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Johnny stood at the foot of his king-sized bed, his long-sleeved shirt hanging loosely over his broad shoulders, unbuttoned with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows—sweat on his toned, tattooed chest glistening in the moonlight streaming in through the open bedroom window.
"I don't want to scare you, sweetheart..." he took a sharp breath inward, "but I don't think you're ready for this." He smiled softly at me, tearing his gaze away from my body to meet my line of vision with a distinguished heat in his eyes that bore directly into my soul.
Oh, fuck.
"I'm ready," I insisted, rather meekly, lying on the bed in front of him, vulnerable as I could ever remember feeling before in my life. This was certainly a new one for me, after all.
My blindfold now removed, I looked down to discover my legs spread open—I had suspected as much by sensation alone—bound to either side of the bottom of the large bed frame by my ankles, each intricately fastened with rope. My hands and wrists were each carefully intertwined and wrapped tightly with the same soft rope, tethered to the headboard above me.
I had nothing on to cover my exposed, trembling body with the exception of a black leather harness hugging my chest paired with black mesh high-waisted crotchless panties.
My long hair was loose, cascading down my sides in waves of deep chocolate brown. I looked at Johnny longingly, my eyes meeting his gaze, a warmth building deep within my core as I writhed in pleasure and anticipation on the bed—waiting for his touch, begging internally for him to touch me, completely defenseless to him. I'm ready. Please.
