Photo Play - Excerpt Two

Photo Play by Pam McKenna

Her wrists jerked against their bonds, an unconscious reflex. She closed her eyes briefly, trying to calm herself with an assertive little pep talk. You’re the boss, she told herself. You hired this man to do a job for you. You are in control here.

Yeah, right. Only one person was in control here. She didn’t see him, but she heard him in the far corner of the room, heard something heavy scrape against the plank flooring.

Darla’s heartbeat faltered. Her bare breasts rose and fell faster as Kon’s footfalls approached. She opened her mouth to ask about his plans–and closed it again. No speaking. He’d made that clear. All she could do was lie there naked and wait for… whatever he decided to do to her.

That thought buzzed between her legs, and she pressed her thighs more tightly together, the raised knee tilting even farther inward.

“Why are you squirming?” Kon asked. “Uncomfortable?”

“And if I said yes?” she said. “Would you let me up?”

His smile was a feral flash of teeth. She had her answer. At least her curiosity was assuaged–a tall wooden stepladder. That was what he’d gone after. He set it up a short distance away and climbed it with camera in hand.

Darla had thought she’d felt vulnerable before, but that was nothing compared to now, with Kon staring down from his lofty perch. He clicked off a few shots, then held the camera aside to study her. He took his time, his cool gaze traveling from her hair, fanned out on the bench, to the tips of her toes and back again. Something about what he saw bothered him. He descended the ladder and stood over her, scowling.

“Am I–” The words caught in her throat. “Am I doing something wrong?”

“Shh…” Kon’s fingers touched her mouth. They trailed down her throat to her right nipple, which he caught between thumb and forefinger.

Darla gasped. If she weren’t tied down, she’d have leapt off the bench.

“The point of all this is to get Mr. Right worked up.” He tugged on the sensitive nub, rolled it, pulled it and let it snap free of his grasp. The breast settled with a jiggle and he moved on to the other side. Her face and chest burned with the telltale flush of desire. “You want him hard for you?” Kon said. “Let him see how hard you get for him.”

Patiently he pinched and caressed her nipples until they stood in tight peaks. Then he stroked a hand down her torso, dangerously close to her weeping pussy. Darla twisted her hips, nearly tipping the piano bench. With the speed of a striking cobra, he swung his leg over the bench and sat facing her, holding her wide-spread thighs atop his.

“What–what are you doing?” The harder she wriggled, the harder he gripped her, those long fingers pressing into her soft flesh, his thumbs a scant inch from her smooth mons. His thighs felt hard as stone under hers.

With every tug of her wrists against the satin bonds, Darla’s panic spiked. It was panic based not on fear–Kon had already demonstrated he was no rapist–but on her own spiraling arousal. He’d rendered her immobile, helpless. He could do anything he wanted to her, and she already knew what that was.

Tell me you want it, he’d said. Tell me to fuck you.

She had wanted it then, God help her, and somehow, she wanted it even more now that she was bound naked and spread open, a spectacle of sexual need under the unforgiving lights. She was wetter than she’d ever been down there, and he saw it, he saw everything. She could control none of it, not the trickle of moisture, not the shameful pumping of her hips, certainly not the hungry clenching of her pussy lips, a reflexive grasping at nothing.

Darla looked down at herself, past the tight buds of her nipples to her belly and legs, so pale against his suntanned hands. She dropped her head back, squeezing her eyes shut. Do it, she thought. Just do it. Never in her life had she felt this yawning, thumping emptiness. If he didn’t fuck her right here, right now, she thought she might go mad.

“Does Mr. Right ever tie you up?” Kon’s hands slid around her hips, slowly made their way over her waist.

Darla blinked. She could barely make her mind function. Kon’s hands were warm and a little rough, like a cat’s tongue. “I…what…?” Why would Brian tie her up?

But she knew what Kon meant. She knew about bondage play–in theory, at least. She’d never understood the appeal, never thought that kinky stuff had anything to do with her.

“No surprise there,” he remarked dryly, as his hands stroked up her rib cage. “Does the guy exercise any imagination or is it all slam-bam?”

“Kon, I…” I want you to untie me. The words perched on the tip of her tongue, just waiting for her to set them free. She knew he’d respect her wishes, would release her and end this torment. Just as she knew he’d drop his pants and drive that big cock into her in the next instant if she asked him to. The choice was hers.

She’d tell him to untie her. In a minute. Just one more mind-blowing, pussy-tingling minute of this delicious sexual captivity. She’d had no idea relinquishing control could be so intoxicating.