“Okay.” My voice is barely audible.
“Choose a word, Ana.”
Oh …
“A safeword,” he says softly.
“Popsicle,” I say, panting.
“Popsicle?” he says, amused.
“Yes.”
He grins as he leans back to gaze down at me. “Interesting choice. Lift up your arms.”
I do, and Christian grasps the hem of my sundress, lifts it over my head, and tosses it on the floor. He holds out his hand, and I give him back the handcuffs. He places both sets on the bedside table along with the blindfold and yanks the quilt off the bed, letting it fall to the floor.
“Turn around.”
I turn, and he undoes my bikini top so that it falls to the floor.
“Tomorrow, I will staple this to you,” he mutters and tugs on my hair tie, freeing my hair. He gathers it into one hand and yanks gently so I step back against him. Against his chest. Against his erection. I gasp as he pulls my head to one side and kisses my neck.
“You were very disobedient,” he murmurs in my ear, sending delicious shivers through me.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Hmm. What are we going to do about that?”
“Learn to live with it,” I breathe. His soft languid kisses are driving me wild. He grins against my neck.
“Ah, Mrs. Grey. You are ever the optimist.”
He straightens. Taking my hair, he carefully parts it into three strands, braids it slowly, and then fastens my hair tie to the end. He tugs my braid gently and leans down to my ear. “I am going to teach you a lesson,” he murmurs.
Moving suddenly, he grabs me by the waist, sits down on the bed, and yanks me across his knee so that I feel his erection pressed against my belly. He smacks my backside once, hard. I yelp, then I’m on my back on the bed, and he’s gazing down at me, his eyes molten gray. I’m going to combust.
“Do you know how beautiful you are?” He trails his fingertips up my thigh so that I tingle … everywhere. Without taking his eyes off me, he gets up from the bed and gathers both sets of handcuffs. He grasps my left leg and snaps one cuff around my ankle.
Oh!
Lifting my right leg, he repeats the process so I have a pair of handcuffs attached to each ankle. I still have no idea where he’s going to attach them.
“Sit up,” he orders, and I comply immediately.
“Now hug your knees.”
I blink at him, then draw my legs up so they are bent in front of me and wrap my arms around them. He reaches down, lifts my chin, and plants a soft wet kiss on my lips before slipping the blindfold over my eyes. I can see nothing; all I can hear is my rapid breathing and the sound of the water lapping against the sides of the yacht as she bobs gently on the sea.
Oh my. I am so aroused … already.
“What’s the safeword, Anastasia?”
“Popsicle.”
“Good.” Taking my left hand, he snaps a cuff around my wrist then repeats the process with my right. My left hand is tied to my left ankle, my right hand to my right leg. I cannot straighten my legs. Holy fuck.
“Now,” Christian breathes, “I’m going to fuck you till you scream.”
What? And all the air leaves my body.
He grasps both of my heels and tips me back so that I fall backward on the bed. I have no choice but to keep my legs bent. The cuffs tighten as I pull against them. He’s right … they cut into me almost to the point of pain … This feels weird—being trussed up and helpless—on a boat. He pulls my ankles apart, and I groan.
He kisses my inner thigh, and I want to squirm beneath him, but I can’t. I have no purchase to move my hips. My feet are suspended. I cannot move.
“You’re going to have to absorb all the pleasure, Anastasia. No moving,” he murmurs as he crawls up my body, kissing me along the edge of my bikini bottoms. He pulls the strings on each side, and the scraps of material fall away. I am now naked and at his mercy. He kisses my belly, nipping my navel with his teeth.
“Ah,” I sigh. This is going to be tough … I had no idea. He traces soft kisses and little bites up to my breasts.
“Shhh … ,” he soothes. “You are so beautiful, Ana.”
I groan, frustrated. Normally I’d be grinding my hips, responding to his touch with a rhythm of my own, but I cannot move. I moan, pulling on my restraints. The metal bites into my skin.
“Argh!” I cry. But I really don’t care.
“You drive me crazy,” he whispers. “So I am going to drive you crazy.” He’s resting on me now, his weight on his elbows, and he turns his attention to my breasts. Biting, sucking, rolling my nipples between his fingers and thumbs, driving me wild. He doesn’t stop. It’s maddening. Oh. Please. His erection pushes against me.
“Christian,” I beg and feel his triumphant smile against my skin.
“Shall I make you come this way?” He murmurs against my nipple, causing it to harden some more. “You know I can.” He suckles me hard and I cry out, pleasure lancing from my chest directly to my groin. I pull helplessly on the cuffs, swamped by the sensation.
“Yes,” I whimper.
“Oh, baby, that would be too easy.”
“Oh … please.”
“Shh.” His teeth scrape my chin as he trails his lips to my mouth, and I gasp. He kisses me. His skilled tongue invades my mouth, tasting, exploring, dominating, but my tongue meets his challenge, writhing against his. He tastes of cool gin and Christian Grey, and he smells of the sea. He grasps my chin, holding my head in place.
“Still, baby. I want you still,” he whispers against my mouth.
“I want to see you.”
“Oh no, Ana. You’ll feel more this way.” And, agonizingly slowly, he flexes his hips and pushes partway into me. I would normally tilt my pelvis up to meet him but I can’t move. He withdraws.
“Ah! Christian, please!”
“Again?” he teases, his voice hoarse.
“Christian!”
He pushes fractionally into me again, then withdraws while kissing me, his fingers tugging at my nipple. It’s pleasure overload.
“No!”
“Do you want me, Anastasia?”
“Yes,” I beg.
“Tell me,” he murmurs, his breathing harsh, and he teases me once more—in … and out.
“I want you,” I whimper. “Please.”
I hear his soft sigh against my ear.
“And have me you will, Anastasia.”
He rears up and slams into me. I scream, tilting my head back, pulling on the restraints as he hits my sweet spot, and I am all sensation, everywhere—a sweet, sweet agony, and I cannot move. He stills, then circles his hips, and the motion radiates deep inside me.
“Why do you defy me, Ana?”
“Christian, stop …”
He circles deep inside me again, ignoring my plea, easing out slowly and then slamming into me again.
“Tell me. Why?” he hisses, and I’m vaguely aware that it’s through gritted teeth.
I cry out in an incoherent wail … this is too much.
“Tell me.”
“Christian …”
“Ana, I need to know.”
He slams into me again, thrusting so deep, and I’m building … the feeling is so intense—it swamps me, spiraling out from deep within my belly, to each limb, to each biting metal restraint.