Breathe (4 page)

Samantha rolled her eyes, then put the ladle aside. Seating herself on a low stool, still rolling the glass back and forth on the narrow table, she ran her tongue over her lips.

“Breath is the magic of glass art.” Her eyes darkened, a small smile curving her lips, which sent a surge of need straight to Elijah’s groin.

Magic indeed. As she placed her lips around the edge of the metal blowpipe and exhaled, her focus entirely on the glass, Elijah would have absolutely believed she was a witch if someone had accused her.

He couldn’t look away.

She blew delicately into the pipe, turning it evenly all the while. The glob of glass expanded like a balloon, thinning and stretching and, as she had said, becoming a paler shade of green.

“There.” Her voice was satisfied and slightly breathless as she removed her mouth from the pipe and stood, her tall, slender frame in motion the whole time. She picked up a flat paddle and held it to the bottom of the blown glass, flattening it. Then she picked up a thick stack of what looked like soggy newspaper and shaped the object some more, steam and smoke issuing from the paper as it rubbed against the hot glass.

She scored the green glass where it met the blowpipe, then picked up a nozzle and flicked a switch. “This is compressed air, to cool it.”

Once she’d cooled it, she hurriedly carried the blowpipe to the first furnace.

“Now I put a bit of hot glass on the bottom of the piece.” Removing the project from the furnace, she picked up a long metal rod and attached it to the piece with the hot glass. “This is a pontil. It’s essentially a maneuvering rod.”

Elijah found that he didn’t want to say a word even though he had a million questions . . . He didn’t want to disturb the rhythm of Samantha’s work. She was clearly aware of him, spoke to him, but her attention was fully on her work.

It was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

He watched as she dipped a stick into a bucket of water, shaking it until a fat droplet landed on the glass.

Samantha then broke the glass off the blowpipe, picking up another pontil and moving back to the first furnace. She used yet more hot glass to plug the hole that had resulted from breaking the glass off of the blowpipe.

Her breath was now coming faster, her breasts pushing against the thin fabric of her tank top. The sight, combined with her unholy beauty as she worked in front of the glowing furnace, had Elijah shifting uncomfortably, willing his cock to behave, lest he scare her off.

“Almost done.” The tension in the air eased just the faintest amount as she used a small machine to polish the edge of what Elijah could now see was a simple, elegant vase. She aimed the nozzle with the compressed air at it again.

“There.” Satisfaction rang true in her voice as she picked up the piece between stacks of damp newspaper and held it up for him to see. “That last blast of air was to equalize the temperature throughout the piece. Now it goes into this electric kiln. It will cool slowly for twelve hours, so that the glass doesn’t crack.” As she opened the kiln, Elijah, unable to stay away from her any longer, moved to stand just behind her.

She placed the vase on a shelf in the kiln, amid a forest of glass palm trees.

“These are quite different from your sculpture at the show.” He reached out a hand to run a finger over the glossy trunk of one tree, and Samantha smacked his hand away. The movement caused her scent to waft toward his nose, and he inhaled the smell of wildflowers and smoke.

“Tourist tchotchkes are easy cash.” Samantha closed the door to the kiln, then turned. She started when she looked up and found him right behind her.

Yet she didn’t move away. Heat began a low burn in Elijah’s belly, searing the thin ribbon of space between them. “How did you get started with glass art?” He didn’t mind making small talk, if it meant he got to stand close and bask in her heat.

She eyed him warily, and he could see her pulse, a rapid beat under the line of her jaw.

“When I was eighteen I had a crush on someone who was a glass artist. I asked for private lessons.” Her voice was breathy, and Elijah watched her lips part slightly beneath his stare. “Soon I was more interested in the glass than in him. It was . . . I found something that I’d always been looking for, even though I didn’t know it—” She hesitated, clearly swallowing back the rest of her words.

He thought he knew what she was thinking but couldn’t say: that now there was something else she was looking for. A desire she wanted to fulfill.

He waited for her to continue.

