Page 56 of Vivacity

‘I love it,’ she whispers with a broken moan. ‘I’m so turned on I think I might die.’

‘Don’t die. That’s an order. Just take it. Take it all. That’s another order. Are your hands okay?’

I unglue myself from her enough to observe her wiggle her fingers.

‘Yeah. All good.’

‘Excellent. In that case…’ I slide one hand into my pocket and use the feather to trace a line down the side of her body I haven’t just caressed. This time, it’s the soft, curling feathers that stroke downwards from the cuff shackling her wrist, down the skin of her forearm, the dimple of her elbow, down, down, skimming over her armpit until I reach her breast. Slowly, deliberately, I circle it, tracing its underside with the feather. She lets out a little whimper, and I smile to myself in delight at how responsive she is.

That said, she’d better pace herself. I haven’t used the feather anywhere interesting yet.

Ignoring her lovely, pinched nipple, I trace a line further down her body, brushing over the soft curve of her stomach, circling her navel. She watches me, rapt.

‘You are extraordinarily beautiful,’ I tell her in a voice that’s a little too husky for my liking. I blame the sheer volume of blood that’s vacated my head for my dick. Her face lights up at my words.

That fucking smile of hers will be the death of me.

There may be two of us dead by the end of this evening.

‘You’re not so bad yourself.’ Her eyes rake over me hungrily. ‘It’s like Hades killed a swan just so he could come up to earth and use the feathers to torture the maidens.’

‘You’re really calling yourself a maiden?’ I swipe the very end of the feather downwards over the raven strip of hair, withdrawing it before it can get anywhere near her clit, and she shudders.

‘Fuck. Andrude.’

A guy has shuffled up next to me. ‘Need any help? She could really have some fun if a few more of us grabbed feathers.’

‘Don’t even think about it,’ I growl at him. Not only do I have no intention of letting anyone else touch her, but I intendto remain in full control of how slowly and tortuously I edge Sophia. Obviously I don’t have unlimited time—I have to keep an eye on the circulation in her arms, after all—but I have no plan to rush this any more than I have to. Because, until this dickhead piped up, my mind has been blissfully clear. All there is is the stunning woman in front of me, and this feather, and the privilege of playing her body and watching it respond.

It’s such a beautiful, clean situation.

Me.

Her.

Cross.

Feather.

And I’m conducting this symphony. I’m in full control. The feather is my baton, Sophia’s body my orchestra.

‘I wonder how wet you are. I bet if I dragged this thing between your legs, it would come out soaking.’

‘Why don’t you try and see?’ she asks, and I grin evilly.

‘I’m not stupid. And I don’t want you to soak it yet. I want it nice and fluffy so I can do this.’

I raise my hand and begin to stroke one nipple with the lightest touches before brushing the feather across the valley of her breasts to stroke the other. The sensation must be such a tiny proportion of what she actually yearns to feel, but the effect is immediate. Her entire body jolts, and she moans.

‘Oh my god, that’s so good, oh my god.’

‘Poor girl, so starving that she’s grateful for the smallest scraps,’ I croon. But such a lovely response merits a reward, so I ramp up the flicks, the brushstrokes, over one nipple and then the other as Sophia thrashes around as best she can.

‘Now let’s see how soaked you are,’ I tell her, letting the tip of the feather graze her in a downward trail until it finds that landing strip again. This time, I follow the trail, coaxing the feather between her legs. They’re open, of course, on this X-likestructure, but they’re not spread to the extent they would be if I had her laid out on a bed for me.

All the better to torment her.

The feather bends as it drags through her flesh. I long to bury my fingers in there, my face, but I long to edge Sophia even more. Just for a few more moments.