Page 40 of Waters that Drown Us
“I need you restrained, Pecas,” she coos, taking one of my hands in hers and gently stroking my wrist, right where I can imagine that rope. “So you can’t pull away when I show you how good I can make you feel.”
It feels impossible to be this turned on again, but my nipples are tight and sensitive against the fabric of my tank top, and all the remnants of drowsiness from the medication are gone. Emily wraps the rope in loose, intricate loops around my wrist, the nylon tightening against my skin when she pulls my arm up over my head.
“Relax your arms, and it will loosen,” she instructs, looking down and winking at me as she ties the other end of the rope to the top bar of the railing. Looking this sexy while having complete control over my body should be a criminal offense. “Pull against it, and it will tighten.”
“Is it dangerous?” I ask, my question earnest even though my tone is soaked in lust. Emily slips her hand into her back pocket and pulls out what look like medical shears.
“Yes, any bondage is dangerous,” she replies, the explanation slightly more clinical, but still making my need grow stronger. “But if you feel painful tingling or your hands get cold, use your safe word and I’ll cut you free.”
Someone I couldn’t trust wouldn’t say this. A contract kidnapper or killer wouldn’t make me feel this safe, this cared for, thisloved.
Right?
By the time she has both my hands tied over my head, I still don’t have the answer. But the hunger in her eyes erases any other thought thanpleasefrom my mind.
“Now for the fun part,” she says with a smile that could kill me.
From her apparently boundless back pocket, she produces a thin, black object that I can’t see clearly in the limited light. That is, until she clicks a small button, and silver flashes in front of me.
My heart jumps into my throat. Every inch of my body is frozen, even the blood pumping through my veins. This could be it, and it would without a doubt be my fault. I run my tongue over the cap on my molar, feeling for the loose spot that I can easily dislodge. The capsule hidden in the back of my mouth is my last resort, if I have made a grave mistake. This amount of poison wouldn’t kill her immediately, but hopefully it would make her sick enough to distract her while I freed myself.
I can use the stars to swim back to shore. It’s not ideal, and being in the ocean at night with little visibility isn’t something I’d recommend, but I would have a better chance at surviving the open water than on the boat with someone so much stronger than me.
Even now, I don’t feel afraid.
There must be something wrong with me. But as the knife glints in Emily’s hand, reflecting the moonlight pouring over us, I feel it in my bones. She won’t hurt me.
Still, it's good to have a backup plan in case I’ve lost my mind.
Emily holds the blade closer to me, and my heart rate picks up another notch. I shouldn’t be turned on. I’ve seen first hand what a simple fishing knife can do in the hands of someone adept and skilled. And clearly, with the way she rotates the hilt between her fingers, Emily is. But there’s no denying the slickness between my legs as she catches the collar of my tank top on the tip of the blade.
“I promise, I’ll buy you three to replace it.”
She drags the blade downward, pulling away from my body as she goes and splitting the fabric of my top in two. The sea air hits my overheated skin, spreading goosebumps across my fleshlike wildfire. With a few more simple cuts, she’s reduced the shirt to shreds of fabric, and I’m bare from the waist up. Emily resheathes the blade and returns it to her pocket, all the while tracing every inch of my exposed flesh with her gaze.
“I want to see all of you,” she says, not like a request but like a warning. With my arms above my head, I can’t help or stop her as she pulls my jeans and underwear down my legs.
Emily repositions herself so she’s on her knees on the floor of the boat. With me sitting on the higher ledge, it puts her in the perfect position to devour any part of my body she wants. I close my thighs, not because I don’t want her to see what she’s tasted a dozen times before, but in an effort to relieve a fraction of the pressure already building in my core.
“None of that,” she admonishes, and I can’t stop the whine that escapes from my lips as she pushes my thighs open, the cold bringing a sharp edge to the mounting pleasure.
“I love seeing you like this.” Emily’s voice feels distant, like she’s in another world, as I feel her drag the tips of her fingers up the back of my thigh. My muscles tense, my hips rolling forward to meet her hand, but she pulls away right before she touches me where I need her.
“Please,” I hear myself beg, tilting my head back against the bars and pulling against my restraints, savoring the feeling of the soft rope biting into my skin.
“What do you want, Pecas?” she asks, the nickname rolling off her tongue like syrup. She told me what it meant the day she first used it.Freckles, she explained as she drug her tongue across the constellation on my shoulder.
“It’s too much,” I repeat, my skin so sensitive it feels like I’m on fire. Especially where she touches me, on my thighs, my ankles, my hips.
“And that’s what you need. Too much.” As if to emphasize her point, she digs her nails into the skin of my hip, leaving marks above my ass. “Isn’t that right?”
“I need whatever you give me,” I plead, meaning every word. I need her to be in control, to be allowed to lose my grip on reality and know she’s there to hold me up and bring me back when the time comes.
“Such a good answer from such a good girl,” she praises, my behavior earning me a gentle circle of her fingers over my clit. I’m still flushed from my first orgasm, slightly overstimulated, but it feels so good I can’t find it in me to care. She pauses for a moment, watching the way my hips roll against her fingers, chasing more.
Without another word, she grabs the back of her tee shirt and pulls it over her head, leaving her in a tight-fitting, low-cut sports bra that makes me want to be the one tracing her skin with my tongue. She taps my hip, and confused but obedient, I leverage myself to lift them as she slides the shirt underneath.
“Didn’t want to hurt that perfect ass,” she says, grinning when I use it to slide closer to her, so I’m perched right at the edge of the ledge. “Well, not that way.”