Desire's Edge (26 page)
He began to spank her, hard and fast. Her mind went blank so fast she didn’t have time to think about it. Just the pain following so closely on the heels of pleasure that it was all one thing. One sensation. Heat and need and love for him, all melded together.
Love him . . .
She bit her lip. She would not say it. Would not even let herself do more than moan wordlessly.
He reached around her, under her, and thrust one hand between her thighs, pressing onto her clitoris. And inexplicably, she was coming again. Writhing in his lap, pleasure thundering through her like the storm outside.
He held her there with one hand on the small of her back, letting her ride out the last waves. Finally the shuddering stopped and she went quiet. She could hear the rain coming down, that and the still-rasping pant of her own breath.
Silently, Dante pulled her up and into his arms. She laid her head on his shoulder. Breathed him in once more.
She was his. He had just shown her that, in a way perhaps no one else might understand. But they knew it. And that was all that mattered.
She pulled in a long breath, let it go. At least, that was what she would tell herself for now.
Dante felt Kara’s body go lax in his arms. She was so damn beautiful like this he could hardly stand to look at her: her cheeks flushed, hair everywhere, her cherry-pink lips parted. Her eyelashes rested against her cheeks like long spikes of dark silk.
Jesus. When had he ever thought of a woman in such poetic terms? But that was what she did to him.
That, and completely fuck with his head.
But in a good way. In a way he wanted. Craved.
She moaned softly and shifted, turning her face into his chest, so that he felt her cheek there, smooth and warm.
He wanted her. All the damn time. In his arms. He wanted to be in her body. To command her and see her response. It was amazing. The most amazing thrill he’d ever experienced, all of his motorcycles and cliff diving aside. His other BDSM scenes, with a myriad of women. All faceless now. Maybe they always had been. But Kara he
saw
. Which made the power play a new experience for him.
saw
. Which made the power play a new experience for him.
“Kara.”
“Hmm?” She lifted her head, her eyes a sleepy gleam from beneath her half-closed lids. Green and gold and silver. Gorgeous.
“You are fucking beautiful.”
She smiled lazily. “Is that what you wanted to tell me?”
“Yes.” He smiled back. “And smart. Creative.”
She couldn’t help but smile self-consciously. “I’m already sleeping with you, Dante. You don’t have to try and convince me.”
He laughed, pulling her down onto the bed so that they were lying on their sides, facing each other. “If I did, I’d find other ways. And whatever I did before worked, apparently. But I mean it, Kara.”
“Thank you.” She was quiet a moment. “I’m afraid I’m not very creative anymore.”
He brushed her hair from her cheek, enjoying the texture of it, soft and sleek. Like her. “Why do you say that? What about your art?” he asked her, really wanting to know.
“What? I don’t paint anymore. Not really.”
“Why not?”
She shrugged, but he could see her cheeks flushing. “I gave it up for more . . . mature things. Like my law degree.”
“I understand you need to make a living. That it’s difficult to do that with art. But, Kara, you can really paint. You have some real talent. You’re not some hack doing paint-by-numbers and calling yourself an artist.”
“I don’t call myself an artist at all,” she said quietly.
“Why not?” He wasn’t certain why he was questioning her so closely about this. Maybe because he truly believed in her talent. Because he wanted her to be happy.
“I’ve never seen any reason to,” she said. “And it’s not relevant anymore, Dante. I’ve pretty much stopped.”
“Pretty much. But not entirely.”
“Well, no. Not entirely.”
“Doesn’t that tell you something?”
“Yes. It tells me that I have a nice hobby once in a while. That doesn’t make me an artist.”
“Not if you don’t try. Have you really tried, Kara?”
She sighed. “No, I haven’t. Getting my law degree was no easy task. Building a career.”
He shrugged. “I’ve found time to ride my motorcycle. Go on trips.”
She looked away. “Can we change the subject, please?”
“Okay. For now,” he agreed. “I just hate to see that kind of talent go to waste. Being able to paint like that is something I’m envious of. To have that kind of passion for something.”
“You’re passionate about your motorcycle. It sounds like it, anyway.”
“It’s not the same.”
“Isn’t it?” she asked him. “And anyway, I don’t have that passion anymore. That fire. And it takes fire to pursue art, Dante. I had to give it up when I went to law school. When I decided to take my life more seriously.”
“Art can be serious. Who gave you the idea it wasn’t?”
She stared at him. Blinked, a range of emotions passing over her features. “Dante, I thought we were going to change the subject?”
“Okay. Sure.” He lifted her hand, brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “How about this . . . I’ve had something on my mind this week. I want to take you back to the Pleasure Dome.”
“I’d like that.”
“Would you?” Why did he feel like some insecure puppy, asking for her consent?
Needing
her to say yes.
Needing
her to say yes.
“I’ve been thinking about it,” she said, “wanting to go back. I liked it there. What goes on there. The energy.”
“The energy is pretty incredible. All those people in one place. Of one mind.”
“There’s a certain sensuality to it. No matter how . . . graphic the activity is.”
He nodded. She got it. “Yes, exactly.”
“I want to go back,” she said again. “With you. Only with you, Dante.”
His stomach knotted, but it was an oddly pleasant sensation. Just an exquisite sort of tension. Anticipation, he realized.
“Good. We’ll go tomorrow night.”
He wanted to go to the club, not to distance himself from her, he now recognized, but to be closer. That was new for him, too.
So much was new with Kara. It made him dizzy. It was that same sort of sensation he’d had when he first jumped off the cliff in Mexico, flying through the air toward the water. Wondering if he’d survive. If he might drown.
