Locke guides me backward onto the wide bed.
He catches both of my wrists in one palm, lifting them above my head until the cuffs click shut around the posts.
The restraint tugs just enough to stretch my arms, my breasts lifting with the motion, n*****s tightening in the cooler air.
"Trust me, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough as he sheds his own clothes, revealing that towering, tattooed body to my heated gaze. “I’m not going to hurt you – I never will.”
“I know,” I say breathlessly, my body arching instinctively. “You don’t lie to me.”
Locke doesn’t rush. He trails his fingers down my arms, over the swell of my breasts, pausing to tease my hardened n*****s before continuing lower, his gentle touch tickling the curves of my stomach, my hips.
He parts my legs with a possess
