Elemental Desire (8 page)

“Switch places.” Anxiety raced through Seth’s veins. “As in, actually switch places.”

Her exasperated sigh didn’t bode well. “Not physically, no.” Chewing on her bottom lip, she refused to meet his eyes. “I’ll top you this time.”

“You’ll
what?
No. No way. I don’t bottom for anyone.” He lunged to his feet. “Besides, you have no idea how to properly dominate someone.”

“You have to try, Seth.” She stepped toward him. “And all I can do is what has been done to me. If I repeat your actions, is that okay?”

“Absolutely not.” He backed away, fighting not to run. No freaking way was he giving up control. It had been too hard won. “Not happening. I’d rather do my smoky bit and wink out, thanks.”

Her mouth set in a hard line. “Don’t be an ass.”

“I’m an ass for holding onto what I believe?” He shoved his hands through his hair. “If you want to help, come up with realistic solutions.”

She met him glare for glare as she stalked him around the kitchen. “Stubbornness is a character flaw, not a belief system.”

“Says the woman whose chin just lifted in an argument. That’s rich, Red.”

“Stop.”

The merciless power in her voice drove into him so hard he doubled over at the waist. Hands on his hips, he glared up at her and bared his teeth in a nasty grin. “Getting witchy on me?”

“You have no idea.”

Seth tried to step toward her but only managed to wobble like a dashboard hula girl. His feet didn’t budge at all. “What the hell?”

She paled. “I said
stop
. I have your element so you have to comply.”

“I have to… Oh,
hell
no. You aren’t doing this to me. You are so not doing this to me.”

“Give me your full name.”

If he did this, if he gave her what she demanded, he was screwed. She could issue any directive and he’d have to do his absolute best to grant her what she wanted. It was a bond he wouldn’t be able to break without killing her. He clamped his mouth shut.

“I command you to give me your full name now, djinn.” Again, her voice resonated with power.

His mouth opened and he was speaking before he could fight the compulsion. “I am Seth Setekhis, Crown Prince of the
Ifrit
, djinn of the ancient deserts, first son of King Aganjú, beloved of all
ifritis.
” Sweat beaded in his hairline, trickling down his neck in frigid streams. “Damn you.”

“I’m sorry.” The apology was as powerful as her every command, and he wanted to believe her.

“If you’re sorry, return my flame.”

“At any cost?”

“Yes, okay? Yes,” he shouted.

“Seth Setekhis, Crown Prince of the
Ifrit
, djinn of the ancient deserts, first son of King Aganjú, beloved of all
ifritis—
”

Fear snaked through him with the building power behind her every word.

“—I need you to choose life, to find your own release and retrieve your element from me at any cost. If that means you submit to me…”

“At any cost,” he repeated numbly.

A sad smile crossed her face. “That’s one.”

* * *

Eden suspected Seth would never forgive her for this when he figured out what she’d actually just done, and it wasn’t what he thought. At least he’d be alive. And as an immortal, he’d be able to hate her forever. Handy, that.

The key point he had missed was that she
hadn’t
commanded him,
hadn’t
forced him. She’d told him what she needed. It was all true, too. She needed him to choose to live. And by choosing to live, he was exercising free will. And that was the kicker.
Free will
. He would retrieve his element by choice. Every request he perceived as a command, everything she had him do tonight would be done by asking. There would be no orders, no directives he couldn’t refuse.

But there was a dark side to her manipulation. Because magics would be exchanged, there would be a cost. If he stripped the element from her completely, the other three elements whose sources she harbored would be catapulted into a fierce global imbalance. The only way to restrike the balance, to prevent natural disasters from wiping out mankind, would be to end her life. Fire would do the trick because, not holding the element any longer, she wouldn’t be able to defend herself. Ironic that witch burning in the twenty-first century might be the most legitimate means of managing her magic. Heinrich Kramer, the man responsible for the burning of so many women during the witch trials, was undoubtedly kicking up his heels in the afterlife, touting his righteous superiority. Goddess save her, but if there were any type of justice, the man had been reincarnated as a slug.

