No Strings Attached
“No strings attached,” he insisted, the words coming out as a groan as she grabbed his ass, trying to pull him closer to her. Naturally, he was being a stubborn little shit, insisting on talking when there were about 87 things she’d rather he was doing with that mouth and that tongue. “Got it?”
She nodded impatiently, focusing on finally removing his tiresomely in-the-way shirt. No strings, no expectations, no recriminations, just a night of hot, hot sex. Fine by her. She’d pretty much had enough of relationships with men anyway lately, the way they used her and then acted like she didn’t exist outside a few hurried (and ultimately unsatisfying) moments in the dressing room. She’d had some fantastic, enthusiastic lovers over the past six years, but not a single one had ever matched Lindsey for his focus, his intensity, his single-minded attention to satisfying her. They’d learned how to be good lovers together, both sexually experienced but innocently so in many ways.
“Look at me,” Lindsey growled. She’d discovered that early on, how important eye contact was to him. Not that she’d minded; his eyes still held some kind of power over her, she’d swear on her weaker days. Tonight, though? She wasn’t going to make it easy for him. She needed this hour, maybe this whole night, as much as he did, but that didn’t mean she didn’t hate herself for it. Pinching his nipple, she grinned into his neck when he flinched. Easy, boy.
“Look at me,” she replied finally, pushing at his chest, forcing him onto his back. “Watch me.”
It was afterwards, as she curled into his still slightly sweaty body, that she realized that the strings were already there, that they’d been there before they’d even made it to her hotel suite. He’d tied her to him over ten years ago, and there was no undoing that knot.