” ‘Gainst a wall, thoroughly tormented. Then…” He paused a moment to lick over and soothe the light marks his fangs had left, “perhaps we’ll go to the bed.”
“Tormented? Are you going to try to make me beg?” She threw her head back, forgetting the wall was there, and hit her skull. The shock of pain made her eyes cross for a moment. “How do you plan to torment me?”
Victor quirked an eyebrow at her. “I do not try, Summer, I do.” He stepped back from her and pulled the straps from her shoulders so that he could have complete access to her shoulders. One of his hands dipped inside of her garment, kneading and weighing one of her breasts. He had his mouth at her neck, walking the fine line between applying just enough pressure and puncturing her skin. He wasn’t going to go there yet. While his hands continued their examination he moved his mouth to her lips and jaw, not caring much for tenderness, and only exerting his pure need. Victor pinned her lace-cuffed wrists to the wall with one hand then murmured in her ear, “Any way I see fit.”
She’d never really experienced how strong he was. A little more fear twined her insides. She breathed harder, trying to control it. Almost involuntarily, she tried to pull her hands away, tried to duck under his arm and escape. The chain between her wrists wasn’t really strong enough to withstand a determined pull, but his hand eliminated any chance of escape. ”You’re not going to tell me?”
Victor read the signs of fear and while outwardly his demeanor hadn’t changed he willed her a silent wave of trust as reassurance. He paused a moment then, giving her a moment before continuing. The hand that had been playing with her breast stopped then moved down to her thigh, his fingers exploring the garters, loving them, before he pulled her leg up so that her calf was against his lower back. He ground his hips against hers, enjoying the friction and view of this new open position.
The trust at the forefront of his mind settled her, eased the genuine fear. She still wasn’t entirely sure which form of submission he wanted — a rebellious spitfire, or kneeling and humble. She let a little fear show on her face, biting at her lips, and then he was grinding against her and she couldn’t help but moan.