Fearless (13 page)

“Shhhh,” he soothes, climbing over me and straddling my body so he is supported on his forearms over me. “You're okay. Look at me.”

I look at him, wild-eyed, and his unflinching gaze calms me. I take a deep breath. I can do this.

“Good girl,” he murmurs approvingly, running a finger over my cheekbone.

He picks up the last scarf, a black one, and places the silk fabric over my eyes, gently lifting my head as he ties it securely, throwing me into darkness. I start to hyperventilate.

“Easy, Angel,” he says, his firm voice anchoring me. “Fearless.”

The word and his voice, deep and solid, steady me. I nod and try to slow my breathing. In. Out. In. Out. He waits patiently, his body reassuringly close to mine, until I'm breathing normal.

I feel his hand splay across my upper abdomen, followed by light feathering strokes that trace across the sensitive skin of my stomach. My muscles quiver at the erotic touch. It almost feels as if…

“Are you drawing on me?” I ask, bewildered.

“I'm doing whatever it pleases me to do to you,” he corrects.

Oh my.
My insides turn to liquid.

“But yes, I am drawing on you,” he confirms. “I'm a doctor. I don't condone tattoos since they put you at risk for contracting Hepatitis, but I can give you one. Lie still.”

I laugh softly and try to lie still, although it's hard given the way my body is starting to respond to the whisper soft strokes swirling across my midriff. Then they stop, and I can neither feel nor hear anything but the sound of my breath, which is coming faster at my complete vulnerability. It's an amazing turn on, being completely at his mercy and not knowing what's coming next. It's also more than a little disconcerting.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

Despite the comforting touch of his hand on my shoulder, his words are firm.

“Whatever I want, Emma,” he says patiently. “Being submissive is about giving up control so you don't have to think or worry about anything. Your body is mine to play with and use as I wish for the next hour or so. From this point on, unless I tell you to speak, I don't want to hear another word out of that pouty mouth of yours other than red or yellow, unless you want me to gag you as well.”

I shake my head vehemently and he chuckles.

“You can also beg," he amends. "I may or may not give you what you want."

My mouth sets in a stubborn line despite my decidedly compromised position. "I never beg," I say resolutely.

"Oh, I think you will," he murmurs, kissing the arch of my foot. I shiver with anticipation. Somehow, knowing I can't escape his touch sends waves of heat through me.

He runs a trail of kisses up my leg, working his way over the delicate bone of my ankle, up my calf, behind my knee, and across the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. His hands join his mouth, his thumb caressing the crease at the juncture of my thigh and my sex while he plants a kiss on my hip bone. I hold my breath, waiting for the feel of his mouth on me there, but he skips over it, planting erotic kisses on my stomach instead, and I try not to sigh in disappointment. He rains kisses up my chest and around each breast, and I can feel my nipples harden into points in delicious anticipation of his mouth on them. I moan slightly when he bypasses them, instead kissing my neck, the hollow behind my ear, the tip of my nose. For a moment there's nothing, and my body strains against the anticipation of the unknown. Then his mouth is on mine, his teeth lightly nipping my bottom lip until my lips part and his tongue plunges inside, tasting, stroking, possessing me.

As quickly as his mouth descends on mine it's gone, and I whimper in protest. I want more.

“If you knew the things I'm going to do to you," he whispers, pressing his lips to the pulse points in my wrists and then down to the soft bend of my elbow. I shiver at his words. He tastes my arms and my neck, biting gently, and then moves to my ear, nipping the lobe sharply with his teeth. I squirm, not knowing where his mouth and teeth will land next. He moves between my breasts, his tongue burning a hot trail over the delicate skin, and I almost cry out with frustration when he once again bypasses my nipples.

"Are you ready to beg yet?" he asks, caressing the underside of my breast. My breath hitches but I shake my head.

"Have it your way," he murmurs. His tongue traces circles around my navel, starting wide and then spiraling inward until he reaches my belly button. He dips his tongue inside and then back out again. The fluttering in my belly grows with each dip of his tongue.

