Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 10

reaction was yes, but I paused. Did yes pop into my mind because I was enchanted by this colorful man with the sexy body and the cocky smile, or did I want to agree because my dick was hard and he could relieve that undying need? It had to be some of both, but yes, I did really want to know. He fascinated me, this modern Wolfgang.
    "Yes, I do. I have a guitar, but I never learned to play it."
    He tickled the back of my neck with a light caress. "Perhaps I'll show you a chord or two before the night's out." He stood, and I frowned. He took a step back and said, "Stand."
    "But…" I lifted my arms; he'd bound my wrists together. My biceps no longer dug into the chair back, however, so cautiously I stood.
    When I wobbled, he was there, steadying me with his arm around my waist. "Easy there, big guy, let the blood circulate through those thick muscles for a minute."
    Big guy was right. I towered over him. From a seated position, I didn't get a good idea of his size. I had four, maybe five inches on him. He was smaller without looking scrawny—his muscles fit his frame nicely—but as we stood within inches of each other I became very aware of how wide my shoulders were, and how lean and trim his entire body was. I wondered if I would crush him if he'd been the one to initiate the wrestling match instead of Sam. I didn't want to break this beautiful, musical, punk angel.
    "Damn, you're good," I said softly. I didn't think of guys as angels. I didn't fall for anyone. I'd had a few relationships, but they tended to be more on the side of friends with benefits than sweeping romances. I blamed professional charm. After all, as my boss liked to remind me, a large part of any service job is making the customer happy. Hell, this purple-haired wonder made me want to write poetry.
    No, not literally. I couldn't write a poem to save my ass, but I thought I could redefine purple prose while watching those full soft lips suck down my cock. Purple, I'd never have thought I'd be into purple hair, but my fingers itched to dig into it. Maybe it was the image of his head bobbing as he swallowed me down.
    He said nothing, but his smile cocked to one side telling me that he could either read my mind, or had a damn good guess at what ran through it in that moment. We stared at each other for several more seconds before he turned and led me down a hallway. It was then I realized he held the tail to the rope that bound my wrists behind my back. I followed, the rope wrapping around one hip as he tugged me along. He walked with a sway that shook his ass at me. I wondered if he did that simply because he knew I had to be checking him out. Didn't matter one way or the other; it was quite a view.
    He stopped just inside my bedroom doorway and said, "Lay on your stomach."
    I hesitated. "Aren't you going to untie me?"
    "No." He waved at the bed, and I was filled with the realization that not many guys dared to refuse him.
    Why the hell not? Things have been going well since I stopped yelling at him. I could do with more of that. I crossed to my bed and eased onto it. Despite being careful, with my hands bound behind my back I lost my balance and fell onto one shoulder. My bed is soft, but my body still ached, so the landing sent shocks of fire through my shoulder, arm, and chest, and not that good kind of fire that Wolfgang's touch had inspired.
    "Fuck," I muttered into the pillow. At least I didn't crack my head on the wall.
    "Are you begging?" There was laughter in his tone. To soothe the sting, he slid an arm under my chest and eased me flat. His touch was gentle but strong, surprisingly strong for a guy I'd thought I could crush just moments ago.
    I turned my head to breathe, but also to watch him move. Wolfgang coiled the tail of the rope on the bed beside me and reached for my wrists. As he bent over me to untie my hands, my gaze ravished his thighs, his calves, his ass, and the occasional glimpse of his crotch. He was either rock hard or well hung. Maybe both. I wanted to taste him. For once, the drool on my pillow was not because I'd done so in my sleep. He was damn sexy, yes, but he was gentle too. As I admired his appearance, he carefully arranged my body, mindful of my aching muscles. This tenderness conflicted with his wild look. So did, in my eyes, his warm, teasing smile. I found him fascinating, and for the first time in a long while, I wasn't in a rush to strip down and get to the nasty. Sure, I wanted him to fuck me—I'd be crazy