This is for Feebee, because she needs the rain …

The afternoon sun poured in through the wooden slated blinds, casting shadow and light across the bed and the body stretched out diagonally across it, one leg raised slightly at the knee, the covers in crumpled disarray beneath. Faint noise from the street beyond filtered in through the open window together with a light spring breeze. It wasn't particularly warm outside, but the sun heated the room and the cool air lightened the atmosphere within which was otherwise heavy with the scent of their arousal and completion. He watched her breathing for several seconds from the bathroom door, there was nothing else on the planet so beautiful in his mind.

Her eyes opened suddenly, letting out a soft 'oof' as the unexpected weight landed on her body. She adjusted to it quickly, shifting his head to a more comfortable position. She sighed in satisfaction at the little noises of pleasure emanating from him as she gently ran her fingertips up the back of his neck and raked through his hair. The fingers of her other hand toyed with the hair above his forehead, twisting a few strands at a time into short curls. As he lazily drew circles on her stomach with his fingers, he wondered if it was possible that he had died and gone to heaven, he wanted to lie here, just like this, his head cradled in her hands, his cheek pressed into the gentle warmth of her body. Two problems with that though. They had to leave for this wretched party in less than three hours and more pressingly, the longer she caressed him, the more urgently he wanted more than just her hands.

It seemed exquisitely decadent to spend a whole day doing nothing. They had so few whole days to spend together and when they did, there was always something planned, someone to visit or something that had to be done. After all, they were both planners, every minute had to be used wisely, productively. For him, the answer would be to go to the gym, for her it would be organising, tidying or her new found obsession with cooking. Big improvements were being made there, he was pleased to note yesterday's sausage casserole was surprisingly edible, even though there was little Tuscan about it in his opinion. But today, nothing was planned until the evening and it made sense to have an 'easy' day after a tough week, and how better to do that than in bed?

Max had been out early, as usual, and stocked up on fresh coffee grinds and croissants from the local French bakery that Millie adored so much, picking up the Mail and Telegraph papers on the way back. Not that she would read either these or tomorrow's Sunday papers, despite her weekly assertion that this time she would, Millie was only interested in the colour magazines they contained. The rest would be left unread by her until the end of the week when she would finally declare them out of date, gather them up and dump them in the recycling bin. He'd given up asking why she bothered to keep them that long at all.

"Why doesn't your mother like me?"

Ah, the omnipresent question. Rarely asked, but always there, almost as if the woman herself haunted them. For the most part of their relationship, it hadn't mattered, but since he moved in he noticed it was increasingly important to Millie.

"I don't know," he replied, glad that she couldn't see his lie. "She's a difficult person," at least that was the truth.

He looked up, suddenly she felt bereft of his weight and gave a little noise to tell him just that. She pulled a pillow under her head so that she could see him, puzzled by the concentration in his face as he stared first at one breast, and then the other.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to decide if I have a favourite" he replied deadpan. She laughed contentedly, beautifully to his ears.

"And do you?"

"Not sure yet, requires further investigation."

"What do you have in mind?"

"Well, I need to observe, feel, taste …"

Millie's stomach flipped at his explicit words. She knew exactly what was coming, but her part of the game was to be innocent.

"So, tell me, how do they look?" Her voice was little more than a whisper.

"Well, this one," he turned his attention to her left breast, "appears to be perfect, round, plump, as does this one," turning to inspect the right closely. "Impossible to choose …"

"Really?" she breathed.

"Mmm. I suppose I'd better see how they feel. Maybe one will feel better than the other."

"Maybe …" Millie's breath hitched as the backs of his fingers swept over one then the other, his palms cupping, kneading her flesh, his thumbs tantalisingly lightly running back and forth over her nipples. Heat flashed through her body, her skin increasingly sensitive as his body brushed against hers. She swallowed, resisting the urge to pull him to her ever closer, willing herself to surrender to his game. "Well?" she was gasping now, "any closer to a decision?"

He let out a sigh, "it's just so hard …"

"Is it? Oh."

"… to choose," he finished with a devilish smile, enjoying every moment of her divinely tortured state. She was writhing now, just a little, trying to contain herself, trying to control her breathing but rapidly losing the battle with her own body. "Both flawless, smooth, firm …"

Millie whimpered.

"I wonder how they taste?" Her eyes fluttered closed as his head dipped to her chest, his lips closing around one nipple. The heat of his mouth and the ministrations of his tongue, alternately flicking and sweeping, shot a bolt of intense desire through her. She gripped the sheets at her sides to stop herself from launching off the bed, but she couldn't stop herself arching her body into him, entreating him to increase the intensity, but just as she did, he stopped and lifted his head to look up at her, his smile evermore wicked. If she didn't want him to continue so much, she could have slapped him for his self-possession. "Very nice", his breath danced across her skin, "but I can't ignore the other one, have to make a fair comparison." This time as his head dipped, she held his head to her breast, arching again into him but this time not allowing him to pull away without a fight. He didn't fight. Instead, he rolled onto her, settling one thigh firmly between hers. Satisfied that his game was over, she allowed her hands to glide down to his shoulders, so strong and muscular, still faintly tanned from their holiday several weeks ago. She dug her nails into the firm flesh, eliciting a groan of pleasure from his throat, which only served to heighten the sensation flowing through her body from her breasts as he moved from one to the other.

"Well?" she finally found wits enough to ask.

Max raised his head and shifted so that his eyes were level with hers. "Both delicious. It's a draw."

Millie smiled. It was her turn now.

Their eyes held each other for several moments. Then, just as Max closed his eyes and lowered his mouth to hers, Millie pushed back against his shoulders. Catching him unaware, Millie rolled him onto his back as she took her position astride him, her hands coming to rest on his chest. Max laughed with surprise at her sudden move, throwing his head back into the pillow in delight at her forwardness.

