by Eden Bradley
“The archangel Gabriel. For protection.”
“And this?” It seemed important, somehow, to know. She let her fingers rest on his skin, ran them down his forearm to the Asian figure draped in patterned robes.
“The Chinese goddess Kuan Yin, goddess of mercy.”
“And do the clouds and the water mean something?”
“They represent all things mercurial. The ever-changeable nature of life.”
“Why?”
“You never know what to expect from the world.”
“But you’ve come to expect the worst, haven’t you? I think I saw that in you from the start.”
“Only the expectation, the reality, of people having to go through hell on this earth is immutable. But you know that. It’s why we’re here now.”
She couldn’t believe they were having this philosophical conversation, with him standing half undressed before her, her body on fire for him. Yet at the same time, it seemed natural with him. But she was too distracted by him sliding his jeans down his thighs as he spoke, and in moments he was naked.
Ah, lovely.
His cock was hard. Too beautiful. Her mouth went dry, and she had to lick her lips, to steel herself against the sight of him: that gorgeous golden skin, the strength of his thighs.
She had to get her hands on him.
Just do it, as he said.
She turned and started emptying the net bags onto the bed. Rope fell in lengths of white, black, blue, red. She gathered a few pieces in her hands, gestured with her chin to one of the wide, square wood columns. He didn’t say a word, just went to the column, stood with his back against one side, his legs spread just a bit, as though he was in military pose. His eyes were dark, flashing, his jaw set. As she drew closer she could see his pulse jumping in his neck.
She ran a length of rope through her hands, just to get the feel of it, as she often did. Her palms were damp. She wiped them on her skirt, one at a time, saw James’s gaze flicker to the motion of her hands. Then she had the rope between her fingers, a long length in stark black.
She moved in, watched him flinch with some small satisfaction that was like a sexual surge in her veins, hot, stinging.
“Back up,” she told him. “Right against the post.”
He did as she said, and she stepped closer, until she could feel the heat coming off his body, even through her clothes. And that scent that was purely him, carried to her on the waves of heat.
She breathed him in, shivered, leaned forward, and brushed a kiss across his cheek. He trembled, just the smallest tremor moving over his skin, but he held his position. When she moved back, she could taste him on her lips. Her sex swelled, heated.
More.
Oh, yes. She planned to have more. But she had to bind him first.
Have to …
Reaching around the column, she took one of his wrists and drew it behind him, then the other. She started there, wrapping his wrists in a simple noose knot, then she began an uncomplicated crisscross pattern on his body. She was too anxious simply to have him bound to take the time for the delicate, complex series of knots required for true Shibari. No, with him she realized it was the symbol that was important rather than the ritual. He didn’t need the slow buildup. Not tonight. He needed to be tied down. To have something to fight against. Something other than the demons in his head that tortured him so terribly.
Moving around his body, she let the ropes lead her, all the while watching his breath quicken, his nipples peaking into two dusky points, his cock hardening even more, going dark at the head. And she felt perfectly in tune with him, every surge of desire as though it was reflected in her own body, a mirror of his need. Or perhaps his was a mirror of her own; she couldn’t tell.
It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the rope sliding beneath her hands, and under the ropes, his silken skin, the taut pull of muscle as he clenched and unclenched when she touched him. Oh, it was too good to see his response. Even better to look into his eyes and find he was slipping into subspace. But not that quiet, sleepy kind of space so many others went into. No, with James it was all edge, intensity.
When he was bound tightly to the post, she stroked a fingertip over his shoulder. He flinched hard, and she leaned in, her mouth right next to his ear.
“What is it, James? Can you tell me?”
“I just … it fucking frightens me, how much I want you.”
Her breath went right out of her lungs, her sex going wet, pulsing. And she pressed her body into his side, just falling into him. Her breasts were crushed against his arm, her hips against his flank.
“Jesus, James.”
He groaned but didn’t say anything else. She pressed harder, moved her body so that her nipples were up against his arm. They were so damn hard, they hurt. And she wanted to feel his skin against them.
Oh, yes …
She stepped back just enough to take off her sweater, her bra, leaving her in her tight pencil skirt, her opaque tights, her high-heeled black boots. She saw him turn his head, blink hard, his cock jumping. She pressed back in until the tips of her breasts brushed against the ropes, then, shifting, she could feel his skin between the ropes.
Oh, yes …
A sharp intake of breath from him, then his mouth was on hers. His lips were so damn warm and sweet with whiskey, still. And his tongue went right in, claiming her even though he was tied to the post, nearly immobilized. But she was suddenly under his command as much as he was under hers. Or perhaps she had been from the start. She couldn’t think about it, couldn’t figure it out. She didn’t care, for once. She just wanted to taste him, to luxuriate in the silky glide of his tongue over hers, the feel of his plush lips sucking her into him. She pressed her body closer, his heart beating against hers, a wild hammer thundering from his chest into hers, and back again.
