Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 89142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
In fact, I think I’ll have Frankie wear a mask at the club as well.
But the mask represents so much more than just hiding my identity at the club. It represents a part of me that no longer exists. That part of me that wanted to stay distant from my partners.
The mask was a layer between us.
And with Frankie? I no longer need the mask.
I no longer want the mask.
I’m no longer Phantom. I’m Hunter. Professor Hunter Stone.
And I’m…
I think I might be falling in love.
“You look hot in my shirt,” I growl at her, “but it’s going to have to come off.” I grab the collar and rip it off of her, sending buttons flying.
She gasps.
“I hope you know how to sew the buttons back on,” I tell her.
Her mouth drops.
I chuckle. “I’m only kidding, Frankie. I don’t expect you to be my seamstress.”
“Good, because I don’t know which end of the needle is up. But I do know a good dry cleaner where I get all my mending done. I’ll be happy to take it in for you.”
“That’s kind of you, but the buttons coming off was my fault, and I’ll see that they’re fixed.”
She smiles.
“Now,” I say, “this is normally when I tell my submissive to keep quiet for the rest of the scene, but I’m not going to do that with you. I want you to speak. I want to hear what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling. Okay?”
She nods.
“That’s not telling me anything.”
“Of course it is. A nod is body language. Telling you yes. That’s amazing. And thank you. Because I want to be able to tell you what I’m feeling, Hunter. It’s a big part of the experience for me, letting my partner know how I feel.”
“Good,” I say. “Because I want to hear everything, Frankie. I want to know how you’re feeling, how I’m making you feel.”
“Absolutely. Will you tell me how you’re feeling?”
“I’m not sure I’ll be able not to.” I grab the leather bindings from last night. “Now, I’m going to bind your wrists together and then secure them to the headboard. Okay?”
“Okay.”
My fingers graze her skin as I secure the leather bindings around each wrist. She shivers slightly, but is she scared? Or is she turned on?
I don’t want her to be scared, but I choose not to mention it. I simply say, “If at any time you want to stop, you just need to tell me to stop.”
“I will, but Hunter, I’m not going to want you to stop.”
God, my cock aches inside these jeans. I’m already so hard, and I’m only getting harder.
But I’ll go slowly. I want to show her some of the joys of being bound. When she’s secure in place on my bed, I return to my bureau and pull out a few objects. The first is a feather. The second is a flogger.
I return to her, to the delicacy laid out before me, and I fan the feather over her chin, down her neck, between her breasts.
Another shiver.
She’s not scared. She’s turned on.
Then I hold up the flogger. “Do you know what this is, Frankie?”
“A flogger?”
“Yes.” This time I trail the flogger between her breasts, over her mound, and then over one side and then the other.
Then I bring it down upon her with a whip.
She gasps.
The magic… The pure magic of watching her capillaries give rise to the beautiful pink flush. “Your thigh is getting red. Do you have any idea how beautiful you look when you’re pink all over? When that beautiful rosiness rises to your cheeks and the tops of your breasts?”
I bring the flogger over her breasts, making sure I hit the nipple with a flick. Pure rosiness…and the nipple. It’s hard and straining.
She gasps again, this time arching her back.
Nice.
“You have gorgeous breasts, Frankie. And those nipples? Like a fucking red-hot candy. Amazing. I think I’d taste cinnamon if I sucked on them.”
“Would you?”
“Would I what?”
“Would you suck on them? Please?”
“I like that you say please, and I will. I’ve planned to. But not quite yet.”
I bring the flogger down on her breast once more.
Again she arches her back, raises her hips.
I bring the flogger down on her mound, knowing that I’m catching her clit.
“Oh God!” she cries out.
I want to ask her if it feels good, which isn’t like me. I never ask a sub. It’s up to the sub to let me know how she’s feeling through her actions or sounds. If it’s not good, if she wants me to stop, she’ll use her safe word.
But Frankie isn’t my sub. Or she is—I hope—but she’s something more.
And I want to know how she feels.
“Good?” I ask.
“God, yes.” On a soft sigh.
My cock is harder in my jeans. It’s already hard as steel, and my God, I ache to be inside her hot little cunt.