Fear thrummed through her, pounding out a radical drumbeat inside her chest, the percussion vibrating through her from tip to toe.

Why make this sacrifice?
her subconscious whispered.
Why put yourself in harm’s way for a man you hardly know?

“I can control the magic and, thus, the outcome.” Probably. Maybe.
Oh, shit. Maybe.

Seth stared at her, fury lighting up his bright green eyes like glass. “Clearly you can’t.”

“It’s not up to you whether or not I try,” she said through lips gone numb. Then she repeated almost verbatim the same thing he’d said to her such a short time ago. “You only choose how we get to my desired outcome.”

“I could kill you for this.” The snarl ripped across the space between them, animosity fouling the air with its sulfur-like smell.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” She hated the way her voice trembled. “To that bench, please.”

He moved silently, an automaton, limbs stiff and movements jerky. The important thing was that he complied. Stopping in front of the padded bench, jaw clenched, he didn’t look at her but rather waited for her next directive.

“I’d like you to take your pants off and get on.” She moved in behind him, tracing a hand down the ropes of muscle on either side of his spine. Goose bumps followed in the wake of her caress. Summoning her power and fighting the fear the magic would rule her, she laid her hands on Seth’s shoulder blades. “Same rules, same safe words—green, yellow, red. Do you understand?”

“Why wouldn’t I understand?” he snapped, parroting her earlier belligerence.

“That’s two. Lie down and align your wrists and ankles with the cuffs, please.”

He complied. Arms straight out in front of him, knees on the padded lengths, he did as she asked but nothing more. “Do you even know what this is?”

“A spanking bench.” What should have been a statement of fact was flavored with uncertainty.

“Give the witch a prize.”

She looked him over, thrilling at the sight of his swelling shaft. “I’ve got exactly what I want,” she murmured as she buckled him down tightly before moving to the nearest toy box. With her back to him, she perused the items. Thank the Goddess he couldn’t see the furious blush staining her cheeks. No doubt he would have laughed. Taking a deep breath, she summoned calm, found her center and clutched her magic. “What do you fear most?”

Silence ruled the moment.

She waited.

His voice, rich with grief, broke through the quiet. “Being forced to take the throne.”

“Why?”

“Royal genealogy never takes into consideration the needs or desires of the next in line.”

“What do you need?”

“Control.”

“What kind of control?”

“Absolute.”

“What do you desire?”

His nostrils flared. “Control.”

“But you just said—”

“Emotional.” The admission set the muscles in his shoulders twitching.

“What happens if you don’t have emotional control?”

“People die.”

Her heart ached. The urge to go to him, comfort him and let him find solace in her embrace, swamped her. “Who died?”

“The first woman I cared for. The first to give me what I needed.” He swallowed hard. “I can’t do this. I can’t risk coming apart and killing you.”

If jealousy over a woman long dead had pierced her heart, his pleading scraped her soul raw. “I won’t die.”
Probably.
“Trust me.”

He lowered his forehead to the bench. “How?”

“Give me a color, Seth.”

The weight of his decision bore down on her with bone-crushing pressure. Again, she waited him out. It was up to him.

“Green,” he croaked.

With a wave of her hand, the candles around the room lit. She retrieved a blindfold and fought against the tightness in her chest as his breaths came faster. “Close your eyes.”

Securing the blindfold, she grabbed a short leather paddle with a squared end and stroked the blunt edge along his thighs, tracing his scrotum, across his ass and up to his nipples. The dark buds hardened. She dragged the side of the paddle down his side before flicking each nipple with her fingers.

He jerked and arched his back, rattling the restraints.

A short, soft slap of the paddle to the back of his thighs earned her a gasp.

Returning to the toy box, she picked out the two items she wanted. The long feather made him shiver as she used the tip to trail the paddle’s stinging path, dual sensations undoubtedly creating a sense of confusion and overstimulation. And that’s just what she wanted—to confuse his awareness, scramble his circuits and blow his breaker. She had no intention of breaking Seth. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t drive him to the brink of madness, though.

If she could get him there, the very walls that held his emotions in check and kept his element barred would come down.

