Well Butter My Fly

Ah, release day! Butterfly Unpinned is, well, unpinned. Here's my favorite scene from the book, co-written with the wonderful Bonnie Dee. It's a scene leading up to a party, but I don't think you can buy invitations at Hallmark quite like this...


The house was always silent, but today’s quiet made the hair on his arms stand on end. His breath was short. Ragged. Just like it had been at the end of last night’s run, his cock still hard in his sweats, his balls trying to crawl up into his body. Guilt entered the picture, too. What if she didn’t really want this? What if she gave herself to him or sucked his cock and that was it—the fantasy ruined? He felt like a fucking predator as he walked through the hallways, looking around corners and pushing open doors that weren’t completely closed.

You’re acting like a goddamn stalker—just forget it. You’re not getting paid to screw. He gave up the chase and headed for the study.

He should’ve looked here first. The key in his slick hand hit the floor. He closed the door. Locked it. Christ, the way the morning sunlight streamed into the study… She was so beautiful and lay so still, her limbs splayed on the massive desk and held in place with large red ribbons.

He just stood there watching the rise and fall of her chest. She didn’t seem afraid. The bottoms of those tiny feet were nearest to him. He crossed the room slowly, looking for a reaction. Every step closer increased the tempo of her breathing, and when he reached her and touched the lightly-soiled sole of each foot, she panted as if on the edge of orgasm.

His fingers wrapped around each slim ankle. The bows weren’t anchored to anything that he could see, but she stayed in position when he gave her calves a gentle squeeze. Pale blue blood vessels spidered just beneath her creamy skin—it was that translucent. He walked to her side and let his hands trace a path to where the invitation Gary spoke of rested between her thighs. The envelope had been tied with red ribbon to the ring peeking from the fleshy hood of her clitoris.

He bent down for a better look. And to breathe in her scent. When he exhaled, a spray of goose bumps dotted the tops of her thighs, to which he held tight in order to maintain control. Another deep breath and he was ready. He released her skin. Ten almond-shaped marks in a mottled pink were left behind on her white thighs.

“Sorry,” he said, rubbing them as if that would make them disappear. The texture of her body, like warm satin, made his cock throb. He wanted her off this hard table and somewhere soft.

He looked at her face. She didn’t meet his gaze, but her eyes were open, fixed on the ceiling.

No, hon. None of this coy shit. If he fucked her, he wanted to see her reaction. He wanted her to want this, too.

“Sit up.”

“I can’t, sir. The bows…”

So they were tied down. He walked over to where her head met the edge of the desk and felt under the curved lip of the desk’s top—a small ring held the bindings in place. He pulled one end of a ribbon holding her wrist, then untied the other. In the stillness of the room, the satin rushing through the knots sounded like a roar. Her nipples thickened, and their centers grew from dusky pink to a bright red. He heard her swallow.

He pressed his lips to her ear.

“How wet will you be when I pluck that pretty invitation from between your legs?” he whispered.

When she shuddered, he suppressed one of his own. He liked this—the set-up, her submissiveness, his struggle to stay in control and do everything slow and right. He liked it a lot.

He willed himself to stand upright and go back to her feet. She must have expected him to undo those ties, too; her toes gave the slightest wave. He ran a finger over the ones on the right. A rush of air left her chest. Better yet, she sat up.

Bryan put a knee on the desk between her feet and climbed up. His hands found purchase on either side of her hips and, although he stared at her eyes, she kept hers lowered. He dipped down to try to catch them, to lock with them and study the unusual green irises. Her eyes dodged his, and they made a game of it, him moving closer and crouching lower to make the connection.

She actually grinned.

He pressed his elbows to the desk, letting the weight of his body force her back down. He moved lower to place a fleeting kiss to the space above her belly; she still wore scarves there, just a twisted bundle of them hiding her abdomen. He skipped over the mass of silk, then kissed lower still, wetting his lips each time to make her wait until his feet were firmly planted back on the floor. When he reached her cleanshaven mound, he added a lick. She shivered. His nose trailed over the bare slope of her cunt and nestled against her clit. The muscles of her pussy clenched so hard, the sensitive ridge bumped him back. He inhaled. Heaven…

“So this is for me?” He looked up.

She nodded.

“I’m not talking about the invitation.”

She nodded again. Slower this time.

He gripped the edges of the desk to hold back. To keep from unzipping. He focused on the envelope. It hid her slit well, and he kissed the thick paper, forcing it close against her concealed lips. Then, with a flick of a finger, he unveiled her secrets—the full, ruffled lips, a deeper pink than her nipples. He parted them. A trickle of juice escaped, and he gathered it on his fingertip.

He looked up again. She had propped herself on her elbows, and her eyes didn’t shift away this time, not until he tasted her. Then all he got was the soft open o of her mouth and fluttering eyelids. He climbed back on the desk to capture her lips with his. She jumped, leaving him with only her bottom lip. He sucked it into his mouth—held it there—then pushed her back to the desktop to take the upper lip, too. She resisted and he let go.

“I want to taste all of you,” he said softly.

He tilted his head to place a kiss right by her lips. She turned to him, her eyes searching his.

“What?” he asked.

“You’re supposed to fuck me, sir, not…”

“Not what?”

“Not…not love me like this.”

His erection, coated in pre-come and dying for any kind of release, burned into his skin. Seared him like a fucking brand. His fingers itched to yank open his fly and find those goddamn condoms. He wouldn’t last three strokes.

But he kept his head. “What do you want, Butterfly?”

“I’ll do whatever you wish—”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I take pleasure in pleasing you.”

He crawled back down her body until his feet hit the floor and his lips hovered over her sex. It was wetter now, but he didn’t touch it. He took a thin sliver of ribbon between his teeth and made sure she watched. Her pupils were huge, her cheeks flushed. He pulled. The bow holding the invitation came loose and dropped between her thighs. He picked up the small envelope, careful not to touch her, then tucked it into his back pocket.

After untying the bows at her ankles, he offered his hand. She took it and let him slide her to the edge. But he didn’t let her get down. Instead he walked into her still-open thighs and forced them further apart. She leaned back on her hands. The bend of her legs cleared the far edges of the desk, and her eyes met his—this time in challenge.

He fingered the hoop at her clit and gave it a playful tug. “You going to be at this little party?” he asked.

She nodded.

He could barely wait.

He stepped back to let her go. She closed her eyes. In disappointment, he hoped. After what he’d just put himself through, she’d better be feeling something. When she slid off the desk, the smear of moisture she left behind was a small victory. But when she turned around on shaky legs at the door while he got his tools…that moment, the look on her face and the obvious lust there—hell, the fact that she even turned around—this was a triumph.