He leaned in and kissed me, softly at first, and then with a swift gradation of intensity that sucked the breath right of me. I whimpered against his lips, struggling to catch my own breath, wanting to touch, to hold. To feel. Feel his biceps. Press my fingers against the warmth of his skin.
I was restrained.
Held back and only able to whimper against his lips in protest.
This was the punishment he so much ranted about. Being held back and tortured while I wanted nothing more than to feel and touch.
His insistent mouth was parting my shaking lips, sending wild tremors along my nerves, evoking from me sensations I had never known I was capable of feeling. And before a swimming giddiness spun me round and round, I was kissing him back.
Wildly.
With just as much intensity. His mout
