by C. C. Gibbs
Nicole glanced over her shoulder as she climbed into bed. “Hey, get your clothes off,” she said. “You’re holding up the show.”
Rafe swung around, blinked, then dragged himself back into the world. “Give me a minute. I haven’t come down from everything yet. I’m edgy and pissed, mostly for nearly being destroyed by the same assholes who’ve tried it a dozen times before. Can I tie you up? You’ll like it.”
“I beg your pardon?” The shift in subject was so abrupt she wondered if she’d misheard.
“I said, can I tie you up?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I was afraid that’s what you said.”
“You’ll like it,” he said again, matter-of-factly.
“Ummm—I don’t think so.”
“How do you know if you don’t try it? I can almost guarantee you will,” he said, like he’d say “Nice day if it doesn’t rain.”
“What if I don’t?”
Rafe shrugged. “Trust me. I know you will.” He didn’t say that domination was one of his coping mechanisms, that he used it to normalize a discordant world, that he’d been encouraged in his taste. That there wasn’t a woman who hadn’t been sexually gratified when he’d untied her.
After a long indecisive pause, Nicole decided there was only one way to find out. “Okay,” she said.
He didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath, that it mattered she allowed this. “I’ll be right back.”
His gaze had been so vague, she felt a small frisson of uncertainty. When he walked back in from the dressing room, carrying the Japanese box of rope, she didn’t feel any better when she saw that his mouth was drawn tight. “Hey, earth to Rafe. You’re scaring me.”
He looked up and shook his head. “Sorry, it’s feels like I’ve been lost in a maze for most of the day with a deadly Minotaur breathing down my neck. Ganz is fucking good but it still wasn’t a piece of cake. Annihilation was a real possibility.” No way was he bringing up his psycho father.
“I understand.” She smiled. “Just so you know who I am.”
“Of course. You’re my sweet pussycat.” He set the box on the bed, leaned over, and gently kissed her. “I’m here. I’m glad you’re here. I’m happy, okay?”
“Okay.” She wiggled her fingers in the direction of the box. “But if I say stop you have to.”
“Not a problem.”
He spoke so casually, it was unnerving—like maybe he wouldn’t stop, or he knew she’d enjoy it so much she wouldn’t ask him to stop, or that he was so good at this every woman he’d ever tied up adored him for it. “Tell me you haven’t done this before.” Even knowing she was being completely irrational, she wanted the fiction. “Lie if necessary.”
“Never. I told you before we went to the club that this was my first shipment of rope.”
“Jeez, you’re a good liar.”
He smiled. “Thank you. We try. Now give me your hand,” he said, unreeling a sweep of rope with a jerk of his wrist.
Helping her down from the bed, he took her by the shoulders, his slender fingers sliding over her warm skin, the slope of her upper arm, and for a second a rush of helplessness blew through Nicole’s senses.
“You’re safe,” Rafe murmured, as if he knew. Pulling her back into his body with a one-armed hug, he gently stroked her throat. “Okay?”
She nodded.
He waited while she sighed; he didn’t move.
“The thing is… you know the drill”—she took a small breath—“and I don’t.”
His fingers on her throat soothed her fluttering pulse. “No drill, pussycat. Just you and me feeling good.”
She sighed again, then turned her head, her blue eyes laser bright. “Okay, I’m on board. Swear to God,” she added because he was watching her from under his lashes.
He couldn’t hide his grin. “Could we leave God out of this?”
“Fuck you.” But she was grinning too.
“All in good time,” he said with a wink, then dropped his arm, rested the center of the rope in his right hand, and smoothly folded it in two.
“The rope smells nice—like freshly mowed lawns.” Looking over her shoulder again, her smile froze on her face, a prickle rose at the back of her neck. Lidded jungle-cat eyes were staring at her. “Rafe?”
Nothing, not a blink.
She half twisted around, her heart drumming. “Hey.” A sharper tone. “Rafe!”
