Dangerously Bound (13 page)

For you, Mick . . . always for you.

His hand slid away from her mouth, and she drew in a deep
breath. His fingers still moved inside her in a slow, circular motion, and pleasure
built once more, hot and unbelievably fast, yet they moved so slowly it kept her suspended
again, moment by moment, hanging on the edge.

“Do you need to come again? You can answer me.”

“Yes. Please, yes.”

A smile crooked one corner of his lush mouth as he pulled his fingers from her pussy
and dragged them up over her belly, leaving a trail of her own juices. “I know you
do, baby. But we’ll save that one for later.”

She almost cried out in frustration, but she bit it back just in time.

For him.

Her body was buzzing, a mind-blowing combination of pleasure spent, need unmet, and
that sense of being taken over completely. She watched as he turned his back to her,
one hand on her stomach so that he never lost contact with her as he picked something
up from a chair he’d pulled close to the hanging bed. When he turned back, she saw
he held a small, wiry canelike instrument in his hand.

“Have you seen one of these before, Allie? You can answer by nodding if you have.”

She shook her head.

“Good girl. This is called an evil stick, or misery stick. I’ll leave you to guess
why. It’s made from a very narrow rod of carbon fiber, making it strong and flexible.
The handle is woven leather, just to make it easy for me to hang on to. This one is
only about six inches long, but it can cause some sensation, I promise you that. It
stings like hell, and it’ll mark you faster than almost anything. But then, I’m guessing
you’re a girl who loves her marks, am I right?”

She nodded, trying to keep her gaze on his and not on what
she was sure would be a wicked little toy. One she couldn’t wait to feel the bite
of.

“Then let’s give you a taste, baby girl.”

Baby girl.

Oh, she loved those southern endearments, had missed it so much. No man she’d ever
been with could make her melt with a few words the way Mick could.

He stood over her, held the tiny rod by the handle over her stomach, used his other
hand to bend the tip up—then let it go. It slapped down onto her skin, the sudden,
sharp pain making her yelp.

Mick laughed. “I told you it was evil, baby.”

He did it again, and again and again in such rapid succession she didn’t have a chance
to catch her breath. But she loved the overload as pain spread through her body, from
the skin on her stomach to her limbs, leaving a wake of pleasure behind. Endorphins,
those lovely natural opiates the brain produced in response to pain, built just as
quickly as his merciless onslaught of sensation, until it all became a blur. Pain
and pleasure as she struggled against her bonds, not really wanting to escape, but
simply unable to hold still.

Her throat was tight and growing sore from holding back the yell that needed to escape.
Her breath was a sharp pant, like fire in her lungs. Just when she thought she couldn’t
take any more without screaming, he stopped and smoothed his palm over the hurting
welts on her stomach. She almost purred, it felt so good. Felt proud that she managed
to hold it back, that she’d managed the pain without screaming.

“You mark beautifully,” he said, studying her stomach, his gaze focused, his brows
drawn. “Lovely little welts on your skin. They almost look like scratches.” He scraped
his nails over her
flesh, and she gasped. He went back to caressing her, murmuring, “Skin like a baby.
Just as soft as ever. I always did love the feel of your skin.”

He went quiet for several long moments and she lay still, enjoying his lingering touch,
the power of his attention being so acutely focused on her.

He was more present than any man she’d ever met, any Dom she’d ever played with. She
didn’t know if it was their dynamic or if that was simply
him
. But she understood how powerful an aphrodisiac it was for her. She was wet and ready
for more already. Still.

Always.

He bent over her until his cheek was right next to hers and whispered, “Time for some
more rope, baby girl,” and kissed her cheek softly.

She turned her face, wanting him to kiss her,
needing
him to, but he straightened up and began to untie her ankles. She almost wanted to
cry. She bit her lip instead, holding the emotion back.

Just be in the moment.

She waited while he got more rope, taking a few cleansing breaths, trying to calm
herself.

