. Grind yourself down on me the way I know you want to, showing those other guys what they’re missing. And always remember—you belong to me.”

She’d been a good dancer, but that had been then. Self-consciousness arose, but at an encouraging murmur, she grasped for confidence. It didn’t hurt that he had her so jacked up from his touch and that vibrator, she was a creature of pure sex right now.

He must have had a remote on the bed, because though he hadn’t moved, the

reverberation of a bass line came through her soles seconds before the music reached her ears, drowning out everything but what he wanted her to do. It was a hard rock piece with lots of drums, a blatant pounding sex rhythm. Letting the music penetrate, she swayed, shifting from one hip to the other, getting the sense of it. She visualized nightclubs where she’d worn silky, scanty dresses, danced with friends, or found a good-looking boy and enjoyed rubbing herself against him in some outrageous dance moves.

But even then she hadn’t wanted just hot, sweaty sex. She wanted the guy who would tolerate only so much teasing, the flashes of ass and leg goading him to take her over, take her in hand, make her feel the invisible bonds he had on her at all times, with or without a collar.

Of course, if that boy had been Peter, she would have let the strap of her dress drop off her shoulder, the neckline of the dress getting dangerously low, drawing his eye to the wobble of the breasts in danger of full exposure.

Now, though, she didn’t have to imagine such a thing. She wore his corset, binding her from breast to low on her hips, making her hyperaware of her exposed cleavage, the curve of her buttocks. All on display for him.

She let desire flow through her like water, guiding her body into the first steps. As she rocked into it, she backed up, putting her hand on the leash. Letting it slide through her fingers, she registered how it drew taut as she reached the limits. She liked the idea of using the leash, knowing the man on the other end of it was holding on to the control, his attention on her as tensile as that strap. Turning, she wrapped herself in it, let it bind her arms and upper torso, augment the corset’s constriction. When she reached him, her hands were trapped at her sides. One restrained hand found his spread knees and she turned, slid her backside low, down his abdomen, then lower. She put her ass in his lap and executed a rotation that gave her a mouthwatering idea of how hard his cock was.

Straddling his thigh, she teased her wet pussy along the line of the denim, then turned in a relatively lithe move she might not have been able to pull off before the morning’s workout. Or tomorrow, when every muscle would be sore. Now she brought her thigh up against his testicles, shimmying down and up against them, imagining his eyes on her breasts, nearly in his face. She could feel his hot breath on them. Then she turned again, dancing back from him, unwrapping herself, only to follow the leash back in, her slim fingers teasing along it until she found him again.

She liked how the corset restricted her breathing, all of it a reminder she had nothing to fear, that he had her heart and soul encased in that satin cage. She sat herself down in his lap again, and this time used her hands braced on his knees to grind and bump herself against him.

“There’s a mirror in front of you, sweetheart.