He was drowning now. And flying. Either way, he was going to crash at some point. But whether with a soft thud into the water, or the crushing impact of hitting solid ground, he didn’t know. But for the first time, he was willing to take that chance.
fourteen
The Pleasure Dome was more crowded than the last time Dante had taken her there, which frightened and thrilled her at the same time. There was the same red and purple lighting, the shadowed corners. Quiet moans, the hiss of a whip, the clinking, metallic slide of chains against the background of resonant music. She loved it immediately, as she had the first time. But being there again, she
knew
the thrill.
Knew
the fear. Had a better idea of what to expect, which made it both better and more difficult. As they moved through the main room and toward the stairs, Kara’s heart began to race, a small, thundering hammer in her chest.
knew
the thrill.
Knew
the fear. Had a better idea of what to expect, which made it both better and more difficult. As they moved through the main room and toward the stairs, Kara’s heart began to race, a small, thundering hammer in her chest.
She glanced at Dante, and he seemed to sense what she was feeling. His arm tightened around her waist.
“It’s okay.” His tone was low, soothing. He leaned his head in a little. “They love you already, Kara. And we haven’t even started yet. They’re watching you cross the room with me. Waiting. Do you see how many heads you turn? This hot little black dress helps, but really, it’s you. They can’t keep their eyes off you any more than I can.”
She looked around her as they passed the different staging areas. Men and women in various states of undress, or in leather. She caught a gaze here and there, and it caused a surge of excitement in her veins, sharp and hot. She had to look away.
Better to keep her eyes on Dante, who was gorgeous and solid next to her in his leather pants, his black shirt that strained against his broad shoulders. Reassuring, simply by his presence.
She turned to him. “I can’t look, Dante. I . . . I like knowing it. But right now looking is too much. It’s a little overwhelming.”
“Then glory in the knowing, beautiful girl.”
He gave her waist a squeeze, and she let herself melt into him. Let herself go all soft and girlish in the way only submitting to him had ever allowed her to do.
The walls were coming down; they had been ever since they’d stepped into the club. Before then, actually, while she was at home getting dressed. Preparing herself for the evening ahead. What was it about that small ritual—showering, lotioning and perfuming herself, dressing for him—that brought her down into the first edge of subspace?
But she couldn’t really think about it now. They were walking up the stairs, crossing the first room with the dance floor and the stripper poles. She looked at them a bit longingly. She would love to dance for him. To move her body in time with the heavy beat of the music that played everywhere in the club.
There was a woman on one of the poles now, and Dante, again instinctively, seemed to know she wanted to pause and watch.
The woman was all gorgeous ebony skin and dark, wavy hair, dressed in nothing but a few scraps of sleek purple bondage tape made into a bandeau top and a short skirt that hugged her like a second skin. She wore towering stiletto heels in the same purple. Clinging to the pole with both hands, she swung her hips, her head back, her hair hanging like a curtain of jet. As the music moved, so did she, her hips undulating in a figure eight. She turned, resting her back against the pole, and slid down it, her arms in a graceful arch over her head, her hands joined. She looked up, looked right at Kara, and smiled, a slow, sensual parting of her full red lips.
Kara had never been interested in women sexually. And she wasn’t now, necessarily. But this elegant creature exuded sexuality. And she couldn’t help but respond in some primal way, her pulse heating, her breath quickening as she watched the woman’s sensual dance.
“Dante . . .”
“What is it, baby?”
“I’ve just realized . . . that what goes on here is all . . . hypersensualized. Hypersexualized, maybe, but not in any bad way.” She could hardly believe that she was able to put two sentences together when she was already partially in subspace. With all of this going on around her, taking her down deeper. “Isn’t that it? Isn’t that what happens here? I’m watching this woman and seeing what others might see when they watch
me
. And it’s . . . a turn-on. Knowing it from this perspective. Does that make sense to you at all?”
me
. And it’s . . . a turn-on. Knowing it from this perspective. Does that make sense to you at all?”
“Absolutely.”
He smiled down at her, and she focused on him. His dark, whiskey eyes, the sharp slant of his cheekbones. The lush curve of his mouth that was generous and wicked at the same time.
She smiled back, and he kept his gaze on hers. Riveting. Commanding. And even though he was doing nothing more than staring at her, his smile slowly fading, his features full of the same desire building inside her, she felt his absolute authority to her core.
She shivered.
“Do you want to be on that pole, Kara?” he asked, his voice quiet. Intimate. “To perform for me? For the others here?”
It was a moment before she could answer. “I love the idea of being watched.
Seen
. But this isn’t quite what I want.”
Seen
. But this isn’t quite what I want.”
“Ah.” He paused, watching her, still. “I think I know just the thing.”
He led her to one of the big, plush chairs that were positioned here and there around the edges of the room, set his toy bag on the floor beside one of them. He sat down on the large ottoman that was a foot or two in front of the chair. Reaching for her, he pulled her in, until she was standing between him and the chair. She could feel the smooth leather on the back of her knees.
Other books
FIGHT by Brent Coffey
Seven Gothic Tales by Isak Dinesen
Smoke by Lisa Unger
The Last Faerie Queen by Chelsea Pitcher
Foul Play at the Fair by Shelley Freydont
Cold Barrel Zero by Matthew Quirk
Time of Death by James Craig
Unraveled (Undone) by Jennifer Dawson
Auntie Poldi and the Sicilian Lions by Mario Giordano
Storming Love Blizzard Kimo & Mike by Neil S. Plakcy