She got his attention. “Sorry.” Smooth and easy, a lazy smile. “Still back in the tech room,” he lied, sending all the wild shit back into the seething dark. A wry smile this time. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Just checking that you’re not in outer space.”
“No way.” Dipping his head, he brushed her cheek with a kiss. “I know where I am and there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” He held up the rope, raised an eyebrow. “Ready?”
“As ever.”
A wicked grin. “Good enough for me.”
Taking her wrists, he swung her back around, swiftly bound her hands behind her, and with a quick, controlled movement raised her arms upward just enough so she could feel the tension in her muscles.
A gasp, then a small melting sigh as a completely new sensation coiled deep inside her and her sex began to throb and swell.
A familiar, recognizable sound of desire that struck a deep psychic chord. A physical one as well; his erection surged in response. Loosening the rope so her fingers were at the right level, he leaned into her, pressing his rigid dick against her hand. “You let me know when you want this.” His voice was soft, mildly taunting.
Yet dominant male in the husky undertones, the blunt directive unequivocal, as though the decision was completely his. And a strange rush of longing swept through her at his assumption of power, the feverish sensation bone deep, delicious, hot, and impatient. She quivered, nodded.
“Talk,” he said, a warning note in his voice.
“I want it, you, everything, please,” she said, swiftly because the edge in his voice was raw, and if she wanted him, he had expectations. The rope around her wrists was only the beginning.
“I can smell your pussy,” he murmured, ignoring her reply. “And your nipples are already stiff and hard.” His voice dropped in volume, turned into a whisper. “You have no patience. We have to fix that.”
His quiet assurance was both a lush invitation to play and annoyingly confident. But her body was purring and pulsing in a mindless, out-of-control, sex-addicted rhythm, so her voice shook a little when she said, “Speaking of patience, what’s the deal with your rock-hard dick?”
“Not your problem,” he said, without glancing up from adjusting the rope on her wrists. “I’m your problem.”
She tried to turn and protest, but he held her firmly, jerking the ropes on her wrists higher, and her objection died in a sharp inhalation as a fiery flash of lust exploded in her sex, blazed through her senses, and laid out the welcome mat between her legs in hot, messy wetness.
His nostrils flared at the distinctive scent of arousal. “You’re going to give every male within a mile a hard-on. I’ll have to make sure you’re locked up tight.”
She barely heard him because every inch of her skin felt as though it was bathed in warm sunshine, her sex tingled and glowed, sweet desire enfolded her in bliss. “No,” she murmured, but she was half smiling, in the grip of inexplicable passions so intense she was beyond rational thought, automatically raising her arms to his nudges as he quickly wrapped the silky, sweet-smelling hemp under and over her breasts, his hands moving smoothly in tandem. As the pressure on her breasts increased, she opened her mouth to complain, but Rafe gently massaged her nipples and she shut her eyes and purred instead.
And missed his satisfied smile.
While she was floating in her soft lustful haze, Rafe checked the underarm hitch with a finger between the rope and skin, cinched the line, then slid two perfectly placed half-hitches under her cleavage. Smoothly turning her, he wound the ropes in quick, sure
movements, before standing back and cupping the underside of each tightly bound, jutting breast. Slowly raising his hands, he watched her arch her back to offset the pressure, then, deliberately continuing the upward motion, he forced her up on her toes.
“Feel that?” he whispered, his fingers sinking into her soft flesh, holding her balanced on the balls of her feet.
“God, yes,” she said so softly, the sound scarcely moved the air.
Her cheeks were hotly flushed, her constricted breasts mounded high in their rope harness, her nipples swollen and taut, her desire so flagrant, pearly moisture was trickling down her thighs.
Down boy, he warned his dick.
This wasn’t about a fast fuck.
This was about her submission.
And his power.
As he slowly lowered her back on her feet, she panted, “Please, I can’t wait. I need you now.”
“Not yet.”
Her eyes flew open, stormy with frustration. “When?”
He smiled down at her. “When I’m ready.”
