Play Me #5: Play Me Right (Play Me Series) Read online

  Somehow that gives me the impetus I need to lift my hands to the buttons of my blouse. To slip them through the buttonholes, slowly, carefully. When they are all undone, I shrug the shirt off my shoulders, letting it slip down my arms and to the floor behind me.

  Sebastian’s eyes follow the movement before coming back to rest on my lace-covered breasts.

  If I was a different woman, I’d probably be able to tease him here. To put on a show that would make him burn even hotter. But I’m not that kind of woman, and though I think I’d like to be, for now all I can do is unfasten my bra and let it slip to the thick carpet as well.

  He still doesn’t say anything, doesn’t reach for me, though his hands tighten on the belt, drawing it even tauter. My sex clenches at the sight and I want to reach for him, for the belt.

  The knowledge throws me off and my hands falter at the waistband of my skirt. Suddenly it’s like my fingers don’t work—like they’ve forgotten how to work a button, how to lower a zipper.

  “Leave it,” Sebastian tells me, his voice all smoky gravel and midnight promises.

  The tone has my hands dropping instantly to my side, even as I nervously pleat my skirt between my fingers.

  And then Sebastian is there, prying my fingers from the material. “You okay, sweetheart?” he asks, leaning down so his breath is hot against my cheek.

  It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to moan at the contact. And when his hand—with the belt still wrapped around it—skims lightly over my breast, my knees actually tremble.

  He smiles at me, then, a deliciously dark thing that lights me up from the inside and has every one of my nerve endings sizzling with want. With need.

  Slowly, so slowly, he slides the cool leather down my arm, across my stomach, over my breasts. For a second, just a second, he brushes the belt against my throat and a frisson of fear runs through me. It’s the good kind of fear, though, the kind that has my skin stretching tight and my every sense on hyper-alert.

  And then the leather is gone just as quickly and I’m left to relax—or maybe just sag with disappointment. Right now, with a million different sensations running through me, it’s so hard to tell.

  “Put your hands behind your back.”

  My mouth runs dry at the order, and at the tone it’s delivered in. But I do as Sebastian says, sliding my arms behind my back and loosely clasping my right wrist with my left hand.

  Once I do that, Sebastian walks behind me and gently pries my grip loose. And then he winds the belt around first one wrist and then the other, again and again, until the belt is wrapped completely around me. Then he re-fastens the buckle.

  Instinctively, I try to get my hands apart, but I’m fastened tightly. A shiver of fear slinks through me, but it’s overshadowed by the desire that’s burning inside of me. It’s a startling realization, because no matter what I said earlier, I thought I was doing this for him. To show Sebastian that I’m not afraid of him, that I want what he wants. Which is the truth.

  But it’s more than that. Being tied up by Sebastian excites me.

  Wondering what he’s going to do next excites me.

  Turning my body over to him to do with it what he wants excites me.

  Honestly, it turns me on more than anything ever has. More than—

  He tugs on the belt, hard, pulling my shoulder blades down and dragging my attention back to the present. Back to him. As if I could ever ignore him for more than few seconds.

  “Comfortable?” he asks, after he’s sure my attention is back on him.

  I’m not exactly sure comfortable is the word to describe the need clawing at my insides. But all I say is “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  And then he’s pressing his hands down on my shoulders, not hard enough to hurt but with enough purpose that I get the message. Bending my already shaky knees, I lower myself slowly, clumsily, to the ground.

  And wait for whatever instruction Sebastian wants to give me next.

  Chapter Five

  Sebastian

  Shit, Fuck. Damn. I thought I was prepared for this. Thought I had this whole meeting all mapped out. Never in my wildest fantasies did I think it would include Aria all but offering herself to me on a silver platter, any way that I want her.

  What a joke that is. Because the truth is, I’ll take her any way I can get her. Take whatever small crumb she wants to offer me, especially after the way I screwed up with her last time. I figured I’d have to grovel—after what I did to her the last time we were together, it’s no more than I deserve. And instead, here she is, tied up and kneeling before me, offering me anything, everything. It’s so much more than I deserve, too much more, especially when all I want is her.

