Red Handed (17 page)

Every part of her coiled tight, the heat in her lower belly blazing like a fire. “I'm going to come.”

Rather than answer her with words, a rumble tore from his chest, and he pressed his fingers harder as he massaged the bundle of nerves high inside her pussy.

The raging fire grew higher and higher, larger and larger, until it consumed her. Her eyes squeezed shut, the force of the orgasm drowning her in pleasure, and an unfamiliar wail tore from her chest.

Before her climax had finished, he pulled his fingers from her contracting pussy and rolled her over so she was under him. “Forgive me.” He scrambled to release his cock from his pants. “I can't be gentle.”

She didn't know how he'd managed it so quickly, but he sunk his cock in one swift motion, the force so strong, she slid a few inches across the hardwood floor. “Oh, God.”

He stilled and cupped her face in his hands. “You were fucking made for me.” He kissed her gently. “Take me away, my beautiful Danielle. Make me forget.”

His words were like a benediction to her ears. For a few brief beautiful moments in time, she could pretend he meant those words and that she truly belonged to him.

She returned his kiss, lightly at first, then more passionate, showing him with her lips, her mouth, and her tongue just how much she wanted him. He pumped inside of her, his stroke long and slow, as their kiss grew violent and bruising in its intensity.

Suddenly, he sat up, taking her with him, his cock still buried inside her. She became aware that while she was naked, he'd remained fully clothed. Needing to feel his bare skin against hers, she peeled off his leather vest and rubbed her pebbled nipples on his chest. She dragged her fingers down the length of his arms, relishing the strength of his muscles and the intricate design of his tattoos.

“Tell me what it feels like to have my cock inside of you.” He palmed her breasts and bent to her chest, sucking a nipple into his mouth.

Chills raced down her spine, and pleasure darted from her nipples to her pussy. “I . . . can't.”

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her so close, she didn't know where she began and he ended. “You can. You will.” He thrust upward, grinding against her clitoris.

“I feel electrified. Alive.” She whimpered and bit the soft spot between his neck and shoulder. “You're stretching me. It burns. I've never had anything as long and thick inside of me. It's as if you're touching a part of me I never knew existed.”

He plunged his fingers into her hair and tugged her head back, a ferocious expression on his face. “It didn't, and you know why? Because it's mine. Your pussy was designed to squeeze my cock. Not your fingers or a toy. No one else's cock. Just mine.” He lifted her off him and placed her on her hands and knees, shoving her legs apart. Without mercy, he drove himself into her pussy again and again, his testicles slapping against her clit.

She'd never felt anything like it before. His cock completely filled her, almost as if it had swelled and lengthened. Sweat dripped down her spine, and her breasts swayed beneath her. Deep in her pussy, a sharp pleasurable tension developed, making her writhe and moan. “You've got to stop. It's too intense.”

“It's my cock hitting your G-spot,” he said breathlessly. “You think you've climaxed before? That was minor league compared to what I'm about to do to you. Let go, baby. Let go, and I'll make you fly.”

As if he'd fucked her a hundred times and had trained her body to respond to his commands, her body listened, shattering like glass. She screamed and cried as wave after wave of contractions wracked her pussy, making her breathless and her heart accelerate. Cole pounded faster and then stilled, his cock twitching inside of her and a rush of warmth bathing her swollen tissues. He collapsed on top of her, breathing heavy and kissing her neck.

He dragged her with him to the floor, and she rested her head on his outstretched arm. It wasn't comfortable, but she didn't care. Her body still buzzed from the high of her orgasm. Right now, there was no place she'd rather be than in Cole DeMarco's arms.

Danielle turned on her side to look into Cole's now peaceful caramel eyes. “Who is she?

He frowned, and the hand that had been caressing her stilled. “She?”

“The beautiful collared woman you took upstairs to your private residence. The woman who obviously upset you.” She brushed her hand over his chest. “Is she your lover? The slaves believe she's your collared submissive. The one woman with whom you have sex.” She flinched. “At least until me.”

Staring at her, he didn't respond. A dozen different expressions passed over his face as he seemed to process her question. Was he wondering the best way to admit the truth? She preferred he say it quickly, as if he was ripping away a Band-Aid from her skin.

She held her breath, waiting to hear the words.

He bent his head and kissed her softly on the lips. “The woman is a submissive. But she's not my submissive. Her name is Ariana Ivanoff. And she's my ophthalmologist.”

Ophthalmologist? Stunned into silence, she waited for him to continue. He sat them both up and dragged his hand down his face.

“I'm going blind.”

Chapter Eighteen

D
ANIELLE HAD PREPARED
herself to hear several explanations as to the identity of the mystery woman, but nothing could have prepared her for Cole's shocking words.

“Every day I lose more of my sight. My ability to differentiate between colors. To see at night. Someday soon, it will all disappear. I'll live in complete blackness. Just like my father and his father before him.”

Cole blind? She couldn't imagine it. “Just because your father—”

“It's genetic, but I'd hoped the symptoms would start later in life or not at all.” He stared at the remaining mirrors, bitterness evident in the twist of his lips and the wrinkles around his eyes. “Seems fate had a different design for me. Ariana has confirmed the disease is progressing rapidly now.”

She laid her palm on his cheek. “I'm sorry. I can't imagine what it would be like to be in your situation. But it's not a death warrant. Plenty of people live full lives without sight.”

He turned to her. “You're right. You don't know what it's like,” he said with enough venom to make her flinch. He rose from the floor, his body taut and sweaty, and motioned to the art on the walls. “Without my sight, who am I? I'm a voyeur, Danielle. I stand behind my camera and sit behind my desk of video feeds, just watching. If I don't have those pleasures, what's the point?”

