Page 24 of Whatever Lola Wants (Odyssey #2)

He reached into the pouch at his hip and came up with a bright blue clothespin no bigger than her pinky finger. Quickly , he reached out to pinch up a bit of skin on the under curve of her left breast and attached the improvised clamp.

She hissed out a breath at the sharp pinch, her teeth gritted against the sting. But then it faded into a nice glow of heat that seemed to lick right down the center of her body to her pussy. Her needy, empty, suddenly very interested in this game pussy.

He flicked the end of the clothespin and grinned at the way she jumped. “ Okay ?”

She nodded and he levered off her, grasping her shoulders and pulling her to her feet. “ Back in the middle.”

She moved once again to the center of the room, her breast throbbing slightly under the pinch of the clothespin. She tried to shake off the sensation and concentrate on the task at hand.

He waited until she was looking at him, then hit the button on his watch.

She’d barely gotten to her feet and he was there, his arm sliding around her waist and pulling her in. But she twisted hard, throwing herself back, and broke his grip. His eyes flared with surprise as she leapt aside, putting several feet between them.

“Well, well,” he drawled and lowered to a crouch.

She was panting slightly, exhilarated at having broken free.

At least for the moment. Only a few seconds had ticked by; there was too much time left before the timer went off.

And he was going to catch her eventually—that was the point, after all.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t make him work for it.

He tracked, she backed up. He leapt, she scampered out of the way.

She used the padded walls as a springboard, pushing off with her shoulders or her feet for extra momentum.

He dove for her and she pushed off the wall to leap over his diving body, and the stunned look on his face made her laugh just as the timer went off.

He sat back on his haunches with a grin. “ Nicely done. Go ahead and take off the clothespin. You earned it.”

She looked down at the pin clamped to the underside of her breast, then back at him.

With her hands behind her, she couldn’t take it off—and he knew it.

She narrowed her eyes at him. She could play this one of two ways; she could rub her breast against the wall until she dislodged the pin, a process that would cause a great deal of discomfort, or…

She narrowed her eyes on his smirk and wiggled her fingers. It might not be the wisest course of action, but nothing about this was wise. She flexed her hands, reached up to the clip that held her cuffs together, and with a quick twist, unclipped them.

The stupefied shock on his face as she reached up, unclipped the clothespin from her breast and sent it flying toward him with a flick of her wrist was a thing of beauty.

His hand came up reflexively to catch the projectile, and before he could lower his hand, she once again had her hands behind her back, securely clipped together.

He burst out laughing. “ All right, sweetheart. Point to you.”

He slid the clothespin back into the pouch, waited for her to kneel, the hit the button on his watch.

He was on her almost before she’d gotten off her knees, knocking the breath from her lungs as he landed on top of her. This time, the clothespin went to the underside of the other breast. Then he climbed off her, lifted her to her feet, and took up his position on the other side of the room.

Over and over again, he started the timer.

Once or twice she evaded him, but most often he caught her.

Sometimes immediately, sometimes just before time was due to expire.

She was soon covered in a sheen of sweat, and Simon had stripped off his shirt.

Clothespins circled each breast, pinched the tender skin of her belly, bit into the soft flesh on the insides of her arms. Her skin was humming, senses nearly overloaded from the combination of pain and pleasure, and the rush of the chase.

She lost at least one clothespin, sometimes more, every time she moved.

The ones on her belly were especially vulnerable; with her hands secured behind her back she had to engage her core muscles to move, and the flex of her stomach combined with the sweat slicking her skin made it hard for the clothespins to keep their grip.

She’d started out with only one—now nine decorated her abdomen, all placed there after one or more had had bounced free.

And the most insulting of all? She had one clipped to the end of her tongue.

Simon helped her to her feet once again, holding her when she staggered a little. He reached out and plucked the clip from the end of her tongue. “ Give me a color, Lola ,” he demanded, his own breathing coming fast and hard.

Lola struggled to think. She hurt—a lot—but she didn’t want to stop.

Couldn’t stop. Her heart was pounding, her nipples hard from a combination of arousal and the clips pinching them, her inner thighs slick with the arousal that dripped from her pussy.

Her outer labia held a clothespin on each side, and she had to maintain a spread-eagled stance to keep from rubbing them off.