  But I’m not a fool and there’s no way I’m turning her away now. Not when she’s half-naked and pliant in front of me. Not when I can see by the floaty look in her eye that she’s already halfway to subspace. I want to take her the rest of the way, want to see her eyes fade out and her gorgeous skin flush with pleasure. I want to make her come, again and again and again, until there is no her, no me, only the ecstasy that stretches between us.

  But she’s not ready for that yet, not after the two orgasms she’s already had. So I put a leash on my own need and concentrate on her instead.

  Reaching out a hand, I tangle my fingers in her hair and tug a little. She arches in pleasure, her eyes going from dark to starless midnight from one second to the next. I tug a little harder this time and she arches in pleasure, her whole body shuddering at the sharp little pains.

  She leans forward then, rubs her face against me, and though there are two layers between my dick and her mouth, I swear I can feel the wet heat of her through the fabric. My cock twitches, leaks, and I give a sharp tug on her hair, try to pull her back. But she resists—the first time since this started that she hasn’t done exactly what I want her to do—and instead presses kisses along the hard line of my cock.

  “Fuck, you’re beautiful,” I whisper, my palm cupping her face even as my fingers remain tangled in her hair.

  She whimpers a little, tries to take me in her mouth through the silk of my suit pants, and that’s when I lose it.

  Keeping my one hand on her head, I use my other to fumble my pants open. To draw my dick out.

  Before I can so much as think about guiding her head where I so desperately need it to be, she’s there, licking the head of my cock. Pressing kisses up and down the length of it. Lingering at the base, swirling her tongue around and around until it’s all I can do to remember my own name.

  It’s too soon—way too soon—but already there’s a roaring in my ears, a pounding in my blood that warns me I’m on the brink of losing control. That’s the last thing I want to do, after everything that happened between us the other night, but as she sucks me deep into her throat, I’m not sure I have another option. Biting the inside of my cheek, I clench my fists as every muscle in my body tightens.

  As my fingers tug at her hair, Aria moans deep in her throat. The subsequent vibrations only make it harder for me to hold on.

  “Fuck, Aria. Baby, please.” I pull harder, trying to get her to back off a little, to give me a chance to breathe, to think, to get a better grasp on the control I’m clinging to by my fingertips.

  She moans again, slides me up and down her throat in a rhythm that has my eyes crossing, my chest shuddering, my cock begging for release. And still I don’t break free. I can’t. Everything I have, everything I am, is wrapped up in Aria.

  I take her sweet ministrations as long as I can, reveling in every kiss, every lick, every moan. But I can feel the electricity building up at the base of my spine, and I know I’m close. Too close. If I don’t stop this now, I’m going to blow right down her pretty, pretty throat.

  I tug at her hair, sharply, and she gasps. Her eyes shoot to mine and I see it then, the glazed look I’ve been waiting for. It sends me over the edge I’ve been straddling for what feels like forever, has me coming down her throa
t with a force that is nearly blinding in its intensity.

  I know it can’t be comfortable for her, know that she’ll be hoarse when this is all over—I’m already at the back of her throat and I can’t keep myself from thrusting against her, from trying to go even deeper. She takes me, takes all of me, eyes closed, head back, hands tied behind her back. More important, she lets me take her. Again and again and again.

  When I’m done—when my knees are shaky and my entire body feels drained from what might be the most powerful orgasm of my life—I try to pull back, try to pull out.

  But Aria moans low in her throat, takes me deeper, refuses to let me go. I tug on her hair as she sucks me in deeper, but that only makes her more determined. With her hands tied behind her back, she can’t grab on to me, can’t hold me in place. But that doesn’t seem to matter. Just like it doesn’t seem to matter that I’m not hard again yet. Aria wants me in her mouth and she licks and strokes, sucks and moans, scrapes her teeth over the sensitive skin of my dick until she gets exactly what she wants.

