His Every Fantasy

by Delilah Devlin

  Her gaze went to the wall, which was inlaid with rosewood and brass fittings, rows of drawers and closed cupboards, behind which he knew were stored implements and toys. But he wasn’t ready for her to see that. Not just yet. Although the way she tried not to stare at the tasseled ropes, with her body tightening, was interesting. And causing his own body to tighten.

  “Are all the cabins like this one?”

  He stared, watching her face for clues to what she was feeling. “You don’t find it… decadent?”

  “Of course I do, but that’s the point, right?” she said, giving him a quick glance before turning again.

  Not soon enough to hide the color riding her cheeks. He fought back a grin. “What do you think about that?”

  “Truth, right?”

  “Always,” he said softly, next to her ear.

  She quivered against him. “Besides someone tripping on the brackets?”

  “The brackets will be covered. That your only concern?”

  “Is this place some sort of sexy getaway for the rich?”

  “It’s a place for our friends, and sometimes we’ll invite business associates who are like-minded,” he said carefully.

  “Someplace they can play and let down their hair while you watch them and listen to them?”

  He’d known Kara was smart, but the depth of her insight surprised him. “Everyone will be watched to make sure they’re not abusive to their partners,” he said, using a careful tone. And what he said was partially true.

  “Uh-huh. Is anyone watching now?”

  “Since the cabins aren’t ready for occupation, only the exterior cameras are operating.”

  Her head turned slightly. He observed her face in profile, her active, darting eyes. Her mouth was moist from a lick of her tongue. She turned a little more, catching his gaze. “Why did you bring me here?”

  “To distract you.”

  “Did you hope I’d be intrigued?”

  Asking for honesty went both ways. “Yes.”

  Her slender shoulders squared, and she pushed off his hands and walked to the Moroccan jeweled lamp that hung from the ceiling. She stared at him, her chin lifting, and then she reached up and turned it on. A pointed glance at him and then the light switch beside the door made what she wanted all too clear.

  His mouth curved at her subtle order. He liked the jut of her chin, that hint of challenge. More than ever, he was eager to test her, to discover whether she simply laid down a challenge in order to force him to take control.

  A pleasant heat suffused his body. A familiar surge of pleasure. One he could control, because his instincts were geared for this slow-burning trajectory toward arousal. He flipped the slatted blinds, cutting out the daylight. With the room bathed in jewel tones, and her skin reflecting brass and garnet light, she looked even more the gypsy girl. He watched enthralled as she slipped off her sandals, pushed down her pants and lifted the gauzy blouse over her head. In just her underwear, she took time to fold her discarded clothing and place the stack on a leather hassock.

  At the sight of her reaching to unhook her bra, he moved. “Let me.”

  He came behind her and deftly unclasped the bra, pushing the bands over her shoulders and down her arms, where he lingered for a moment after the garment fell to the floor, enjoying the heat of her skin against his clothed chest and the scent of her light, feminine musk. When she melted against him, he caught her wrists. He brought her hands behind her and held her still.

  He felt her slight tremor and hoped it wasn’t a resurgence of fear from her ordeal. He didn’t want those memories intruding. Didn’t want to be the source of any more of her pain. Holding her wrists clamped inside one hand, he smoothed the other over shoulder, down one arm and up again, reminding her it was him, that she had nothing to fear.

  Her slow exhale signaled her relaxed state.

  Sergei nuzzled her hair and bent closer. “Do you know what you’re doing to me?” he murmured beside her ear.

  “I think so,” she whispered. “I hope…”

  “I’ll take care of you. Trust me?” At her nod, he kissed her shoulder and then walked her to the center of the carpet. He helped her down, laying her out, her arms stretched wide while he tied the golden ropes around her wrists, doubling them for comfort before knotting them. “Too tight?” he asked, watching as she tugged at her restraints.

  She shook her head.

  With her arms outstretched, her breasts were nearly flat, but the nipples dimpled and the impudent centers distended.

