The Architect (Nashville Neighborhood Book 3) by Nikki Sloane (top e book reader .TXT) 📗

My chest heaved as I gasped for air. The tip of E’s tongue seemed to know exactly where and how I wanted it, and his fingers slid in and out of me with the same precision. Fuck, I was going to come, and as my orgasm closed in, I worried the force of it might make me scream.

But instead, I was utterly silent as ecstasy burst inside and channeled out through my limbs. It was strange and wonderful to come like this while I was unable to move. It made the sensations linger, prolonging my enjoyment. Was this how it’d been for the girl trapped in latex under Mistress Theia’s dominance?

“Are you coming?” Clay asked.

“Yes,” I gasped.

He gave a choked-off sound of pleasure, and seconds later he joined me. His fist slowed, focusing only on his sensitive tip, while he erupted and cum dribbled down over his clenched fingers.

E’s mouth had ceased, but his fingers were still lodged inside me. Could he feel the rhythmic pulses of my internal muscles squeezing more pleasure from him? He studied me like he wanted to know everything about me, and—God—could I relate.

I was still cooling down when he withdrew, stood, and set about removing the magnets. I could tell he was trying to do them slowly, but it wasn’t as controlled as the clamp, and I sucked in air through my teeth.

Once everything had been put back into the black velvet bag and pocketed, E unclipped one of my wrists and gently guided it down. There was tension in my neck and back, and my arms were still asleep, so I was grateful for his carefulness. I’d expected him to undo the cuff, but he clipped it to a ring beneath the seat, and then repeated the process with my other hand.

I shot Clay a look, wordlessly asking him to explain.

He still had his dick in his hand, unbothered by the mess. “You were so amazing. Now I show you how much I appreciate you.”

E marched over to his bag on the workbench and produced a cordless wand vibrator, announcing the scene wasn’t over.

But there was a definite shift in tone. The first half had been pain.

The second one would be absolute pleasure.

THIRTEEN

I was out late on Friday with Cassidy when my phone rang, and my pulse kicked when Clay’s name flashed on the screen.

“Hey, there,” I said into my phone as I flashed an apologetic smile to my friend. She waved a hand, and I stood from the table, heading off to a quieter section of the bar that served just enough food to qualify as a restaurant.

“Hi,” Clay said. “So, I just got home and—”

“Oh, yeah? How was your flight?”

“It was fine.” There was something in his voice I couldn’t identify. Curiosity? Confusion? “Any idea where the food in my fridge came from?”

I laughed softly. “Yeah. You told me you wouldn’t be getting in until late, and since you’re only home for forty-eight hours, I bought some stuff to get you through the weekend. I thought I’d save you the time of having to go out.”

“Oh.” He paused, and then pleasant surprise clung to his words. “That was . . . nice of you.”

Even though he couldn’t see me, I smiled and shrugged. “It was kind of self-serving. This way you have more time to decompress,” I filled my words with extra meaning, “and, you know, work on your projects.”

I could hear his smile in his voice. “I see.”

This corner of the lobby was quiet, but all the sound faded out until it was just him. He was back. When I went home this evening, he’d be right next door. No more two-dimensional Clay to play with. It’d be his hands on my body.

“Thank you, Lilith.” His gratitude made warmth bloom in my chest. “You should come over tomorrow afternoon so I can work on my new favorite project.”

My heart skipped.

I stood in Clay’s workshop, drinking the glass of lemonade he’d poured me, and watched him work, but anticipation vibrated as nervous energy inside my body. He wasn’t aware. He was busy gluing and clamping pieces together of the kneeler he was building for the client we’d met at Club Eros. While I studied him, I also had one eye on the St. Andrew’s cross.

“Did you ever think about using a model for your pieces?” I asked.

He tightened the final clamp. “Sometimes I do before I scale up. I want to make sure the proportions are right.”

What?

Oh. I gave a half of a laugh at the misunderstanding. “I meant like a person. I think it’d be helpful for your potential customers to see your stuff in use.” I walked over to the chair we’d used during our last session. “There are a lot of options here. Different places to clip onto, and then there’s the spreader bar. You can put a bunch of pictures in the gallery for this, but without someone sitting in it? It’s hard to get a sense of what it’s capable of.”

He made a face. “I get what you’re saying, but I wouldn’t even know where to start with that.”

Because he was private, and he wouldn’t want a stranger coming to his house, and definitely not down to his workshop.

But I wasn’t a stranger.

I affected a dramatic, wistful voice. “If only you knew someone who loved your work, especially when they’re handcuffed to it . . . Wherever could you find a girl like that, I wonder?”

His attention was no longer on what he’d been doing, it was set on me and he asked it with total disbelief. “Are you volunteering?”

“What if I am?” I ran a fingertip seductively across the chair back.

It was interesting to see how this excited him as my partner, but also as a businessman. His gaze turned to the storage closet as he considered my offer. “I have a lot of pieces.”

“And I have all afternoon,” I said.

“You want to do this?” He put a hand on his hip and shifted his weight to one