I gape at him—I can’t believe he’s just said that—and he looks sickeningly pleased
with himself as he grins at me. Turning, he opens the freezer and takes out the carton of
Ben & Jerry’s finest vanilla.
“This will do just fine.” He looks up at me, eyes dark. “Ben & Jerry’s & Ana.” He says
each word slowly, enunciating every syllable clearly.
Oh fucking my. I think my lower jaw is on the floor. He opens the cutlery drawer and
grabs a spoon. When he looks up, his are eyes hooded, and his tongue skims his top teeth.
Oh, that tongue.
I feel winded. Desire, dark, sleek, and wanton runs hot through my veins. We’re going
to have fun, with food.
“I hope you’re warm,” he whispers. “I’m going to cool you down with this. Come.” He
holds out his hand, and I place mine in his.
In my bedroom he places the ice cream on my bedside table, pulls the duvet off the bed,
and removes both the pillows, placing them all in a pile on the floor.
“You have a change of sheets, don’t you?”
I nod, watching him, fascinated. He holds up Charlie Tango.
“Don’t mess with my balloon,” I warn.
His lips quirk upward in half a smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it, baby, but I do want to
mess with you and these sheets.”
My body practically convulses.
“I want to tie you up.”
Oh. “Okay,” I whisper.
“Just your hands. To the bed. I need you still.”
“Okay,” I whisper again, incapable of anything more.
He strolls over to me, not taking his eyes off mine.
“We’ll use this.” He takes hold of my robe sash and with delicious, teasing slowness,
releases the bow, and gently pulls it free of the garment.
My robe falls open while I stand paralyzed under his heated gaze. After a moment, he
pushes the robe off my shoulders. It falls and pools at my feet so that I’m standing naked
before him. He strokes my face with the backs of his knuckles, and his touch resonates in
the depths of my groin. Bending, he kisses my lips briefly.
“Lie on the bed, face up,” he murmurs, his eyes darkening, burning into mine.
I do as I’m told. My room is shrouded in darkness except for the soft, insipid light from
my lamp.
Normally, I hate energy-saving bulbs—they are so dim—but being naked here, with
Christian, I’m grateful for the muted light. He stands by the bed gazing down at me.
“I could look at you all day, Anastasia,” he says, and with that crawls on to the bed, up
my body, and straddles me.
“Arms above your head,” he commands.
I comply and he fastens the end of my robe sash round my left wrist and threads the
end through the metal bars at the head of my bed. He pulls it tight so my left arm is flexed
above me. He then secures my right hand, tying the sash tightly.
When I’m tied-up, staring at him, he visibly relaxes. He likes me tethered. I can’t touch
him this way. It occurs to me that none of his subs would have touched him either—and