“You’re involved in . . . You’re a . . .” She worried her lower lip with her teeth, and Elijah had to clench his hands into fists to refrain from leaning forward and running his tongue over the place her teeth worked.

“Are you a . . . a Dom?”

Elijah cocked his head, studying her intently. She looked so nervous, he wanted to laugh and tell her that no one was going to tie her up and spank her for asking the question. But to laugh would be to diminish her question, so he swallowed the chuckle and instead nodded solemnly.

The image of her bound, quivering with need, was something he longed to see.

“Yes. I am.” His voice was even. Her eyes widened a fraction, but she kept her composure. Afraid to discourage her curiosity, Elijah didn’t voice the second half of his answer: that he wasn’t at all sure Samantha was a submissive.

She ran her tongue over those lips again, and again he felt his cock begin to swell.

“Is BDSM something you’re interested in?” Since she had paused, her next questions seemingly stuck in her throat, he tried to nudge her with his words.

Her face reddened, a delicious shade of pink, and he reached out to graze his knuckles over the curve of her cheekbone.

“I don’t know.” The way she ducked her head as she spoke told him that she was evading. The little kitten was intrigued by the notion—that much was plain—but how far would she go?

“What I’m feeling right now . . . for you . . . Is it just because you’re a Dom?” Samantha’s eyes were huge as she stared up at him. Elijah suppressed a moan.

What was this intriguing artist looking for? What would he find if he pushed her?

“No,” he said finally, bending his head a bit lower. “No, it isn’t because I’m a Dom—or at least, not entirely. This . . . It doesn’t happen between everyone, just like you don’t feel a connection with every person that you date.”

He waited, trying to appear patient, as she mulled that over.

Elijah wasn’t often shocked, but when Samantha rose to her toes, clasped his upper arms, and pressed her lips to his, he found himself unable to do anything but react forcefully. He hadn’t been expecting it—and, indeed, he didn’t care for it when a woman took control.

But he couldn’t deny the fever that surged through his entire body as she tentatively explored his lips with her own. Her nipples grazed his chest as she moaned softly and leaned in closer, and the slight touch made his cock harden to the point of pain.

Without thinking, he threaded one hand through the length of her ponytail and pressed the other between her shoulder blades, pulling her flush against his body. He rocked his hips forward, pressing his erection into the softness of her belly, asking her without words if this was what she really wanted.

“Elijah . . .”

He’d let her draw back enough to speak his name, and rather than hesitation or the innocent nerves that he’d expected to see on her face, he found determination.

Determination mixed with need—need as hot as the air that was scorching his lungs in the small, enclosed studio.

“Be sure, Samantha.” His voice sounded rough, like shards of broken glass, even to his own ears. Deliberately he added a hint of meanness, and though she never would have believed it, it was because he was experiencing a twinge of guilt.

He wanted her, and if she continued using that wicked mouth on him, he’d have her. But if he could scare her off, it would be better for them both.

Tightening his fingers in her hair, he pulled roughly until her head tipped back and she was forced to look up into her eyes.

“Fuck,” she whispered. Rather than nerves or indecision over his roughness, Elijah found that Samantha’s lips had parted and that her skin was flushed with arousal.

She
liked
it.

It was his undoing.

“Come here.” His voice stayed rough, just a bit mean as he pulled her flush against his body. This time when their lips touched, he took control of the kiss, parting her swollen lips with his tongue, tasting her sweetness, stroking in her mouth the way he was dying to do inside her pussy.

With a needy sigh of pure pleasure, Samantha melted against him, letting him take control of the kiss.

Sliding his hands down to cup her ass, he pressed upward until she wrapped her legs around his waist. As he carried her across the torrid glass studio, he contemplated setting up a small scene, an introduction to submission, to see how she reacted before either of them took this any further.

But when she eagerly began to press kisses into his neck and along the line of his jaw, each resonating in a throb between his legs, Elijah found that, for once, he didn’t want the ritual or rules of a BDSM scene.

He wanted this woman, just like this.

He was going to have her.