  He thumbed a hard peak and watched her face. “You aren’t afraid of having your hands tied?”

  She released a thin stream of breath between her lips. “Not by you.”

  Sergei let her see his pleasure, giving her a half smile. “Do you want me to continue?”

  “I want to learn what pleases you.”

  He flicked the tip of her breast. “It’s my job to learn what pleases you.”

  Her breath caught. “Why? Because you’re the man?”

  Sergei shook his head. “No, sweetheart, because I’m the one in charge.”

  “You and your friends…” She rolled her eyes, but it was all for show. Her gaze was too avid and her teeth were tugging at her lower lip.

  He nodded, deciding to share a little because he could tell from the way her body shifted, thighs pressing together, that she was… interested. “We’re into bondage… BDSM. How much do you know about that?”

  “Only what I’ve read in novels. Not much. Most of the lifestyle, what people do seems… silly,” she said, her glance going to her bound hands.

  He smiled and came down, resting on his side next to her, his head held on his hand while he continued to play with her breasts. “From the outside looking in, it might seem so. But the practice is far from silly, Kara. It’s structured play. With rules to protect those who engage in that brand of pleasure.”

  A slight frown pulled at her brows. “Why are rules necessary? Why not just listen to your partner?”

  “Sometimes, speaking isn’t possible,” he said, tipping up her jaw to gently force it closed. He bent over her, holding her wide gaze. “Sometimes, when the play gets intense, a submissive person might beg for her Dom to stop, but she doesn’t really mean it. And it’s the last thing she needs. There’s training involved, on both sides, to make sure that the sub’s pleasure and safety come first.”

  Kara’s tongue darted out, licking her bottom lip. “You’re talking about safe words.”

  He smoothed his hand over her ribs, caressed the sweet hollow just beneath, then cupped her mound possessively. “That’s one safeguard, but the person in charge of the play has to be watchful, always conscious of physical clues, as well.”

  Perhaps she understood exactly what he’d said, because her legs shifted inches apart. Her invitation was clear.

  Smiling wryly, he stroked her mound then feathered her sex with light touches of his fingertips, teasing caresses that earned him a wet, sexy squeeze. He slowly withdrew his fingers and brought them to her mouth, painting her lips with her desire.

  For a moment, her body tensed, but then her mouth parted and her nostrils flared. Her tongue darted out to swipe her lip.

  Sergei held still, captured as much by her natural sensuality as he was by the sight of her, trust in her liquid eyes, arousal in the moist pout of her mouth.

  “I can’t imagine ever needing a safeguard with you,” she whispered.

  Sergei palmed her breast and nuzzled into the corner of her neck, pressing a lingering kiss against her pounding pulse. When he lifted his head, he said, “I’m not much into the S&M side. Light spanking. A paddle or a flogger. But nothing too strenuous, and I don’t like to leave marks. I prefer to leave a woman only warm and wet.”

  Her swallow was audible. Her gaze locked on his.

  He had her full attention now. “Kara, darling, would you like to play?”

  Chapter Twelve

  The deep, seductive timbre of his voice whe
n he’d asked if she wanted to play set her heart racing. Kara could see the heat banked in Sergei’s dark eyes. Between her legs, where his fingers had petted and teased, her sex was quickening, her labia swelling and moistening. Her body’s answer should have been enough. He’d said his job was to read his partner’s cues. But his slight, crooked smile said he’d wait for her answer. Make her say the words.

  Everything he’d said thrilled her. Just the mention of floggers and paddles excited her. But she was a bit worried she’d disappoint him. As tightly wound as she was, she wasn’t sure she could take everything he might want to give a woman he played with.

  And that word, play, sounded like so much less than what she wanted. Did he really see sex as a game? For her, giving herself to him wasn’t just about fun or about the release he could give her, however sweet and hot. She wanted it to mean more. To be more. Although she’d hinted she had no expectations, she secretly did—the more time she spent with him only deepened the confusing emotions whirling inside her.

