The room smoldered.
Jazz crooned in the background--slow, lazy sax over a deep bassline. The air was thick with oudh, smoky and sweet, clinging to sweat-slicked skin and aching moans. I couldn't move--my wrists were strapped tight to the headboard, the silk restraints now damp from where I'd pulled. The blindfold made every second feel like forever, every breath she took louder than thunder.
She straddled my waist, bare and wet, her scent intoxicating--no, dangerous. My cock twitched helplessly beneath her. She hadn't even touched it. Not properly.
Then came the first drip.
The wax hit my chest with a hiss, sharp and hot.
I gasped.
She giggled--low, throaty, cruel. "That's just a taste, baby..."
Her fingers traced lazy circles around the spot, then slid down to my abs, where another drip sizzled. I flinched.
"You want a confession?" she whispered, grinding her slick pussy along my length, coating me, teasing me. "Because I've been such a bad, bad girl..."
I whimpered, hips bucking, but the restraints held me firm.
She leaned down, lips brushing my ear, voice dripping with sin. "He didn't knock. Not right away. Just stood at the door, holding some stupid parcel his mom asked him to drop off."
I stilled.
