Free Claimed by Him by Red Garnier Page A

around him, pretending his finger was his tongue or his cock. Arousal made her tremble. A wash of cream coated her pussy at the thought of going down on him. She was so wet now she was afraid she would leak.
    Graves retrieved his thumb and dragged it wetly down her curves, then his fingers splayed on her buttocks and flattened her up against his hard length, molding her against him. “I want to lick”—he bent to lick her bare shoulder—“and suck”—he gave a hot, hungry suck at her neck—“and fuck you until you scream.”
    “Please do it fast, do it now.”
    His unapologetic stare glazed with desire as he undid the zipper on the side of her bandage dress with a look that promised her untold ecstasy.
    She let him. Had dressed today only with the sole thought, the sole reason, of him undressing her. Her skin pebbled when she stepped out of her dress in her new Agent Provocateur underwear, the thong panties transparent through the lace and almost nonexistent. Her bra was tiny as well, merely covering her nipples with a black lace flower.
    The lustful spark in his eyes and the tightening of his face thrilled her as he reached behind her to unhook her delicately laced black bra. Her breasts bounced free, and she ached to hear him say something, but he was without words, looking at her in an almost raw, primal way.
    Wobbly on her feet in only her Jimmy Choos and her teeny tiny panties, she nervously extended out her wrists, her voice cottony. “Put your handcuffs on me.”
    He stilled for a moment, as though caught off guard by the offer. He shook his head and surveyed her breasts like he planned to devour them. “No, Chlo.”
    He cupped one full globe and circled it with his thumb, his eyes glimmering like a tiger’s as the peak pebbled for him.
    Unexpectedly he pinched the tip and a shot of pleasure arrowed straight to her core, tearing out a gasp, her pussy rippling. She pushed her wrists out again, her knees liquefying with his manual stimulation. “Put them on me. I’m afraid my hands will get the best of me. You’re so beautiful and I want to touch you so much. Please, Graves.”
    They stared at each other. His breathing was deep and slow, hers fast and nervous. She wanted to please him so badly and she ached for him to enjoy this night as much as she knew that she would.
    But Graves shook his head once more, his temples working as he clenched his jaw hard. He curled his fingers around her hip and squeezed. “It’s your first time, Chlo. I’m trying very fucking hard for sweet and easy here.”
    “No, I don’t need sweet or easy. Put them on me. Please!” Need consumed her, like a powerful cyclone sweeping her off her feet.
    She could make out his straining muscles under his shirt and her breasts throbbed for him. She needed him to fuck her and fuck her now, any way he’d like to.
    But Graves clamped his lips in disapproval and seized her hands in each of his warm ones and placed them on his shoulders, where he softly said, his gaze blazing into her, “You can hold onto me but don’t rub me, please.”
    “No, please, Graves, please. What if I forget?” she said.
    The troubled look on his face made her want to wrap her arms around him, hold him, love him. But he didn’t like to be touched. So she waited, pleading with him with her eyes to tie her up and have his way with her.
    The line of his jaw was squarer than ever. “Damn, Chlo…the handcuffs could hurt you if you writhe too much.”
    She panted. “Please. I want to do it your way. Your way.”
    He waited a moment, then he walked to his closet and came out less than ten seconds later. Her eyes scanned down the length of his corded arms but she was disappointed to see no handcuffs in his hands. Then she spotted the Hermès tie, the same orange one she’d seen him wear, and her womb gripped with pure female thrill.
    He guided her wrists together and all the time watched her expression with possessive eyes that made her bones feel like