Uncomfortable having this conversation without wearing clothes, she snatched her dress off the floor and pulled it over her body. Then, although she was at a loss as to how, she went to try and soothe him. “There's more to you than the voyeur, and it doesn't take a pair of working eyes to see it.”

He huffed. “Right. I'm also an artist. A photographer. What kind of pictures can I take when I can't see the subject? When I can't manipulate the lights and shadows or play with the colors?”

Pain and sorrow had replaced the bitterness in his eyes, and it finally hit her that Cole considered his loss of sight as an equivalent to death. Everything in his life revolved around his ability to use his sight. If he hadn't known losing his sight was a possibility, would he still have become a voyeur and a photographer?

She gathered him in her arms and laid her head against his chest. “You can hire an assistant who can help you.”

He sighed into her, resting his chin on top of her head. “What would be the point if I couldn't enjoy the art with my own eyes?”

She pulled back to peer up at him. “Is that why you took my photographs? For your own enjoyment?”

“No.” He cupped her face in his hands. “I wanted to show you how I see you and prove to you that you're beautiful.”

“What you proved is that you—the artist—believe I'm beautiful. Would you find me any less beautiful if I gained a hundred pounds or I was disfigured in an accident?”

His thumb stroked her cheekbone. “No, of course not, because your beauty is more than skin deep.”

“And you can't see that, can you?”

He paused. “No.”

“You've taught me so much since I've gotten here. Let me return the favor. I'll show you you're more than a voyeur.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed his neck, sucking and nibbling. “I'll teach you how to see with your other senses.”

He pulled her away and held her head immobile. “And what do I have left to teach you, my lovely Danielle?”

“Teach me how to please you.”

His grip tightened. “Me? Don't you mean your soon-to-be fiancé?”

Was he . . . jealous? She wished she could tell him the truth about her relationship with Roman, but if she did, the house of cards she'd built on a foundation of lies would fall apart.

Deflecting, she asked, “Why don't you want to get married or have kids, Cole? It has nothing to do with Benediction, does it?”

He searched her eyes. “When my grandfather went blind, my grandmother put him in a home. They didn't know what caused it or that it was genetic.” He relinquished his hold on her as he spoke with a flatness that sent chills down her arms. “My parents married at nineteen. My father had no idea that he'd someday lose his sight as his father had or that he'd pass the disease on to me. My mother didn't sign up to be a full-time nurse to her husband. I would never put a woman in that position. I'd never have a child knowing I'd possibly condemn him to a life with a disability.”

She thought of her own parents. Would her mother have remained pregnant if her doctor had told her there was a possibility she'd lose her life in the delivery room? Would her father have married her mother if he'd known she would die in childbirth? What sacrifices would they have made for one another if they'd had advanced knowledge of what their future held? She no longer had the ability to ask them, but unlike her, Cole had that luxury.

“Have you ever discussed this with your parents? Do you really think if they knew then what they know now they'd have gone their separate ways?”

He shook his head. “My parents have always maintained they'd do it again even knowing the future.”

“Because they love each other. When you love someone, you take the good with the bad.” She blinked back the burning in her eyes and pinched her nose to ward off the tears. “My father lost my mother in childbirth. Don't you think it weighs on me? If I hadn't been born, my mother would've lived. My parents would've had years of happiness together.”

As a child, she'd worried that if she reminded her father that she was responsible for her mother's death, he'd stop loving her and would send her away. When she'd grown older, she'd known her father would never have done that. He'd loved her. Eventually, she'd shared her thoughts with Roman, who'd convinced her she wasn't responsible. Who did Cole have to confide in?

He stalked to her. “I don't have to know your mother to know she would've gladly sacrificed her life for yours and she would've never regretted it. And I know how much your father loved you. He never blamed you. He never blamed anyone for her death.” He clutched her shoulders and leaned toward her. “It was a terrible tragedy, but he got something so precious out of it.
You.
You aren't responsible for her death, Danielle.”

“Then how can you believe your parents feel any different? When you love someone, you accept the good, the bad, and the ugly. You take someone in sickness and in health because it's better to spend your days with someone you love than endure a lifetime of loneliness. Miracles happen every day. To live your life in fear and without love is as great a tragedy as my mother's death.”

He wiped his hand across his lips and once again moved away from her, this time picking up his vest off the floor. “Do you want to know why I named this club Benediction? Because when I learned I inherited the disease, I lost my faith, and without it, I lost my reason for waking up each morning. BDSM gave me back some semblance of control in my life. When a woman submits to me, she places her trust in me, and I become her higher power. To me, that's a blessing. It's as close to believing in God as I'm ever going to get. I believe the tangible truth of science, and that says it's only a matter of time before I go completely blind.”

“Are you sure it's genetic?”

“With Stargardt disease, if both parents carry the gene—”

“Then there's a chance you won't pass the disease on to a child.” Why would he deny himself the chance of love and happiness based on a possibility?

He rested his back against the wall, the ruins of his beautiful art at his feet. “What am I going to do? Test every woman I want to date and only follow through on the ones who don't carry the marker? Somehow I don't think it would go over well. Besides, it will never get that far because I refuse to place the burden of caring for me on anyone I love.”

Suddenly, it all made sense to her. She understood why Cole thought he couldn't get married or have children and why he'd found solace in BDSM.

He was scared.

She marched to him and poked him in the chest. “You won't burden your family, but it's acceptable to ask for help from a slave. That's your plan, isn't it? Rather than depend on those who love and care about you, you'll settle for those who find pleasure in service to you. People like Gracie and Adrian. Is that why you started this training program? Are you auditioning slaves?”

“No,” he whispered, his voice raspy.

She didn't believe him. She had no doubt he'd told her the truth when he'd said his main purpose in forming Benediction had been to give back and provide service to the BDSM community. But it also couldn't be a coincidence he chose to train slaves as part of it.