"Well, what are you going to do now?" he taunted.

"Close your eyes, and don't open them until I tell you." Millie slid away from him and off the bed. "Keep them closed," she re-iterated firmly.

Still chuckling, he complied and brought his hands behind his head. Millie scurried away to the spare room where Max kept most of his clothes, their bedroom was full of her things and it suited him to have some space of his own. She opened the wardrobe containing suits, shirts … and ties. She ran her fingers down several of the ties hanging from a rack on the back of the door. She stopped momentarily at a fairly hideous blue and yellow one, her brow furrowing at the Christmas present from his mother. Brushing aside the uncomfortable sensation, she eventually selected a dark silk number, usually worn for court.

"What are you doing?" his voice called out from their bedroom. She wrapped the tie around her hands, leaving a short length between them.

"I hope your eyes are still closed," she called back sternly, deliberately avoiding his question.

"Would I ever disobey you?"

Millie smiled. Obedience was not one of Max's predominant character traits. Turning back towards the door, she caught sight of herself in the full length mirror, her hair tumbling over one shoulder, her pale skin reddened in small patches by his mouth and fingers, the contrasting dark tie tangled in her hands. She held her breath for a moment, suddenly reminded of what Max saw when he looked at her and how he'd shown her only a couple of months earlier. Eventually exhaling in a rush, she threw back her head and walked back to the man waiting, supplicant, on their bed. It was obvious that he had not obeyed her. The previously open window was now closed, for her benefit she suspected. He knew that she hated being cold and if he wanted to keep her naked, she needed to be warm.

"Bad, bad boyfriend," she admonished quietly.

With his eyes closed, his lower lip jutted out stubbornly. "I don't know what you mean."

"Oh, I think you do. Or did that window close itself?"

"Why, PC Brown, quite the detective," he teased, flexing languorously, but his coolness was short-lived as Millie retook her position astride him, the tie still in her hands. Determined to deal with his insolence, she assessed what was needed and formed a loose knot at one end of the tie in preparation, then moved his hands from behind to just above his head on the pillow. Swiftly she looped the knot around one wrist and pulled it tight then quickly passed it through the slatted headboard.

"Keep them closed" she reminded him as he blinked in surprise before submitting to her demand and she tied his other wrist securely, this time with a double knot. It was all done in a matter of a few seconds, too quickly for him to form an opinion on whether he liked it or not. As she completed her work by double knotting his first wrist, he decided to let her continue and see where it took them. He felt something for her that he had never believed would be possible with any woman. Trust.

Her task completed, she wondered what to do next, yet she couldn't help admiring her handiwork. "Open them now," she commanded softly. He did as she asked, and looked up at her gazing down at him. She had never looked so magnificent or so powerful. It was a long time since he had given up control, a long time since he had allowed any woman to control him and he had never intended to again. But this was so different.

Millie stared at him fiendishly, a new plan forming. She leaned forward and rested one hand on the pillow next to his head, with the other she slowly ran a finger along his cheek, then to his lower lip. His lips parted with the sensation and she dipped her finger inside his mouth. His eyes closed, this time involuntarily, and a groan escaped. Eagerly he accepted her finger, lightly suckling. Millie was transfixed, never had she imagined this could happen. With his hands literally tied, he was like a caged lion, all power and muscle but unable to use it. Except, of course, that he probably could manage to untie himself if he wanted to. The fact that he didn't however, that he was permitting her this made it all the more exhilarating.

He gave a moue of disappointment when she removed her finger, trailing it damply down his chin, his neck and along his collar bone. She lowered her lips to just an inch or so above his, teasing him by dipping and backing away, his breathing grew laboured and she could feel exactly how aroused he was, the evidence behind her was increasingly substantial. She smiled at her own little joke but Max was too wrapped up in the passion to notice. All he could think about was capturing her lips, if he could stay focussed on that, he might just last a bit longer. Finally, Millie relented and allowed him his longed for prize. From his weakened position he kissed her hungrily, lifting his head off the pillow for more and more, the sensation mounting as Millie began to lightly stroke along his arms from his shoulders, her touch feather-light on the sensitive skin of his inner forearms, over the bindings of the tie, her fingers eventually reaching his open palms which she circled slowly. He usually found this comforting, it was anything but now.

"Millie?" he gasped into her mouth mid-kiss, "I can't …"

"Can't what?" she returned, her feigned innocence at odds with her actions.

"You're going to have to … under the pillow," he managed to say between shuddering breaths.

Millie smiled and reached under the pillow for the shiny square packet, sitting back as she found it. "Well, as you've been such a good boy …"

"Is the headboard broken" he asked when enough sense had returned to his head for him to be able to form speech.

Millie looked up from her exhausted slump on his body. Still tied up, he was quite a sight, if only she could take a photograph, but somehow she thought he probably wouldn't go for that. The loud crack that had accompanied his cry when he came was indeed the sound of one of the vertical slats on the headboard splintering.

"Umm, yes" Millie grimaced, "oh well, never mind. It was worth it." Her eyes sparkled at him as she spoke and he couldn't resist her infectious humour.

"Yeah, it was. But I think you'd better untie me now, don't you?" Millie shifted then paused, pretending to mull it over, cocking her head to one side. "Millie …" a note of 'don't push it' creeping in to his voice. After another fractional pause she reached up and released the knots. He pulled the tie towards him and inspected it. The splintered wood had frayed the silk slightly and he frowned. "I liked this one, couldn't you have used another?"

"What like that blue and yellow thing?" Millie settled on her side into his body, hooking a leg over his. "No thanks."

Max knew exactly what she meant but before the spectre of his mother could cast a shadow on their contentment, he pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head. "I love you."