Timeless Read Online Free Page A

I thought it would be. My fingers go to the laces at the front of my corset but I fumble at them, and Marcus brushes my hand away.
    “Never mind. I’ll do it,” he says, his voice throaty.
    He makes quick work of the laces and removes the corset, leaving me in only the white, lacy shirtdress and my killer boots. Unlike the corset, he takes his time with the dress, slowly easing the elastic neckline of the dress down until it rests at the top swell of my breasts. He gives me a slow, knowing smile and then lowers it further, exerting just enough pressure on the elastic so that it scrapes across my nipples, abrading them before they spring free from the elastic confines of the fabric. I can feel my breasts tighten, my nipples aching with a need that has lain dormant for far too long. He slowly eases the dress down over my hips until it pools on the floor, leaving me standing there naked except for the tiny black thong.
    He strokes his hand reverently down my side. His touch is like fire, blazing its way straight to my core. “Your skin is just as soft as I remember,” he says.
    I don’t want to remember. “Should I, um, take my boots off?” I stammer.
    He takes a step back and his gaze sweeps over me approvingly. “Hell no. You look absolutely perfect just like this.”
    Suddenly embarrassed under his intense scrutiny, I self-consciously cover my breasts with my arm.
    “I don’t think so,” he chastises reprovingly. He grabs my hands and clips the cuffs at my wrists together again. “Hold your hands above your head.” The authoritative tone of his voice has me lifting my arms before I realize what I’m doing. I can feel my nipples harden even more under his pointed stare and I lower my gaze. His finger under my chin forces me to look up again, and the world stands still as his eyes meet mine.
    “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” he reminds me gently.
    I know he’s right, but it somehow feels different. Before, we were lovers—tender, passionate, in love, and unable to get enough of each other. Now there’s an uneven exchange of power which is throwing me off balance. Plus, this time, I hate him. However, my body didn’t get the memo because it’s straining toward him, begging for his touch.
    One strong, masculine hand cups my breast and his thumb brushes over my nipple deliberately. It puckers immediately. He scrapes his nail lightly over the hard little point and I moan softly. Why doesn’t any other man’s touch make me feel the way Marcus’ does? This is what I’ve been looking for. At least I’m finally on the right track and in the right place. I just need to find another man here willing to play. Which shouldn’t be a problem since they’re here for the same thing.
    “Eyes on me, Ari,” he commands softly, bringing my focus back to him.
    Holding my gaze with his, he grasps one nipple and twists it, gently at first, and then harder, his eyes never leaving my face. Determined not to give him the satisfaction of knowing I still thrill at his touch, I keep my face impassive. Studying me carefully, he pulls up and out deliberately, tugging so hard I’m forced up onto my tiptoes. I’m biting my lip to keep from crying out when he lets go.
    My knees feel weak, my every sense is heightened, and that long dormant zing of desire is coursing through my veins. I close my eyes as his other arm wraps around my waist, holding me steady as he repeats the process with my other breast, scraping and twisting and tugging until both of my nipples are stiff and elongated and my sex is throbbing.
    He pulls the rubber-tipped, tweezer looking clamps that are connected by a thin chain out of his pocket and I gasp as he applies one of the clips onto one distended tip, sliding a tiny metal ring up the arms of the clamp so that the pressure increases and my nipple is trapped between the two sides. It’s exquisite, a tiny pinch of pain that’s oddly arousing. I stand motionless as he attaches the other