Stepdad Billionaire Series

Sex Ritual

“But we agreed, the cuffs for…what I want.” The flat of his hand on her backside before and during sex.

“Yup, we agree. Simple as that. A trade, a nice neat business transaction where everyone gets a fair deal.” He smiled at her knowingly. “But now I want you to let me tip your scales.”

Heat flared at her center, but she shook her head. “I can’t.”

Giving him total control over her was something she couldn’t allow to happen. She began to twist her wrists in the cuffs, wanting them off. The idea of finding her clothes and ending this was tempting, because it was easy.

Then she let her gaze wander over his body. Even when fully dressed his expensive clothing barely concealed his obvious strength. Half-naked, the very look of him was enough to dampen her panties. Bulky with muscle, he made her feel supple as a rag doll in his hands during sex, melding her to his body, bringing her to orgasm time and time again.

Giles shook his head, allowing her to feel his scrutiny. “You’re an inspiring woman, but even when you come it’s as if you’re always holding something back.”

Breathing had become difficult. His words struck a note with her and she recognized herself in what he said. Lord, he does know me. He was right. She held back because she didn’t dare do otherwise. This man was her junior, and eight years younger than her.

“Seeing you on the edge of losing control is such a turn on for me,” he added. “I enjoy bringing you to that point.” He smiled, and it was filled with dangerous charm. “I’m enjoying watching you now. Your eyes are dilated, and your skin is flushed. Your nipples are diamond-hard.” He moved his fingers, gesturing at her upright form while he sat in the chair, observing her. “You’re racked with sexual tension. It makes me want to break it apart from inside you.”

The way he described her sent her aching sex into overdrive.

Then he rested one hand over his belt, a casual gesture but one that made her glance at his groin, where he was hard beneath his zipper. Frustration bit into her. How could he be so in control? He was younger than her and a testosterone-fuelled man, and yet he obviously enjoyed working her to fever pitch before giving her what they both wanted.

Subtle confidence oozed from his every pore. It was what had drawn her to him in the first place. The sense of presence he created in a meeting was profound, even when he was quiet and watchful.

“I’d put money on your panties being very damp,” he added.

Her skin raced with sensation, the thrill of his words touching her everywhere, inside and out. She wanted him to fuck her. But he was making her listen, controlling her with his intimate, knowing words.

He looked at her hands. Her fingers were meshed, the cuffs chinking as she fidgeted fretfully, her hands hovering close to the surface of her panties where her clit was swollen and pounding. He didn’t miss a thing. “How wet are you?”

She didn’t need to think about it. Her underwear clung to the groove of her pussy. The fabric would need to be peeled away from her aroused folds. She shifted her weight from one heel to the other, her eyes closing as she replied. “Very wet.”

Tension filled the air between them. She wanted him badly, wanted him inside her where her body was begging to be filled. She took a step toward him.

He shook his head, drawing her to a sudden halt, then gestured at a chair to her left. “Put one foot on that chair, open your legs and show me how wet you are.”

His commanding tone left no room for maneuver, but action meant reaction. They were getting closer to what she needed, what they both needed. Swearing under her breath, she followed his instruction.

As she lifted her foot and planted the stacked heel on the surface of the chair, she drew her cuffed wrists close against her lower abdomen and saw the way his eyes darkened as she exposed her panties.

“Oh yes, you are wet.” His lips remained apart as he stared at her. “Touch yourself.”

She rested her hand over her pussy, rubbed one of the metal cuffs over her mound, and groaned aloud. Her clit leapt when the pressure of the metal rolled over the fabric covering it.

When he rose to his feet, her level of expectation shot higher still, leaving her breathless, dizzy and swaying. He padded across the floor, bare feet silent. When he stepped close against her, her heart thudded so hard she thought she might crack. Her sense of balance was quickly lost and she shifted her raised foot back to the floor, her heel slamming down hard.

“Easy now,” he said, then rested his thumbs in the band on her panties. His breath was warm on her face and her back arched, her hips gravitating toward his on instinct.

He squatted in front of her and rolled her underwear down over her hipbones, growling quietly when her pussy was exposed. She stepped out of the panties.

When he stood, he kissed her fiercely, his tongue claiming her mouth. Meanwhile he stroked her pussy, squeezing it in his hand, sending her clit wild. She whimpered, entirely locked to his actions.

He moved his right hand to cup her buttock, squeezing the flesh in his hand.

Her skin prickled with anxiety. She inhaled deeply.

“Bend over the table.” He grasped her by the shoulders and turned her round, bending her over the dining table and pressing her down onto it, his hands roaming over her exposed buttocks as if he couldn’t get enough of them.

She slumped gratefully over the table, her bottom lifting. As soon as she was in position he delivered a sound slap to her buttock. The sting and the suddenness of it made her shudder. He kissed one shoulder, a fleeting anchor that made her glance back at him.

When she met his stare, he gave her a wicked grin and spanked her again. Each sting fuelled the need for more physical contact. Heat speared from the points of contact, as if each strike connected with the pounding pulse that had been raging inside her.