  She feels so good, looks so beautiful, sounds so sexy, that it only takes a few minutes before I’m right at the brink again. But this time, when she struggles against my hold, struggles to keep me down her throat, I lean over and pop her ass with one firm, loud smack.

  She gasps, shudders, and though it’s only for a second, it’s long enough to have me pulling free. And then I’m lifting her up, spinning her around so that she’s facing away from me. Then I drape her—ass up—over the nearest chair.

  “What are you—”

  I stop her with another firm slap to her ass. She gasps and squirms, and I watch her closely, trying to see how she feels about such a rough touch. The last thing I want is to drive her away again after I’ve just gotten her back.

  But the look on her face is inviting, her cheeks pink, her eyes totally blissed out as she wiggles against the back of the chair as if asking for more. In that moment, deep in subspace, lost in the pleasure she’s given me and the pleasure she’s begun to take from me, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I never want this moment to end; I want to see her like this forever. She’s open—totally open—to me for once, and I never want to see her retreat back inside herself again.

  Pushing her skirt up, I slide my fingers under the side straps of her panties and then yank them down her legs so that she’s completely bare. And then I’m spreading her ass cheeks, pressing my thumb against her anus before sliding it deep inside her.

  “Sebastian!” She cries out my name, and now it’s her turn to tremble, her turn to beg for whatever I want to give her.

  The answer, of course, is everything. I want to give her everything, want to take everything. Want to be so deep inside of her that she can’t breathe without thinking my name.

  “Please,” she begs, and I can’t resist the spacy tone in her voice, any more than I can resist the fact that I’m the one who’s done this to her.

  Knowing how sensitive she is, I slide one hand beneath her, pinching first one nipple and then the other. She goes nuts, her body flailing on the chair as she tries to bring herself off. But that belongs to me and I tell her so, twisting my thumb deep inside of her.

  “Please, please, please.” It’s her new mantra, said in a broken, breathy voice that I can’t even begin to resist. Not when she’s sliding in and out of control. Not when I’m doing the same thing.

  With my thumb still inside her, I stretch my fingers down to her sex to test her readiness. She’s wet—drenched, really—and I take a moment to gather her slick, to spread it on my dick and—after pulling my thumb out—over her small, pink hole.

  And then I line myself up, slide my dick between the soft, sweet cheeks of her ass.

  She gasps, mewls, presses back against me

  I slap her ass one more time and she gasps in surprise, cries out. “Have you ever done this before?” I demand, using every ounce of strength I have to keep from thrusting inside her as she so obviously wants.

  Her only answer is a soft, keening cry.

  “Answer me, Aria. Has anyone ever done this to you before?”

  “No,” she cries out. “No, no, no.” She’s thrashing against the chair now, her body all but undulating with need.

  “Do you want—”

  “Yes! Fuck, yes. Sebastian, please. Do it. I need you. I need—”

  She’s all but sobbing now and it’s the last straw. The last dregs of my trepidation go out the window as I remember the state she was in the last time I made love to her. The way she looked. The way she sounded. It wasn’t much different from how she is now and there’s no way I’m going to go down that road again. No way I’m going to use her need—or her feelings for me—against her again.

  Clenching my teeth, praying that my self-control is still as good as I think it is, I slide inside her. Slowly, slowly, slowly. My whole body is tuned to hers, my every thought concentrated on not hurting her. On making this good for her.

  I’m buried about halfway inside her when she cries out, and I stop instantly. “You okay, love?” I ask softly.

  “Yes,” she whispers, but when she turns her head I can see the tears in her eyes, see the streaks they’ve left on her cheeks.

  The sight freezes my blood, and I start to pull back. But Aria cries out, “No! Please,” even as she thrusts her hips back against me.

  And then it’s done. I’m buried deep inside her, seated up to the hilt, and nothing has ever felt so good. I’m right back on the edge of control, she’s lost any control she ever had, and still it feels perfect. Even better, it feels right.