She swallowed. “ Green , Sir .” His immediate frown made her hasten to add, “ With a little yellow around the edges.”

He huffed out a laugh. “ Okay , then. One more round. You ready?”

She nodded, fighting the urge to snarl at him when he replaced the clip on her tongue. His eyes danced with amusement. “ Back in the middle.”

She backed up, sinking to her knees with considerably less grace than when they’d started, wincing as the clothespins attached to her labia clacked ominously together. Her entire body quivered, making the clothespins shake as she waited for the beep of his watch.

When it came she struggled to rise, to shift her body, but she couldn’t make her muscles obey. “ I can’t,” she mumbled around the clip on her tongue, her voice hoarse. “ I’m sorry, I can’t.”

Her eyes slid closed as her body sagged, then he was there, strong arms wrapping around her, unclipping her cuffs before gently lowering her to the mat.

“ I’ve got you, sweetheart.” He pulled the clip off her tongue with one hand, the other stroking over her sweat soaked hair, long since loose of its pins. “ I’ve got you.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled. Her tongue throbbed as she fought her eyes open to stare up at him. “ I thought I had one more in me.”

“I’m surprised you lasted as long as you did,” he said, still stroking. “ That’s some serious stamina you’ve got there, Lola .”

She huffed out a laugh. “ I’ll tell my trainer you said so.”

His eyes were dark with concern. “ I’ve got to get these pins off you. Can you hang on through that?”

She tried to lick her lips and found her tongue was too dry. “ Can I have some water first?”

“Sure.” He disappeared for a moment, and she heard the zip of his bag opening. Then he was back, cradling her neck in his arm as he held a bottle of water to her mouth.

She drank gratefully, letting the cool liquid soak into her parched mouth. When she’d had enough, she leaned back. “ Thank you, Sir .”

“You’re welcome.” He set the water aside. “ The clothespins have to come off, sweetheart. I’ll be quick.”

She nodded, biting back the whimper. She’d let herself get past the point where she could take pleasure in the pain; she was too exhausted, too overwhelmed, and desire was rapidly dying a sad and lonely death.

He was watching her, sharp eyes assessing, measuring her discomfort. “ We pushed it too far,” he said, and she heard the self-recrimination under the steel in his tone.

“Not your fault,” she managed. “ I overestimated myself.”

“Well, maybe there’s something I can do to make this part easier.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to just do it, fast and dirty, get it over with, when one blunt fingertip brushed over her clit.

She jolted, the nerve endings flaring to life and sending a burst of pleasure through her body.

The jolt jiggled the clothespins, especially the ones still attached to her labia, and she groaned.

Despite the concern lingering in his eyes, he smiled. “ Yeah , this will work. Hold steady now, sweetheart, and let’s bring you down. Keep your hands at your sides, or I’ll have to restrain you again,” he warned, then began.

He started plucking the clothespins free, one at a time.

Her body jolted with each removal, then jolted again as his fingers swirled over her swollen clit.

Over and over, the same pattern repeated—pull a clothespin, stroke her clit.

He kept his fingers swirling gently over, above, around the tight little bundle of nerves, dipping them down every so often to the opening of her body to gather moisture, then slicking his fingers back up again.

When he’d pulled all the pins free from her belly, he moved to the ones on the tender flesh of her arms. She began welcoming the painful return of blood to the tortured bits of skin, because it meant he’d stroke her clit again, stoking the fire in her belly higher.

By the time he’d dispensed with the clothespins on her arms and shifted to the ones circling each breast, she was pushing her hips up with each stroke, trying to get him to touch her harder, faster, eager now for the orgasm building.

He chuckled softly, his fingers hovering over her breast. “ You seem to be finding hidden stores of energy, sweetheart.”

She could only whimper, hands clenched at her sides, frustration building as he circled her clit with a feather-light touch. Through slitted eyes, she saw the fire in his, knew he was just as turned on as she was, yet maintaining that iron control. “ I can’t take much more,” she groaned.

“Oh, I think you can,” he countered. “ But we could probably speed things along, if you like. Your choice.”

Speed was good. The faster he got the clothes pins off, the faster he could get her off. “ Yes ,” she gasped. “ Faster . Go faster, Sir .”