Her eyes narrowed; she tilted her head back. “Fuck you, then.” Her voice was clear and cool, all entitlement and attitude. “Untie me.”
He grinned. “Does that usually work?”
“Always,” she snapped, her resentment back full force. “Not that I’m usually”—she tried to wiggle her shoulders—“in this goddamn predicament.”
“Glad to hear it.” It surprised him, how much it pleased him. “And you’ll like it when I finally let you come, pussycat, you really will.”
“What I’d like is your dick inside me.” Smooth as butter, a smile, trying another angle.
A flicker of amusement in his eyes. “I’m working on that.”
“God, you piss me off,” she said through gritted teeth, domination all well and good up to a point. But she wanted to come now. “You said you’d stop if I asked. Consider yourself asked.”
“I didn’t say I’d stop. I said, no problem. And it won’t be.”
“It is. Already. A huge. Problem.” Enough outrage in each carefully pronounced word to shrivel most men’s balls.
A relaxed half smile. “Jesus, you’re so damned cute. Always in charge.” He dipped his head, so his eyes were only inches from hers. “Now, I’ve got a little advice for you. Don’t fucking move or you’ll never come.” His hooded gaze watched her for a moment—fixed and cool—and when she looked away, he said, smooth as silk, “There’s a good girl,” and reached for more rope.
She breathed in his unlimited power, the deep complications behind the cool gaze, the edge of trouble beneath the beauty, and rather than fear, she felt the white fire of arousal blaze higher, felt a flood of desire drench her sex, felt both a sweeping embarrassment and leaping pleasure.
She could call herself every kind of idiot for wanting him so desperately, but it didn’t change the brightness of her need; she wanted his inked dick deep inside her.
Urgently.
Intent on his own rough desires rising like ghosts from his past, Rafe tied a double line rope in a knot at her cleavage, measured out three overhand knots, and slid one under Nicole’s ribs, another on her silky pubic curls, the third on her clit hood, held it gently in place, then less gently, and watched Nicole shudder and drift off in a soft, pale daze.
“Look at me.” His finger on the clit knot pressed a little harder, and, ignoring her tiny shriek, he said more sharply, “Look at me or I won’t let you come.”
She sucked in a fast breath that burned off the daze, her blue eyes so hot he didn’t bother to hide his grin. “See. You’re learning.”
“I’m going to kill you.” She was pissed to the bone.
He laughed. “Take a number. Now pay attention. It gets better.” Leaning close, he slid the rope between her legs, spread her pussy open with the pressure, then ran the double rope up her back and fastened it to her wrists with a quick release tie.
He stood for a moment, gave his handiwork a swift up and down scan, then walked to the center of the bedroom and turned. “Come here,” he said. Beckoned. A flutter of his fingers. Waited.
She didn’t move.
He reached up, pulled his T-shirt over his head, shook his hair back in place, unzipped his shorts, stripped them off with his boxers, and kicked his clothes out of the way. Gave her a big friendly smile.
Under the pressure of the strategically placed knot, her clit was throbbing in a hard steady rhythm, her pussy, spread wide by the dual ropes, was drenching the soft hemp, turning it dark, and her breasts were cinched so tightly and wrenched so high she could feel every beat of her heart in the compressed flesh. She was certifiably horny and ready to fuck any dick except the bastard’s smiling at her. She counted to ten, then twenty, trying to talk herself out of being a horn dog with relevant images of icy glaciers or slimy worms or smug pricks who didn’t deserve to win this round or any round.
Rafe waited calmly, his huge painted dick stretched waist high, dictating the terms.
“I hate you,” she hissed.
“How much?” He smiled. “Remember that? I do.”
“And you’re still here.”
His hands spread out for a second before he slid his fingers down his dick. “As you see.” A tiny nod. “We’re waiting.”
She took a shaky breath, a second one, then moved.
He watched her intently. Smiled when she finally reached him. Gently gripped her hard, taut nipples between his thumbs and index fingers and slowly tugged on them until she flinched. Then he took her face in his hands, raised her head until their eyes met, gave her cheeks a gentle pat, and said, “Down on your knees.”
