James pushed my hair up in back, tucked it inside the hood, making it stretch tighter. Then the laces, over and back, criss-crossed down the back of my head and with each thread, each tug, the hood pressed against my skin, unyielding until it became a natural part of my body. Then the lace knotted at the base of my neck, followed by a leather strap, like a built-in collar, wrapped around my neck. I couldn’t hear it but felt a lock click in place at the base.
His fingernails roamed over the hood, like someone pressing a finger in your ear, only magnified. My whole head resonated with the muffled scratches. I moaned and turned around. My own hands sought out his, found them, squeezed them, then reached out and found his waist, his belt, those soft slacks and that hard c**k that bulged under
