Switch (Twisted)

Chapter 2

He is cuffed to the four poster bed in the fortress. His vision is blocked by a black blindfold. He is panting. His fuck-me hair wet with sweat. I run my brown leather riding crop down his naked chest and he shudders. I flick my wrist and make contact with the skin of his rock hard abs. He groans and his lips part. Those beautiful, pink, full lips. I lean over him, take his bottom lip between my teeth, and tug on it. He hisses and his hips jerk forward.

"Anxious are we?"

"Yes Mistress, very." He pants. I smile and run my fingers down my crop.

"What shall I do with you pet?" I question. His breathing increases further and his erection twitches.

"What ever your body desires Mistress, I am yours."

"What do you want to do to me?" I ask, my voice husky with desire. He groans. "Tell me pet."

"I want to touch you and feel every inch of your body," He breathes. "I want to taste you and smell you, touch you and fuck you." I begin to pant. I pull the keys to the cuffs out from between my breast and release his hands. I then remove the blindfold and he blinks rapidly, trying to adjust to the lighting. I climb onto the bed and straddle his naked body.

"Touch me," I demand. Slowly he lifts his hand and runs his fingers from my hairline, down my cheek, and stopping at my collar bone. He pulls my top over my head and my breasts fall free. His eyes light up as he grips them in his hands. His rough, calloused fingers graze my nipples making me throw my head back and grind my hips against him.

He sits up on the bed and lays me onto my back. His hands roam across my skin sending a shiver through me. He grabs my hips and positions himself between my legs. His erection is pressed firmly to my core and he begins to grind against me...

I wake with every nerve in my body tingling with need. My breathing is labored and I can still feel him pressed to me. Damn you Noah Williams, why must you haunt my dreams? I get out of bed and begin to dress for work. Today I have to finalize an agreement with Spice Magazine for a six page spread for my winter collection. I go to my closet and pull out a black, Dolce and Gabana pant suit and silver, Chanel pumps. I quickly dress and retreat to the bathroom to do something with this hair.

Its a bit unruly today. I run my brush through my hair and watch with fascination as my tight, slept on curls begin to unravel. It actually looks good as is, my curls more delicate and soft than ever. I do my makeup as usual, dark eyes, red lips but this time I attempt to use a little blush, I could really use some color.

I get my skin from my mom. She was always pale. I remember being a kid and watching her get ready for a work, she would squeeze the skin of her cheeks trying to bring the slightest bit of color. I also got my mothers black hair. My father gave me my innocent face, he looked so much like a teenage boy.

I miss them. They've both been dead for a long time now. I have a number of photographs of them during their marriage. I guess I'm afraid that if I hang them, their ghosts will haunt me. I know the terms of their death and it keeps me up at night.

I frown at the dark mood I seem to be in. I can see a long afternoon at the bar at Beaumonts. I groan and smack my hand against my forehead. I cant go to Beaumonts, that sexy, cocky, fuck-me-silly haired man will surely be there. I'm surprised I hadnt bumped into him sooner. I've been to the Beaumont a number of times and I've never seen or heard of that man. Ok, I've heard of him.

He ownes nearly every major club, casino, loan company, pawn shop, day care center, car lots and I l've heard he owns a couple car lots and the fucker even directs movies. He has too much control and it makes the hairs on my neck stand up. I have to steer clear of that man. I have a bad feeling he will cause me a heap of trouble if give in to his looks and demanding demeanor.