A quick in-breath through her nose. “No.”
“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to make you feel good.”
A small silence.
Then a faint shift of her shoulder, a louder, “No.”
He flicked his finger at her. “Then you’re going to need some help getting out of that.”
“I’ll manage. Scissors or a knife should do it.”
“Where exactly would you be getting those?”
“In your dressing room—the scissors at least.”
He lifted a brow. “Going through me, then?”
“You wouldn’t!”
“Of course I would. Now, can we stop arguing? Get down on your knees.”
“Never,” she said flatly.
His eyes closed for a second, then opened again. “Fucking drama queen.” Spinning her around, he grabbed a loop of rope in the middle of her back, gave her a gentle shove, and as she lost her balance, set her down softly on her knees. With a quick nudge of his feet, he spread her legs, held her with one hand, and with the other, bound her lower legs loosely to her thighs.
Leaving her helpless.
Another nudge and she’d be resting on her shoulders, her ass up, her sex spread wide.
He circled her, his gaze shuttered, weighing his options, the thousand skulking shadows flitting through his brain needing to be dealt with. Or he could save the hassle and deal with them later. Or not at all. Deciding on the latter, he came to a stop in front of her, squatted in a smooth flex of his quads so she was level with his face, and gave her a small, private smile. “How’s it going so far?”
“You being a prick, you mean? It’s working.”
He stared at her. After a moment, he said, “I can keep you tied up.”
“Fuck if you can.” Her gaze threw off sparks like fireworks.
A split-second pause, then an easy smile. “I can do anything I want with you.”
“No you can’t.” Scorn rang through her voice. “You know the word obstinate right?”
He went utterly still for a second, then surged to his feet, spun around, and walked out of the bedroom before he did something he’d regret. He didn’t slam the door. He shut it softly. There was a quiet finality in the sound.
Shit. Her and her big mouth. What if he didn’t come back? Where the hell had she left her phone? Better yet, how co
uld she move? If Rafe Contini wasn’t one of those masters of the universe who practically owned the world, she might not have been so worried. But he’d been pissed when he’d left.
Jesus, how did it feel to starve to death? Although she’d die of thirst first. What if he just left Geneva like he’d planned? No one would find her for God knows how long.
Although, realistically, she wouldn’t die of hunger or thirst, because if her mother didn’t hear from her every day, her mom would call Dominic. And he’d find her no matter where she was, even if she was at one of those remote Greek island monasteries where you needed to be hauled up the sheer cliff in a basket.
While Nicole was consoling herself that she wouldn’t die alone or at all, Rafe was sprawled on the sofa in the room next door, thinking he should pour himself a drink, or better yet, empty a whole fucking bottle. He couldn’t remember when he’d been so angry. Probably not since his old man died. Maso was about the only person who could send him into a rage; he was a fucking master at that. Rafe suddenly laughed. He wasn’t so sure Nicole couldn’t have given his old man a run for his money.
Little bitch. Sweet as candy bitch unfortunately—especially her lush pussy. Christ Almighty, he wanted his dick in her twenty-four/seven.
Scary as hell, that. Particularly for someone who’d always counted the minutes until he could send a woman home once the fucking was over.
Not that he’d turned into a saint since meeting Nicole, nor was he likely to reform any time soon. So the question remained: How was he going to negotiate the kind of fuck he wanted with his sweet-assed bitch?
She couldn’t be bought off. A serious deterrent.
He could apologize, but that didn’t mean she’d necessarily forgive him or, more to the point, play the game he wanted.
Did she have a favorite charity? He laughed out loud at that; a generous donation for a Japanese bondage fuck? That didn’t happen every day.
With rapidly diminishing options, he decided to grovel—go into the trackless terrain beyond polite apology in an attempt to get his ass out of this sling. And what the hell, as long as he got what he wanted, who ever said sincerity was a requirement when it came to fucking? He knew the answer to that one and was still smiling when he entered the bedroom.