He stops touching me and the only sensation now is the feel of cool air across my exposed skin. I hear the clink of ice as he takes a drink. A drop of cold water touches my lips and my tongue darts out to taste it. I jolt at the shock of cold against my skin as he runs a piece of ice down my neck and around my breasts, circling closer and closer to the hard points that pucker in anticipation. I moan. He scrapes the hard edge of the cube across one taut nipple and then the other and I can feel them tighten even more. I pull against the scarves that hold me still, unable to do anything but endure whatever erotic torture he chooses, trying to escape the cold ice even as my sex clenches in delicious arousal. He trails the ice down to my navel, letting the cold water pool in the hollow of my stomach, and then laps the cold liquid from my skin.

He trails the ice down further still until it rests just above my aching clit. I shiver as the cold water drips over the sensitive nub. It's so cold! Then his mouth is there, warming my flesh, his tongue lapping my juices mixed with the water until I think I'm going to explode. He slips the ice cube inside me and I shudder at the searing cold. Abruptly, his tongue plunges into me, and the aching contrast of heat and cold almost obliterates me. He alternates penetrating me with his tongue and licking my clit until my insides are coiled tightly, readying for release. I am almost there. So close….

He abruptly stops. I would stamp my foot if it weren't tied up. Damn the man. He is playing me as skillfully as a master violinist, keeping my arousal at a heightened pitch just this side of uncomfortable. I know I could stop him, I could beg him for release like he wants me to, but I'm too proud.

Another cube of ice scrapes across my nipple, and it puckers instantly. His mouth closes over the cold point and I groan again at the intense contrast of the wet heat of his tongue, swirling around the sensitive tip. He sucks gently and I feel the pull all the way to my core. The ice swirls over my other nipple, followed by the heat of his tongue. He continues to play with me, rubbing each nipple with ice before taking it in his mouth, until I'm writhing beneath him.

I hear the clink as he drops the cube back into the glass and then there is nothing. Seconds pass and I can hear nothing but the sound of my breath, ragged with need. Hot liquid sears across my stomach and my breath hitches at the sensation.

“What is that?” I whisper.

“Wax,” he says softly. He slips a finger into my folds, which are dripping with my arousal, and places his finger over my lips.

“Open your mouth Emma,” he commands softly. “Taste your arousal at being at my mercy.”

I take his finger into my mouth and suck it erotically, shocked at my own behavior. I have never tasted myself before. Before I can fully process my actions, another drop of liquid heat, and then another, paves a trail up my torso, sharp stings that quickly turn to pleasure, robbing me of any rational thought. When I realize where the path is headed, I pull against the scarves, helpless to escape what is coming next.

“No, no, no,” I cry, and then heat sears over one nipple and then the other, quickly transforming to an erotic warmth that shoots straight to my core and only intensifies as the wax cools and hardens over my puckered nipples. Every nerve ending is heightened and my body shudders at the sensory overload. My back arches as drop after drop of warm liquid covers my nipples and the sensitive skin around them. My insides tense as the pressure grows and I desperately try to close my legs. Nothing moves. With a cry, I lift my hips toward him as far as the scarves allow, desperately seeking relief.

I feel him between my legs, his tongue firmly rubbing my engorged clit as his fingers find the hardened wax on my nipples, twisting and pinching until the wax breaks off. Then his thumbs are spreading my labia and his finger is sliding into me, slow and deliberate, teasing me. He slips another finger into me and increases the tempo ever so slightly as he flicks my sensitive clit with his tongue. I can't take anymore. Primitive instinct takes over and I can't focus on anything but the savage need to free myself from his unrelenting demands.

“Please….” I cry, my sex clenching against his fingers.

“Please, what?” he says, pulling out of me so that his fingertips rest just at my opening.

“Please, sir?”

He laughs, and the low dark sound is almost as erotic as his touch. “That's not exactly what I was looking for but it has a certain ring to it. What do you want, Emma? Ask for it,” he urges.

“Please! Please let me come!” I beg shamelessly.

He thrusts his fingers back into me, filling me, as he sucks my clit, pulling gently with his teeth. My back arches and my hips thrust upward as my muscles tighten and my body goes stiff. I hang on the edge for what seems like an eternity, and then I fall apart, my body jerking with every pulsing spasm that seems to come from the very depth of my being. I convulse around his fingers that are still buried inside me.