  Was she falling in love? God, she hoped not. Was she feeling these confusing emotions because he’d been the one who’d saved her, because he’d been gentle with her, or simply because he’d been her first?

  But he was waiting for an answer as to whether she wanted to play, and although common sense told her to refuse, she said, “Please.”

  Sergei tapped her nose. “Sir. Please, Sir.”

  What? She gave him a glare. “Seriously?”

  “I’ll untie your hands and give you back your clothes. Seriously.”

  And from his dry delivery, he meant every word. She huffed a breath, even rolled her eyes.

  He didn’t move. Not a muscle. Not a breath. If she’d seen him crack a smile at her reluctance, she would have tried to drive a wedge into his resolve. Obviously, he was more patient than she was.

  “Please, sir,” she said, her irritation plain for him to hear.

  Sergei gave a grunt, but then moved quickly, rolling away and standing.

  She followed his movements as he grabbed cushions and tossed them on the ground beside her. Watching him stride to the cupboard, she grew even more irritated because she couldn’t see around him to know what he was pulling from the drawers. He was being purposely mysterious.

  When he turned, he held a small bag, and he wore a smile.

  “Should I be worried?” she muttered.

  “I won’t ever hurt you, so if your concern is about that—never.”

  “Am I supposed to be nervous?”

  “I hope so,” he murmured. “A little fear is fun.”

  Which didn’t reassure her one little bit.

  He knelt beside her. “Open your legs.”

  She gave him a frown but did as he asked, pretending reluctance while she enjoyed his expression—a wicked light in his eyes, his slightly smirking smile. Who knew she’d be this eager for a man to play with her while she was trussed up, readied for use? She certainly hadn’t known.

  He dropped the bag between her legs. The fabric was velvet and brushed her inner thighs and folds. She gave it a little squeeze of her thighs, hoping she’d get a clue from the shape of the contents, but thighs weren’t made to discern shapes.

  “Don’t get the fabric wet.”

  Her gaze shot to his. The tone of his voice was flat and clearly indicated there’d be consequences if she didn’t obey. But her body betrayed her. Moisture rushed from her passage, and she squeezed her vagina to prevent it from dampening the sack.

  She concentrated so hard on her predicament, she missed the fact he was stripping until he dropped his underwear atop her chest.

  Again, she shot her gaze to his face. He was grinning.

  “You’re enjoying this,” she gasped.

  “Of course, I am.”

  “Doesn’t my pleasure come first?”

  “Your pleasure is my priority, but it doesn’t necessarily come first, second, or third.”

  She stared, feeling hot and cold at the same time. His cock bobbed above her, but he’d just hinted her pleasure might be withheld. For a time. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Of course, it doesn’t. Not yet. But you’ll understand soon enough. Your instruction begins now, sweetheart.”

  Instruction. Her mouth suddenly dried. She liked the sound of that word. It intimated she’d be experiencing something new, and that he’d be the one instructing her. Two things that excited her very much. The speed at which he was introducing her to new experiences was exhilarating. From the way he looked at her now, satisfaction pulling his mouth into a crooked smile, he wasn’t the least bit annoyed over the fact he had so much work to do.

  “I don’t know what you expect,” she said, suddenly breathless.

  Still standing over her, his size and height were only emphasized by all his looming inches. “Accept my lead. Always tell me the truth about what you feel.”

  The truth? She started to shake her head, but he wasn’t talking about those warm and fuzzy feelings she was having difficulty defining. “Since I’m the one on the floor with my hands tied, I don’t think I have much choice but to follow your lead,” she demurred.

  Sergei gave her body a slow, sweeping glance. “There are rules. Not many. Not yet, anyway. If you were more experienced, you’d have many more protocols and rituals I’d want you to observe. For now, remember to address me as sir. Speak only when answering a question, or when you’re in distress. And most important, don’t come unless I give you permission.”

  “Sounds easy enough,” she said, her voice suddenly breathy because every rule he’d mentioned tightened the tension in her core, one turn of the coital screw at a time.

