at sound so erotic? I swallow,
and to divert his attention, pull out a device that looks like
a spiky pastry cutter.
“This?” I frown. No baking in the playroom, surely.
“That’s a Wartenberg pinwheel.”
“For?”
He reaches over and takes it from me. “Give me your
hand. Palm up.”
I offer him my left hand and he takes it gently, skating
his thumb over my knuckles. A shiver runs through me. His
skin against mine, it never fails to thrill me. He runs the
wheel over my palm.
“Ah!” The prongs bite into my skin—there’s more than
just pain. In fact, it tickles slightly.
“Imagine that over your breasts,” Christian murmurs
lasciviously.
Oh! I flush and snatch my hand back. My breathing
and heart rate increase. Holy cow.
“There’s a fine line between pleasure and pain,
Anastasia,” he says softly as he leans down and puts the
device back in the drawer.
“Clothespins?” I whisper.
“You can do a great deal with a clothespins.” His gray
eyes burn.
I lean against the drawer so it closes.
“Is that all?” Christian looks amused.
“Is that all?” Christian looks amused.
“No . . .” I pull open the fourth drawer to be
confounded by a mass of leather and straps. I tug at one of
the straps . . . it appears to be attached to a ball.
“Ball gag. To keep you quiet,” says Christian, amused
once more.
“Soft limit,” I mutter.
“I remember,” he says. “But you can still breathe. Your
teeth clamp over the ball.” Taking it from me, he replicates
a mouth clamping down on the ball with his fingers.
“Ha一ve you worn one of these?” I ask.
He stills and gazes down at me. “Yes.”
“To mask your screams?”
He closes his eyes, and I think it’s in exasperation.
“No, that’s not what they’re about.”
Oh?
“It’s about control, Anastasia. How helpless would
you be if you were tied up and couldn’t speak? How
trusting would you ha一ve to be, knowing I had that much
power over you? That I had to read your body and your
power over you? That I had to read your body and your
reaction, rather than hear your words? It makes you more
depe
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