“What are you up to now, Riddick?”
There’s no anger in my voice, or fear. I’ve seen you angry, in the short while we’ve been together, your rage flying up out of nowhere. It’s never been directed towards me. I know you’ll never hurt me, but waking up restrained, naked, in bed, will have you ask a few questions, especially when you never went to bed that way.
“Had to find some way of keeping you in bed with me.”
I’m giggling to myself. I can’t help it, as I struggle against the restraints. You haven’t made it painful, but I’m not the escape artist you are. You’ve gotten up to get a cup of coffee, and, now, are straddling my waist, taunting me with it.
You’ve always hated that I get up before you. Sometimes I even feel bad, that first moment when your hand reaches out for me, and I’m gone, but I’ve never been able to stay in bed in the morning. So I get up and make coffee. I haven’t had any yet, and here you sit, taunting me with it.
I give up struggling to free my hands, lie back, to look up at you. Not the full grin, just the little one, that lifts one corner of your mouth up. A sharp predatory canine showing. A face that would probably scare the hell out of anyone else. I feel a little differently about you. Then again, I’m not scared of you. And you love me, for that matter. The feeling’s mutual.
“So, are you going to let me up at some point, Riddick?”
“I was thinking of keeping you tied up like that. Probably safer for me. You scratched the hell out of me last night.”
“Yes, I guess I did. You should have given me a little warning. I couldn’t sit down afterwards.” I can feel the flush beginning, a burning behind my ears, my breath quickens a little. This doesn’t escape you.
“You didn’t seem to mind too much last night, I mean, aside from the scratching, and that can be taken a few ways.”
Your coffee cup is down. Lean over me, your quicksilver eyes glint with mischief. I try to pull my hands free, to no avail, when you take my nipple with your teeth, gently. Move up to bite my neck, my ear, finally kissing me, tasting of coffee.
Watch your grin widen as you sit back, with your coffee back in your hands, knowing full well the effect you’re having on me.
“Bet you wouldn’t mind too much this time either.”
Can’t help but smile at that. I could try to work up a batch of outrage, but you can smell the heat on me, and would just laugh at me anyway. Which makes me smile even more.
I’d be in trouble, right here and now, if I wasn’t menstruating, but it seems you have that same superstitious fear of a bleeding woman that so many men have, so you’ll just play with me here.It amuses me a little that someone notorious as a mass murderer would get squeamish about a little blood.
“Guess you’d better untie me then.”
“Is that permission, Ava?” Your voice, deeper than usual, a low, sensual sound that’s more felt than heard, striking a chord in me.
Again, the questions that aren’t really questions at all, but are.
“Yes, it’s permission.”
With that, you untie me, and we head for the shower.