He pulled her red silk panties down, slipping them off, then took her right leg and
bent it at the knee, brought it up to her chest.

“Hold it right here,” he instructed.

She did, and he began to wrap the rope around her bent leg, binding her calf to her
thigh. He looped the rope around and around, and she concentrated on the lovely slip
and slide of the rope, on the way he used his hands, touching her now and then as
he tested the tightness of the ropes, as he smoothed them against her skin. He tied
his knots, then moved to the other side
of the table and did the same thing, then slid his hand under her to pull a new length
of rope under her body, over her stomach, then again, and again before he knotted
it. He used one more piece of rope to anchor her leg ties to the rope around her waist,
holding her legs in place. And as he worked she felt a sense of utterly vulnerable
openness in this position, with her knees pulled up high, exposing her. Yet at the
same time she felt safe in the ropes, in
his
ropes. Cradled. Cared for.

*   *   *

M
ICK TOOK A
moment to step back and simply look at her. She was pure sex to him. She always had
been, but right now, bound in his ropes, with her sleek little pussy peeking out from
between her thighs . . . hell, if he’d had any less self-control he’d be coming in
his jeans right now.

He ground his jaw tight.

Keep it together.

He could do it. He always had.

Except for that night all those years ago when he’d taken her. When he’d done things
to her that should only ever be done after negotiations. But he hadn’t known about
all that back then—the kink community. The rules that kept everyone safe.

Stop kicking yourself.

And she was waiting for him. And Lord knew he couldn’t stand to wait one more second
for her.

He pressed against his raging hard-on and cleared his throat. His own needs would
have to wait. It was his responsibility to do what
she
needed, damn it.

He smoothed a hand over her calf, stroking slowly over the ropes all the way down
to her painted toes, enjoying the length of her gorgeous leg, the graceful arch of
her foot, the beauty of
her bound like this. He stroked up, swept his hand down to her inner thigh, felt the
muscle there clench. His groin tightened in answer.

Better to use the toys. Keep a little distance without losing the necessary connection
in rope play.

He drew the evil stick from his pocket and flicked it against the back of one thigh,
smiling when she moaned. He did it again, harder this time, watched the pink welt
come up on her skin.

“Hurts more in some places than others, doesn’t it? Marks more easily, too. But I
love that as much as you do. I love to see the pink come up on your skin, to feel
the rise of the welts. They’ll last a week if I do it hard enough. Like this.”

He snapped the evil stick hard against the outside of her thigh, and she pulled in
a gasping breath. She could take a lot without yelling, screaming, crying out. He
admired that about her. But he couldn’t help but take it as a personal challenge,
too.

He snapped the wicked little toy against her skin again, crossing over the last welt,
but she held her tongue. Oh, she was going to be a hard case. But he could break her
down.

He flicked the stick on her inner thigh this time, knowing how much more sensitive
an area it was, and she flinched. He did it again and again, hard and fast, listening
to her breath catch, watching the way she struggled in her bonds, her back arching,
her stomach muscles clenching. He knew she was lost in sensation, and he loved seeing
her like this. Lost. Flying.
His
.

He kept at it, moving to the other thigh, then back again, striking her welted skin,
watching the marks grow red and angry. She was panting hard, but still she held her
tongue. He chose one area of untouched skin and snapped the stick over and over in
the same spot, letting the pain build. Finally she cried out, and he stopped.

“Oh, that was good, baby girl. You can really take it. I’m so proud of you. And pleased
that you kept silent for me. I want you to know I understand that—that proud struggle.”

He stroked her cheek, held her chin and looked into her beautiful brown eyes. They
were sheened with tears, and something in his chest went tight.

He bent over her, and she blinked up at him. She was watching him closely, need written
all over her face, but for what he wasn’t certain. To come again, he knew. But there
was more there . . .

He leaned in closer, studied the lush curve of her lips, the fineness of her skin,
her long, dark lashes. Her mouth . . .

