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Here's a snippet from Hung Up (Not Vanilla - Bondage)
“Chin down. Look at your hands.” Wanda
barks orders. I comply. Lights flash and shutters click in a rapid-fire burst.
“I thought we might get by without oiling her, but I’m not getting any muscle
definition,” she complains.
Colton reaches for something behind the box
of suspension gear then approaches. He helps me stand. “I could untie you and
let you apply the oil, but it will be quicker if I do it myself. Do you mind if
I touch you?”
I stare at him, wondering for a second if
my overactive libido has conjured up his question. He raises one eyebrow, holds
the bottle of baby oil up for me to see. A hysterical giggle forms in my
throat. I choke it back, croaking out my answer. “No. Go right ahead.”
How many hours did I spend as a teenager
imagining this man spreading suntan lotion on my body? Too many to count. After
drizzling a line along both my arms, he smears the oil on, his warm, callused
fingers gliding across my skin. I close my eyes against the sensual onslaught.
I’ve always thought spontaneous combustion to be an urban myth, but Colton’s
touch has convinced me. Flames lick at my insides while he spreads liquid fire
on the outside.
“Her tits and shoulders are going to show,”
Wanda calls out. She’s been studying those tests shots on her computer screen.
“And her thighs. Might as well do all of her while you’re at it. I’m going to
get another reflector out of my car. Be right back.”
“Breathe,” he urges. I don’t even realize
I’ve been holding my breath until Colton calls me on it. “I should untie you,
let you do this yourself.” He fills his palm with oil. “But I’m not going to.”
Thank you, God. I’m breathing like a bronc sprung from the chute. I want his hands
on me so bad. Then they’re there, covering my breasts, massaging the globes,
plucking at my nipples until the shy nubs stand at attention and I’m ready to
collapse.
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