Just as I’m starting to get into it, Julian withdraws his fingers and runs them down the front of my body, leaving a cool, damp trail on my skin. I shiver in response, my inner muscles tensing as his fingers circle my navel, his nails scraping lightly over my belly. Lower, I will him silently, please, just go a bit lower, but he lifts his hand instead, depriving me of his touch.

I open my mouth to plead with him, but then I remember that he doesn’t want me to speak. Swallowing, I suppress the words, not wanting to displease him when he’s in this unpredictable mood.

If Julian is indeed punishing me for something, I don’t want to provoke him further.

So instead of begging, I lie still, waiting, my breathing fast and shallow as I try to listen to his movements. I can’t hear anything. Is he just standing there watching me? Staring at my semi-naked body stretched out and restrained on the bed?

Finally, I hear something. A scraping noise, as if he picked up something from the nightstand.

I wait, listening tensely, and then I feel it.

Something cold and hard sliding under the tight band of my bra, pressing between my breasts.

I almost flinch in shock, but manage to remain still, my heart beating frantically.

Snip. The noise is unmistakeable.

It’s the sound of metal cutting through thick fabric. Julian just used scissors on the front of my bra.

I allow myself a small exhalation of relief, but then I tense again as I feel the cold scissors sliding down my body.

Snip. Snip. Both sides of my thong are cut, the dull edge of the scissors pressing into my hipbones. I feel the warmth of Julian’s hand as he pulls the mangled scrap of fabric off my body, and then I hear him suck in a breath. He’s looking at me. I know it. I picture what he’s seeing as I lie there naked, with my legs wide open, and a flush heats up my skin at the pornographic image in my mind.

“You’re already wet.” His voice, low and thick with lust, makes me burn even more. “Your pussy is dripping for me.” He accompanies the words with a butterfly-soft touch on my aching clit. His fingertips feel rough on my sensitive flesh, yet fire rockets through my veins, filling me with desperate need. Unbidden, a moan escapes my throat, and I lift my hips toward him, silently begging for more.

This time, he answers my plea.

I feel the mattress dip again as he climbs onto the bed, settling between my legs. His hands, large and strong, grip the top of my thighs, and then he lowers his head to my sex. I feel his hot breath wash over my open folds. I almost whimper in anticipation, but I hold back at the last second, not wanting to do anything to cause Julian to change his mind. I want his touch. I need it. It’s agonizing to be without it.