Demon Night

saw the slim cuffs beyond the spread of her hair. Her heart raced. Fear and pain had always threatened this fantasy—the memory of real cuffs, and the devastation of losing her voice. But the arousal had always been sharper in contrast, as if heightened by that threat and the triumph of not succumbing to it.
    And this time, it would be with Ethan.
    She met his eyes again. “There’s nothing to tie them to.” No headboard, no posts—just an endless sea of a mattress.
    “I ain’t thinking of tying you down,” Ethan said, then grinned. “Not today, leastwise. I figure if you associate that jangling sound with not touching me, use it as a reminder, we’ll be all right. And when you’re ready to get rid of them, you tell me and I’ll unlock them right quick.”
    “Okay.” Excitement was tightening her voice again. The metal was cold, cooler even than her skin. Ethan lingered over it, watching her face as the bracelets clicked home.
    His thumb ran along her wrist. “I aim to be attending to you a good while. If you need anything, or you get lonely up here, you just let me know.”
    She grabbed as much of the soft mattress top as she could and held on. “I think I’ll be okay.”
    Pushing Ethan onto his back, running her hands over his shoulders, kissing her way down the muscular ridges of his abdomen. Unbuttoning his trousers, lowering her mouth…
    She let the image fade.
    With a groan, Ethan said, “That was awful mean, Miss Charlie.”
    “So is not letting me touch you.” She panted as his palm slid low on her belly, his fingers spreading wide. She lay between his knees, his body so big above her, his breath so warm on her lips.
    His gaze never moved from her face as he lightly dipped in.
    She shuddered; her thighs trapped his hand.
    Ethan stilled. “You closed up real quick there. You all right?”
    “Yes.” She moved against his palm, gasping. “It’s just too good.”
    His lids lowered fractionally. “Are you thinking of denying yourself this, then?”
    Deny herself Ethan like she would fried foods, alcohol? Those things, when she had too much or couldn’t control her need for them, might hurt her.
    Ethan never would.
    “No.” Her reply trembled from her, and she forced herself to relax. Hard to do, when the shape of his fingers felt like a brand against her flesh. “It was just habit. And it’s so hot ,” she said breathlessly.
    “And you’re awful wet, Charlie.” His voice was gruff. His long middle finger gently cajoled her soft folds apart, circling her entrance before drawing a path of fire up to her clitoris.
    The handcuffs clinked; she grabbed the mattress again. She turned her cheek to the side, tried to keep her hips still.
    “You want to move, you want to moan or kick, you go right on ahead. Ain’t no one to hear you but me.” Ethan’s teeth tugged at her earlobe before he licked the side of her jaw. “And I’d sure like to hear you sing for me, Charlie.”
    Was that what she was doing? His lips covered hers as his thumb repeatedly strummed her clit, as she arched and cried into his mouth. As he took up a slow rhythm with his fingers, teasing from her each rattling breath, the uncontrollable roll of her hips.
    It almost felt like it, the swell of emotion in her throat and lungs, releasing it to Ethan’s murmurs of appreciation—and his gaze, urging her on.
    And it came easy, too—the soft bite against her tongue. She didn’t taste the blood, but it roared through her, a crescendo throwing her body high. Ethan caught her with his mouth and his hands, holding her up against him until she sagged to the bed.
    He dragged his lips from hers, his chest heaving. His palms smoothed up over her trembling stomach, her skin glistening from his heat. Her fingers were buried in the hair at the nape of his neck, and metal jingled as he slipped from under the loop of her arms, moved down.
    His thumbs parted her, and his throat worked as he looked. “Oh, Miss Charlie. What you showed me ain’t half as pretty as you really are.”
    No. And she couldn’t have imagined how his pleasure could feed hers. He closed his mouth over her sensitive flesh, but it was his gratified moan that ripped an echo from her throat.
    Her teeth locked together, but a part of her screamed. Silently cried for him to continue tasting her as if he’d die without it. To keep looking at her as if she was a necessity. To touch and lick and thrust as if she was the key to gaining something he wanted,