He pulls the blindfold off and my eyes slowly adjust to the candlelit room.

“You win,” I sigh. “Is it always like that?”

“It can be,” he whispers, kissing my lips softly. “When you give control to me, I can take you to oblivion. But you have to be willing to pay the price.”

“What price?” I ask suspiciously.

He lightly taps my still sensitive mound, igniting a second wave of tiny orgasms. I gasp. He couldn't have been clearer. I'm at his mercy. He can do anything he wants and I am powerless to do anything but lie here, available for whatever pleasure or punishment he sees fit to give. Somehow, instead of terrifying me, the thought is wickedly and undeniably erotic.

He's watching me closely, and I have no doubt he can see the effect he's having on me.

“Ready for more are you?” he asks playfully.

My eyes widen and he laughs, rubbing his thumbs across my now softened, sensitive nipples, teasing them until they pebble. He plucks one until I moan and then kisses me, absorbing my cries. As his tongue fills my mouth, stroking mine in an erotic preview of what's to come, he reaches up and unties my hands, unwinding the scarf until my hands are free. I wrap one around his torso and fist the other in his soft, dark curls.

He slowly slides his cock into me, filling me, and the single thrust, carefully engineered to press against my G-spot, sends me over the edge again. He pumps into me as I come on his cock, and with one final thrust, he pours himself into me.

I wake up to the intoxicating smell of coffee. For a minute, I wonder if I dreamed the erotic scenario in the middle of the night. The bed is empty except for me, my nightstand holds nothing more than my lamp, digital clock and a framed photo of me and Nikki, and my scarves are hanging in their usual place on the pegboard in my closet. Then I move my legs and my muscles protest, and I know it wasn't a dream. In the light of day, I can't believe the things Beckett Black did to me. I get deliciously aroused at the memory. My dreams did not do reality justice. Who would have guessed that under that professional white coat and stuffy doctor demeanor lay a deviant sex fiend? I smile at the thought.

While a part of me wants to lounge in bed reliving every decadent moment of last night, the lure of coffee and Beckett whistling in my kitchen proves to be too irresistible. I ease out of bed gingerly and stretch, working out the stiffness in my muscles. Still naked, I walk to the bathroom. My reflection in the bathroom mirror stops me cold.

An intricate swirl of black lines covers my stomach, making some sort of picture. This must be the "tattoo" he gave me last night. I study it, trying to figure out what it is. It doesn't look like anything I've seen before. I trace one of the lines, my stomach dropping at the memory of him marking me with his will as surely as he marked me with a Sharpie. I know from personal experience with Nikki when she was little that some hand sanitizer or baby oil would take it off, but I don't want to wash it off. In fact, I want it stay on as long as possible. I just want to find out what it is.

I pull on running shorts and a cropped shirt that exposes my tattooed midriff, pull my hair into a messy bun, and walk into the kitchen. Beckett is sitting at my kitchen table, a mug of coffee in front of him, talking on his cell phone. From the tone of his voice, it sounds like he's talking to a patient so I help myself to a cup of coffee while he finishes his call. He finishes quickly, setting his phone down before hooking a finger into the waistband of my shorts as I set my mug on the table and pulling me onto his lap.

“Good morning,” he says tenderly, holding my chin in his palm and kissing me softly. He tastes like coffee. I lick my lips. He pulls back slightly and studies me intently. “Are you okay?”

“A little sore, but definitely okay. Better than okay. It was fun.”

He lifts one eyebrow, his sensuous lips curving into a wicked smile. “Fun? Obviously I did not do my job well enough if you thought last night was ‘fun.' Playing Pictionary is fun. Going to an amusement park is fun. Traveling is fun.”

Realizing my mistake, I try to squirm away but his muscular arms trap me, holding me in his lap.

“I'm sorry,” I say laughing, holding my hands up in mock surrender. “Bad word choice.”

“And you're a writer,” he scoffs. He nips my lower lip. “I'll have to help you expand your vocabulary later.”

He lifts my shirt and inspects his handiwork. “Pretty good if I say so myself,” he says with satisfaction. The proprietary way he touches me makes me sigh with pleasure.