  “I didn’t ask a question,” he said softly.

  Her eyes widened. “Oh.” And then she pressed her lips together to keep from saying anything more out of turn. But if she couldn’t talk to ease her anticipation, what could she do? Her gaze dropped to his body. Well, plenty to distract her there…

  Sergei went to his knees beside her. “Don’t move yourself. Don’t help me.” His hands smoothed over body, from her shoulders, to her breasts, then downward, coming underneath. He lifted her buttocks and slid pillows beneath her. A narrow bolster under the small of her back, a plumper one beneath her bottom. “I won’t tie your feet. Not this time. You know I won’t hurt you, but I don’t want you anxious, remembering what happened to you before—when you were taken. You can move if you need to, but I hope that you won’t.”

  He wanted her trust. Wanted her to give it freely. Not take it. She smiled, but kept silent as he removed her underwear and smoothed hands down each leg, lifting her knees and planting her feet just so. When both legs were bent, he applied gentle pressure to open them.

  With her hips lifted, her bottom high on the pillow, she knew her pussy was displayed, her folds opened. Cool air wafted between them.

  “Are you willing to let me blindfold you?” he asked, his tone gentle.

  Another layer of restraint, which set her pulse thudding.

  “You don’t have to say yes. You could simply promise to keep your eyes closed.”

  She pulled in a deep breath. “It’s important that I don’t watch?”

  “Your other senses will be heightened. You’ll be less distracted by trying to anticipate what I’ll do next.”

  “And if I get nervous?” she asked, hating to admit that was a real possibility. But she’d hated how helpless she’d been when she’d been taken, and the last thing she wanted was to think of him or anything he did in that light.

  “All you have to do is tell me. Don’t wait for permission. I’ll stop and remove it.”

  She swallowed, then nodded. “Then yes, sir.”

  Sergei pulled a blindfold from his bag, and then bent over her.

  She raised her head, closing her eyes while he tied it around her head. Soft fur pressed against her eyelids, and he hadn’t pulled it very tight. She sighed in relief and gave him a smile.

  “Can you see anything?”
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  She shook her head. “No, sir.” At once, her ears tuned to the sounds around her, the soft shuffling of his knees as he moved away, the heavy beats of her own heart in her ears.

  Yes, she was bound and blind, but she felt safe. Free to do nothing, which was rather nice, because she had no expectations about what would happen.

  Yes, he would toy with her erogenous zones, but with what and how… well, that mystery only added to the excitement stirring her blood.

  His hands came down on her upper chest, and they were warm and creamy. Whatever he was rubbing on her skin smelled of coconut—sweet, but not overpowering. He smoothed over her shoulders, along her arms, and then gently cupped her breasts.

  “I love how responsive these little buds are,” he murmured, fingers tweaking her nipples. He massaged her breasts, plumping them up in his hands then pressing on them. His touch glided downward, bracketing her waist, tracing her ribs, before pausing at her belly button.

  She smiled as he rimmed it, then gasped when he pressed inside it. A tingle shot from her belly to her core. But before she could wonder over the fact her navel was so sensitive, she felt his hands moving again, slipping under her to palm and massage her buttocks, and then coming forward again, stroking her thighs, pressing them wider.

  And she let them unfold, knowing exactly where his stare held. The bag in the floor between her thighs was lifted, the velvet sliding against her folds.

  “You wet it,” he said, tsking.

  She gave a snort. She’d forgotten it was there. But what had he expected?

  “When you disobey, there’s punishment.”

  Her thighs tensed, and she began to pull them closed, but he pushed against them. A finger traced her slit then dipped into her well. A moment later, something—a finger?—glided across her lips, painting them with moisture. The scent of her own arousal, crisp and pungent, entered her nose.

  “Open your mouth.”

  She hesitated, but then opened, a blush heating her face as he pushed his fingers into her mouth. The flavor of her fluids exploded on her tongue—salty, sea-fresh. Her lips closed around the digits and sucked away the evidence.

  “Did I ask you to suck them?”