  And that’s when it hits me, what I wanted to teach Aria all along but what I had never internalized myself. Control doesn’t have to be about power any more than losing control has to be about weakness.

  Making love to Aria takes me right to the brink of my control every time, and then hurtles me straight into the abyss on the other side. But loving Aria, being loved by her, makes me feel stronger, more in control, than I’ve ever been. She’s the security I’ve been searching for all along.

  Overwhelmed both by the pleasure slamming through me and the thoughts circling in my head, I lower my forehead to her back and take a few deep breaths. The need to come is urgent inside me, but even more urgent is the need to claim Aria, to make her mine once and for all.

  With that thought in mind, I press kisses up and down her spine even as I begin to move gently inside of her. I pause every few seconds to suck a new bruise into her shoulder or her back or the side of her breast, relishing the feel of her heat around my cock, her soft skin under my lips.

  Aria takes the gentleness as long as she can—even soaks it up like the parched earth soaks up rain—but just as my restraint gets the best of me and a bead of sweat rolls between my shoulder blades, she convulses beneath me, cries, “Please, Sebastian. Please. I can’t—”

  I slam into her then, pulling her hips up and back so that I can ride her hard and fast. At first I’m worried about hurting her, but the way she’s trembling and begging for me alleviates even that worry.

  Sliding one hand beneath her, I circle my thumb around her clit even as I continue to pound into her ass. She’s crying out with every thrust now, her breath broken, her body all but shaking apart. And still it’s not enough. Still I want more—from her, for her. More and more and more until there really is no ending, really is no beginning. Until there’s just her and me and the need that rages between us like a forest fire.

  “Sebastian.” She calls my name as she shudders and arches beneath me.

  “Sebastian.” She’s pleading, her strong, slender body clutching at me, trying to hold me deep inside.

  “Sebastian!” She’s whimpering now and it’s enough. It’s more than enough. It’s everything.

  With a pinch of her clit and a slam of my hips, I send her hurtling over the edge. She screams my name as she shatters, and then I’m coming too, my body shaking as I empty everything I have—everything I am—dee
p inside of her.

  Chapter Six

  Aria

  I can’t stop shaking. Even after it’s done, even after Sebastian has pulled out and untied my hands and cleaned me up, I can’t stop trembling. How can I, when what happens next will determine everything—including whether Sebastian will forgive me for lying to him or if he’ll never want to see me again.

  There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to tell him, that wants to keep quiet and just revel in what it feels like to be made love to so thoroughly, so completely. But he’s opened up to me, trusted me with his deepest secrets and most horrible wounds. How can I do any less?

  And yet, when it’s time—when I’m dressed again and Sebastian is waiting for me to speak—I can’t believe how nervous I am. How the words wrap themselves around my tongue, tying me in knots when I spent most of yesterday afternoon and all of last night thinking about what I’m going to say to him. Thinking about how on earth I’m supposed to explain something I don’t really understand myself.

  And while I came up with three different plans last night, the truth is the best one is often the simplest. And with the orgasm he just gave me still turning my knees—and my brain—to mush, simple seems the best choice all the way around. Too bad I can’t think of how to start.

  But then, Sebastian seems to know that. He always seems to know. He reaches for my hand, strokes his thumb reassuringly across my wrist as he leads me over to the couch near the window. I don’t sit down—I’m too nervous. Instead, I walk to the window and look out. I’m not seeing the Strip though, not seeing the lights or the people or the crazy-ass attractions. No, I’m seeing that day a little over a week ago when Sebastian pressed me against this window and made love to me. When he introduced me to the slippery slope of control and power exchange and—

  Something stirs inside of me and I cut off my thoughts before my low-grade interest can turn into full-blown arousal. I try to focus on the task at hand instead of the amazing pleasure Sebastian has always brought me, but it’s hard. At least until it occurs to me how ironic life is, how fickle. How this thing between Sebastian and me—whatever it is—is going to end in the exact same place it started.