Without warning, he hooks his hands under my thighs and lifts me up. I let out a shriek and straddle my legs around his waist. “Of course you care about cameras,” I whisper, as he glides his tongue over the delicate bones of my shoulder blades. “You should care about them.”
My head is spinning and if not for the loud warning noise, I wouldn’t have noticed that the elevator has stopped on the top floor of the building.
“When I take you into this room, you are completely mine,” he says. “No tour talk, no Cilla. Just me and you.”
He doesn’t mention Sam, but I think of her, and I vow not to let the little bit of contact she’s had with me ruin my time with him. I’ll be home in Nashville this weekend, and I want to savor every moment I have with him alone.
“Alright. I promise.”
“I’m going to hold you to that, Red,” he tells me in a dangerous voice.
He carries me inside of the Penthouse, not setting me down until we reach the large, circular couch in the middle of the room—a brown leather sectional where the parts have been slid together to make one round surface. Scooting myself back, I look around, trying to become better acquainted with where I’ll be staying for the next 36 hours.
There’s a neutral color scheme going on in here—rich shades of brown and tan. Directly across from the couch is a bar with a gleaming granite counter top, and to the left of me, French doors lead to what I assume is the bedroom. To my right is a Steinway piano, and memories of the night in Nashville when he bent me over the same model claws its way into my thoughts.
“Why does this feel familiar?” I tease.
“Because it’s supposed to be.” Taking my hands in his, he pulls me up until I’m sitting on my knees and our bodies are rubbing together. “You’re going to play for me, Sienna.”
“And if I say no?”
Pinning my arms over my head, he covers my mouth with his, kissing me hard, rough and fast until I can no longer breathe. I stumble back against the cushions once he lets my arms go, but he shakes his head. “Turn around.”
I could argue with him. I could ask him why just to see what inventive punishment he’ll come up with this time, but I don’t. Keeping my eyes trained on his, I comply, climbing around on my knees until the front of my body is touching the backrest of the couch.
“Do you know what I realized?” His fingertips slip beneath the soft cotton of my shirt, and I hold my breath as he urges me to raise my arms so he can draw it over my head. “I was wrong about the bus.”
I look back at him. “What?”
“I can’t touch you like I want. Can’t drive you crazy every time you grind those damn teeth of yours.” He spins his fingers in a circular motion, and I turn back around to face the floor to ceiling windows that extend along the entire back wall of our suite. “I’m going to spend this entire f**king day inside of you, tasting you, touching you. Do you understand?”
I nod, gasping a moment later when he unhooks my bra with one well-maneuvered motion of his fingers. “If you rip another bra, I’ll have your—”
“God, you talk to much.” When he comes up behind me on the couch, I slide forward until my br**sts are pushed flat against the cushions. He drapes my bra—which is still completely intact—over the back of the couch. “See, no rips.”
He pushes my hair away from the nape of my neck and runs his nose along the sensitive area between my shoulder blades. “You smell so good—so right. Did you know that?” When I make a movement with my head that’s neither acknowledgment nor denial, he chuckles against my skin. “I’m going to finish undressing you now.”
“Yes, please.”
As he removes the rest of my clothes, his touch varies. He’s gentle when he unfastens my shorts, his fingertips careful and soft as they run along the inside of my thigh, but then when he reaches my panties, he’s rough. He rips them into two uneven pieces as soon as his thumb makes contact with the wetness in the center.
By the time I’m naked, gripping the back of the couch hard, I’m trembling. He slides off of the couch, and when I try to see what he’s doing, he gives me a rough slap on my ass.
“Turn around, Sienna.”
Sinking my teeth into my lip, I whip my head back around, staring out the window as the first drops of sunrise splash across the sky. He rummages through his luggage for a few minutes, and when I hear him zip everything closed, my body shivers in anticipation.
A moment later, when he returns he’s naked. He drops something on the couch and touches my shoulders. His hands trails down my arms until he reaches my wrists and has brought my hands together behind my back
I wait for him to bind my hands together.
Then he surprises me.
Releasing my wrists, he grabs whatever it is he brought back to the couch. When he touches me again, cold leather wraps around my right thigh. I glance down my body just in time to see him hook the cuff, using the metal clasp found on the inside of my thigh to stretch it taut across my skin.
“What is this?” I gasp, as he does the same thing to my left leg.
“These,” he starts, taking my right wrist and placing it against the side of my thigh, “are bondage cuffs.” To demonstrate, he unhooks a separate, smaller cuff that’s attached to the outside of the leather that’s attached to my leg. I try to slow my erratic breathing as he tightens it around my wrist and secures it. “Because you couldn’t keep those hands of yours out of my f**king hair the last time I had you to myself.”