Page 102 of Total Shutdown

SAWYER

Ifeel like we’ve circled back to that night in October.

Back then, I was nervous about sleeping with a woman I knew I wanted more than one night with. She intimidated and fascinated me in equal measure, leaving me desperate for more each time I touched her.

And now? Months later, I’m nervous in her presence for a whole heap of different reasons, the main being about what she has planned for me tonight.

I’ve had my hands bound to the headboard and the spreader bar fixed to my ankles for the past five minutes as I lie here, waiting for Collins to emerge from the en suite. She’s being especially secretive, and the mischievous expression she’s worn since Ezra went to bed has me feeling some kind of way right now.

I edged her hard that night with ice play and the paddle. Is that what she has in mind for me? Maybe this is her way of revenge.

“All okay?” I call out to her, a mixture of excitement and trepidation unmistakable in my voice.

No answer.

Despite being exposed and incredibly vulnerable, I’m hard as a fucking rock at the anticipation alone, pre-cum leaking from the tip and slowly beading down my shaft.

I strain against the leather straps, the urge to wrap my fist around the base and draw an orgasm from my already-tightening balls overwhelming, all-consuming.

And as I press my head back into the pillow and try to get ahold of myself, I realize this might be all part of my kinky girl’s game—to keep me here, waiting, hoping, and thinking over everything she might do to me.

My cock stiffens again. Jesus, why does the thought of her psychologically edging me drive my arousal to the point of pain?

When I’m ready to rip the headboard clean from the frame, the en suite door handle finally depresses, and a pink-manicured foot emerges first.

Finally.

“Baby Girl, I need you to hurry the fuck up because I …” I trail off, the ability to verbalize vanishing, and in its place is the only image I ever want to see for the rest of my life.

“W-where did you get that outfit?” I stutter the words like I haven’t spoken in years, my throat tight and thick.

She’s dressed in a black faux leather body suit that dips low at the front, revealing a tantalizing display of cleavage, and my mouth waters at the sight of her. The outside parts of her legs are exposed but secured tightly with a corset-style lace, crisscrossing all the way from her ankles to her hips.

I pull against the restraints around my wrists, desperate to get my hands on her and run my fingers through her soft pink hair as it frames her heart-shaped face perfectly.

“Ordered it online a few days ago,” she answers, casually sauntering toward me, nothing but torturous intentions motivating her movements. “What’s the matter?” she asks, noticing the way I’m fighting against the leather strap.

“I don’t want to play games, Collins. I just want to fuck.” I wanted to sound assertive, but the words are more of a plea.

When she kneels on the foot of the bed, I notice her hands are empty, and hope blooms in my chest. Maybe she is just planning to fuck my brains out and give me the quick release I need.

“Where are your props?” I ask, eyeing her empty hands.

Collins drops to her palms as she slowly but very deliberately crawls over my lower body, coming to a stop when her head aligns with my impossibly hard dick.

Eyes on me and never wavering, she swipes one pass of her tongue across the head, circling back around before moving to the slit, teasing the hole with damp warmth.

“I don’t need props, Sawyer. Not tonight.”

Yeah, I’m fucking done for. RIP me. Farewell, Sawyer Bryce.

“Is that suit crotchless?” I choke out.

“Yep,” she confirms, taking my dick into her mouth, but not too far, only enough to tease the head.

She swirls her tongue around me, and my hips buck off the bed.

She doesn’t like that, her foot darting out to the side as she holds the bar down.