Chapter Ten

Seth’s world had been reduced to two brutally complex realities. Sensation—touch, smell, sound, taste—and emotion. So much emotion it clogged his throat, his nose, his mouth. He choked on that emotion. It smothered him. He railed against it. Began to succumb.

The directives, while delivered gently, battered his sense of self, his understanding of his internal makeup. It shamed him to realize he might not be able to take this, that he desperately wanted to call
red
. Yet every time he would open his mouth, she seemed to know. She would be there, kissing him, feeding him bits of fruit, stroking him or taking him closer to the precipice he’d never been brave enough to face.

Her smell drifted around him—so rich and riotous and out of control. He’d never smell rain again without thinking of her.

Something soft and warm traced his lips. A fingertip? “I need…” A hard tremor raced through him.

“You need to let go.”

Licking his lips, he tasted the sweet honey of woman. He groaned. His tongue lapped up the arousal and he parted his lips, silently pleading for more. One more taste. That would get him through this. How could he have possibly gone through the evening without tasting her? She was made of heady stuff, this witch.

A soft slap across the backs of his upper thighs caught his perineum and testicles and he cried out.

She did it again.

His composure slipped. Hands fisting, he strained against the bench. Breaths came in short, hard gasps.

The eye of the brewing internal storm moved toward him in a slow but steady advance, centuries of living in a void about to catch up to him. He could see it happening. No way could he emerge unscathed.

During brief moments of lucidity, he swore to himself he was going to get even with the woman. She’d centered him in his own personal hell. Payback was guaranteed, and it would be a real bitch.

The rest of the time he was simply a slave to sensation, caught up in the most fundamental self-realization he’d ever experienced.

Something soft skated across his testicles. Involuntary movement had him almost popping his hips out of their sockets as he tried to grant better access. A sharp point dragged up the swollen ridge behind his sac. A series of vile curses left him in a rush.

That damnable voice, husky and demanding, whispered in his ear. “Feel, Seth. Experience. Let me take care of you.”

Nails raked across one nipple. Soft fingers traced up and down the ridges of his abdomen. They brushed the head of cock. He sucked in a breath as he rolled his hips toward the touch he craved. “More, damn you.”

“That’s three.”

Sounds of hard plastic rattling and latex squeaking violated the room’s silence, save for his harsh panting and the occasional clink of restraints as he strained. Something—scissors? knife?—cut plastic.

Slick fingers probed his ass and he clenched.

“Don’t make me give you the breathe-through-it speech.” Undisguised laughter wrapped around her words.

Gods, he really was going to kill her. Still, he breathed and fought to relax. A soft
pop
and something hard passed his sphincter.

“One.”

Arching his back pressed the object against his prostate, the pressure un-freaking-believable. The second
pop
surprised him.

“Two.” Soft pressure, then a strangled, “Three.”

The third left him feeling full. Every way he moved made the anal beads shift and roll, brushing and rubbing his prostate. He rocked his hips. The heavy weight of his building erection pulled toward the floor and he involuntarily groaned. Tightening his butt cheeks made things worse. Or better. It just depended on how one looked at it, he supposed. Either way, sensations intensified. He fought the urge to beg her to touch him, to let him take her. Something. Anything.

As if she’d read his mind, she gripped his balls and gently pulled down.

Tender strokes along his rigid length countered firmer tugs on his scrotum.

His eyes rolled back in his head. Gods, this felt so damn good.

He moved to reach for her, needed to touch her. Now. His arms wouldn’t move.

Seth jolted hard enough to rattle the restraints.
His
restraints.
Restraints.
Panic began to build deep in his chest, chilling and spreading, his blood turning to slush, his heart crystalizing. He had no control, couldn’t stop what was happening to him. Biting his cheek hard enough to draw blood, he tried to count out his breathing. It didn’t help. Anahita’s voice rose from the graveyard of old memories to shriek at him for killing her. He shouted a denial, losing himself in the feel of cuffs around his wrists once again. No matter that these were fur-lined, versus iron hammered in Osiris’s forge. Without his element, he was as weak as a human. He still struggled. The cuffs still held.