She arched her pelvis forward and his body clenched. The space between her legs was hot, the dampness apparent through the thin shorts she wore. She rubbed against his cock relentlessly, and he braced her against the doorjamb to lean into the sharp ache of need.

“Too fucking hot in here.” Elijah took her mouth again, working his hand up beneath the hem of her tank top as he tasted her. He pinched sharply, then rolled the taut nipple between his fingers, savoring the way she cried out and arched against him.

Sweat dampened them both, gluing their skin together. Heat shimmered in the air, tangible lines of it, lending a surreal quality to the moment.

“House. Bed.” Letting go of him with the hand closest to the door, Samantha turned the knob, shoving against the swollen wood. It didn’t budge, and with a moan of frustration against Elijah’s lips she abandoned her efforts, sliding her hand between their bodies.

When her eager fingers traced over the outline of Elijah’s cock, he felt pleasure coil at the base of his spine. Fuck, if her touch felt this good through the cloth of his shorts, his boxers, then it was going to be heaven to be skin on skin.

“Bed,” she panted, curling her fingers around him. Cursing, Elijah wrapped his arms tightly around her and braced his shoulder against the door, shoving at it.

Beneath their combined weight it shuddered, then finally fell open. They staggered through the opening as if drunk, falling to their knees in the mosaic of gravel in Samantha’s backyard.

Elijah intended to pick her up, to carry her across the yard to the ramshackle cabin that she called home. But as she fisted her hands in the hem of her tank top and lifted it over her head, all he could think was that he had to have her
now
.

“Perfect.” Ducking his head, Elijah licked a trail from her collarbone to her breasts. Cupping the heavy flesh in each hand, he worked the nipples with firm fingers, and at the same time sank his teeth into the softness that was the curve of her upper breast.

“Aah!” Samantha cried out and pressed herself against him, even as her fingers found and fumbled with the buckle of his belt.

She seemed as eager as he was. Though she didn’t appear to have any neighbors, her backyard wasn’t closed off and was clearly visible from the front of the house. He couldn’t have cared less if someone saw them, but spared a moment to wonder how she would feel.

“Samantha—” He curved his hands under her ass and made a questioning look toward the front of the house.

She narrowed her eyes at him in defiance and, releasing his belt buckle, started in on the zipper of her own shorts.

“I can’t wait.” Her voice was hot and full of need.

He looked down at her, assessing. She was aroused, her lips swollen and damp, her breasts flushed from his touch. But she looked completely in control of her faculties.

She was a grown woman, and she wanted him. He wasn’t going to try to convince her otherwise.

“Strip for me.” Standing briefly, he worked his fingers over his own belt buckle. Her eyes followed the movement, but she did as he said, hooking her fingers in the elastic of her waistband and slowly lowering the fabric of her shorts.

“Everything,” he ordered. A thrill coursed through him when she pinched her fingers into the side of her panties—plain cotton ones—and tugged them down her hips along with her shorts as he’d commanded.

“On your hands and knees.” His cock jerked as she worked her clothing the rest of the way off. The late-afternoon sun made the russet curls between her legs glisten, and his mouth watered to taste her.

There would be time for that later. With burning desire, he wanted,
needed
to be inside her.

“I want to taste you,” she said. Rather than dropping to the ground as he’d ordered, Samantha reached out and took the base of his cock in her long artist’s hands.

“I want you on all fours, little one.” Deliberately, he made his voice authoritative, anticipation catching in his throat. What would she do?

He wasn’t expecting her to glare up at him, temper hot in her eyes, and to stroke her hand up and down his shaft.

Dipping her fiery head, she closed her lips around the head of his cock, and Elijah couldn’t swallow the groan of pleasure that escaped his lips.

She swirled her tongue under the ridge of his cock, then slid it over the slit in the fat head, and he found himself fisting his hands in her hair.

Tugging her back, he glared down into her face.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” He had to ask because he wasn’t confident he could hold back much longer.

Uncertainty flashed over Samantha’s features.

“Is this . . . okay?” Her hot breath misted over his erection, and it was all he could do not to thrust back into the warm cavern of her mouth.

Her next words floored him.