Page 109 of The Christmas Trap

"Remember what I told you was my specialty in the Royal Marines?" he murmurs.

"Tying knots," I recall.

"Turns out, a fringe benefit to having that expertise is that I get to use it in the bedroom, too."

"Oh." A shiver of anticipation curls in my belly. "You’re reallygoing to tie me up?"

"If you feel ready for it."

I purse my lips. How would it feel to have him practice his expertise on me? Not that he needs the additional help the ties would offer him. Just his fingers, his lips, his mouth, and that gorgeous cock of his were enough to bring me to ecstasy. But the thought of him tying me up first? Whoa.

That certainly amps up the need inside me. The curl of anticipation turns into a river of desire which drips from between my legs.

As if he senses my heightened lust, his nostrils flare. "You like the idea, don’t you?"

I nod.

"Good girl."

A surge of delight pushes the tension from my shoulders and allows my weight to sink into the bed. I’ve pleased him. And that makes me happy.

"Stretch your arms over your head," he orders.

Instantly, I oblige. The position thrusts my breasts up into the air. Makes my nipples tighten further. It might be how he devours me with his eyes, but I feel free. Wanton. Rid of whatever reservations may have held me back from giving myself up to this man who’s my husband.

Or it might simply be that his complete self-assurance in taking charge, and deciding he wanted to tie me to his bed and have his way with me seems to satisfy some deeply hidden craving inside of me.

Something I've never acknowledged before. Something I didn't think I ached for. But given the hunger unfurling in my belly, I know I want a taste. To experience. To find out how it’s going to change me when he finally touches me.

"Part your legs for me," he commands in a smooth, dark voice.

It flows over me like melted chocolate, sinks into my skin, and oozes through my veins like syrup through honeycomb grooves.

And when he fixes his gaze on the melting flesh between my legs, I realize, I’ve moved them apart without conscious thought.

His throat flexes. And when I look below his waistband, his graysweatpants are tented at the crotch. His cock outlined through the fabric ramps up my craving.

When I begin to sit up, he clicks his tongue. "Stay where you are."

I freeze.

He walks around the bed to stand next to the headboard.

He pulls off his T-shirt, exposing his ripped chest. Then places one knee on the mattress, leans over, and loops one of the ties—the one he wore at our wedding—around my wrist. Then he knots it around the slats in the headboard.

His thick fingers move gracefully like the legs of a ballerina across the stage. He tugs on the restraint.

The silk slithers against my skin, sending goosebumps scattering from the contact.

"Not too tight?" He glances at me.

I shake my head.

Whatever he sees in my gaze has him lower his head and kiss me. It’s a firm meeting of our lips, where he takes charge and plunders my mouth like he’s a lion lapping water from an oasis. My head spins. My entire body turns into a stream of longing.

I begin to squeeze my legs together, then gasp, for he straightens, then moves over to grasp my ankle.

He fastens it to the foot of the bed, then circles around and uses another tie to restrain my other ankle.