He swallowed a groan as he bent closer, close enough to breathe in her scent—all sweet
woman, innocent somehow, even now. Her lips were the prettiest shade of pink he’d
ever seen, almost the same shade as her tempting nipples. His chest tightened. His
cock swelled. He knew if he kissed her now he’d be as lost as she was in the throes
of pain and pleasure.

He leaned in until his mouth was almost on hers. Moved closer, until his lips just
touched hers.

His cock jumped, tight with wanting.

He pulled back an inch. Christ, her lips were velvet-soft. Made him crazy to think
about kissing her. Really kissing her, making out with her the way they used to.

Making out leaning against a streetlamp, her breath and his, panting together while
he crushed her in his arms. Her soft body felt almost fragile to him, and yet he had
to hold her tighter, to run his hands up under her shirt and dig his fingers into
the flesh at her sides. And all she’d ever done was sigh and press into him, kiss
him harder.

Christ, he hadn’t understood! Even then, she’d wanted it. Wanted to feel that sense
of
possession
. Even the pain, maybe.
But it was the possession that had always counted most. He’d kissed her as if he owned
her.

He could kiss her like that now, and she wouldn’t resist. Would welcome it.

No.

He pulled back a few inches.

She bit her lip, watching him, the need clear on her lovely face. So damn lovely . . .
Lips like fucking velvet.

God fucking damn it.

Have to . . .

He dove in, grasping her face between his hands, crushing his mouth to hers. She made
a keening sound low in her throat. It only made him kiss her harder. Made him open
her lips with his tongue and search for hers. And Lord, it was sweet, her tongue.
Making him crazy as he kissed her, drove his fingers into her silky hair. Heat and
softness. Desire and
her
. Allie.
His
Allie, Goddamn it.

She was kissing him back exactly as he’d known she would, and he breathed her in—he
couldn’t get enough. He pressed harder with hands and mouth, using his strength to
still her, to force her to just take it, rendering her helpless. Yes, that’s what
he needed—to feel her surrender to him completely. To give herself up to him. Because
if he wasn’t totally in control of things . . .

Oh, Lord, this was way fucking out of control.

He let her go and pulled away.

She moaned softly.

“Mick . . . ?”

He shook his head, ran a hand over his jaw.

Christ, to feel her lips after all these years. His cock was throbbing, hurting. And
his heart was hammering in his chest, thundering like a freight train.

Control.

“Shh, Allie.”

“Did I . . . ?”

“It’s okay, baby,” he said.

Was it? He’d have to figure it out later, when she wasn’t naked and bound and giving
every inch of herself to him.

“It’s okay,” he said again, maybe more to himself than to her this time.

He took a step back. She watched him do it. It hurt him to see the look on her face.
She looked . . . bereft. He felt exactly the same way. But he could satisfy the needs
of her body, at least.

He pulled in a deep breath, made an effort to get his body under control.

“Shh,” he soothed as he stroked a hand down her leg once more, slid it over her thigh,
smoothed his palm across the raised welts, did it again, pausing to scratch lightly
with his nails. It did what he’d intended: shifted her focus. And his.

He looked down at her damp slit, at the swollen tip of her clitoris peeking out at
the top of the pink folds. So damn pretty.

He brushed the tender lips with his fingertips, felt her shiver. He teased at the
lips with his fingers, stroking, tickling, then prying them apart. He forced the burning
physical need for her to sharpen his focus rather than fracturing it, his years of
practice lending him strength of will and the absolute control he’d long required
of himself. He paused, held his hand still, her sex spread open and waiting. He glanced
up at her face, found her eyes tightly closed.

Using his middle finger, he pressed against her opening. She sighed.

“Is this what you need, baby? For me to make you come like this? I know what you’d
like even better. For me to use my mouth
on you. You used to come so hard when I went down on you. Do you remember? I want
you to remember now.”

Her body convulsed, a slow, liquid movement that told him everything he needed to
know. She was right there with him. His cock was pulsing but he ignored it, concentrated
on the beautiful woman under his hands.