Her legs were going weak. She reached out, steadied herself with her hands on his shoulders. And her hips arched into his, until his cock was at the apex of her thighs, begging to be let in.
Yes, have to have him, to feel him there …
She pulled back.
“James …”
“Kiss me, Marina.”
“I will. But, James …”
“Now.”
“Tell me first. Tell me you’re mine.” She felt half crazed, totally out of control. She wasn’t sure exactly what it was she was asking for.
His voice was low, gritty. “Yes, yours. But you’re mine just as much.”
She nodded. It was true.
“I need to fuck you, Marina.”
A stab of lust, sweet and low in her belly. “Yes.”
“But I will fuck you, Marina.” It came out as a growl.
“Yes …”
She didn’t care about being in control now. She wasn’t thinking about any of that; that wasn’t why she sank to her knees and took the tip of his cock into her mouth. But to hear him groan, that was what made sense to her now. To taste his swollen flesh, the pearly drop of pre-come warm on her tongue. She felt him fight the ropes, give in after a moment, and his body went slack as she lowered her head and swallowed him as deeply as she could, her throat opening to take him in.
She slid back, swirled her tongue over the head of his cock before taking him into her throat once more. He was panting now, writhing the tiniest bit, as much as the tight ropes would allow. And she felt a surge of power, but it was different from what she usually felt when she was topping someone. No, this was all about the power of being purely female. The power of bringing him pleasure. And it was heady, potent.
But she needed more. She needed him.
She let his cock slip from her mouth, and rose to her feet. His face was all hard planes, but his mouth was soft, almost bruised-looking. And his eyes were blazing, golden.
She reached out and touched her fingertips to his lips, and he sucked them in, sucked hard, hurting her just a little. She drew her hand back, stood watching him for several moments.
“James.
I’m taking you out of the ropes.”
“Yes,” he hissed. “God damn it, yes.”
She did it quickly, and in moments the ropes fell at his feet, and he was charging at her, all pure male, in a rage of desire. He was on her so quickly she didn’t have time to think about it. He stripped her skirt off, her boots, her tights, ripping holes in them as he tore them from her body. Then her panties, which were soaking wet. He paused, held them in his hand, brushed them across his lips, making her shiver all over. Then he tossed them aside and gripped her arms, backing her onto the bed.
His hands were hard and hurting on her arms as he held her down. And she went down without a word as he bent his head to take one nipple into his mouth. He sucked, grazed the tip with his teeth, and she was moaning, panting immediately, pleasure shooting through her body. She was writhing beneath him. His hands went to her breasts, pushing them together, kneading the tender flesh, and she arched into him.
Every touch was hard, commanding, exquisite. She didn’t want it any other way. She tried to wrap one leg around his waist, but he pushed her harder into the mattress, sliding his hands up until he had her wrists pinned above her head.
“Don’t move, Marina,” he said. “You are mine right now. Say it.”
“Yes. I’m yours, James.”
Had she ever said that to anyone else? Didn’t matter. “Kiss me, James. Fuck me. Please.”
He laid his body over hers, pressed into her, his cock pushing against her belly. She spread her thighs, and his muscular leg slipped between them, right against the wet heat of her sex. He moved, his thigh sliding back and forth, and she wanted to come right away, pleasure pouring through her system. But she didn’t want to come like this.
“James!”
He leaned to one side, yanked open the nightstand drawer so hard it crashed onto the floor. He swore, dug around, came back with a string of condoms, tore one off with his teeth. Then he got the wrapper opened, sat back on his knees. He fumbled with the condom, swore again, and she reached out to help him, and somehow, together, they managed to sheath his cock. Still on his knees, he drew her legs over his, so that her hips were raised, her sex open to him. He kept his gaze on hers as he swept his fingers over her pussy lips.
“Oh …”
“So damn wet for me, Marina.”
“James, come on.”
She raised her hips, opening more for him. And he smiled, baring his teeth like some wild animal. His hands went to her hips and he pulled her in hard, plunging into her in one deep thrust.
“Oh, God, James …”
Pleasure, hot and deep, like shards of glass: that sharp, that intense. She was shivering with it instantly, had never felt anything so damn good in her life. And he was pulling her in, over and over, his hips hammering into her in long, hard thrusts. Fucking her, fucking her. And they were both grunting, panting, making primal, wordless sounds. She could barely breathe. She didn’t care.
He paused, his strong hands on her hips turning her over onto her belly, holding her down flat against the bed, pulling her legs apart. He laid his body over hers, pushed into her sex from behind. He pulled her hips up a little, angling her so that his hard cock was hitting her G-spot. And at the same time, he wrapped one arm tightly around her waist, possessing her. His hand went between her thighs, pinching her clitoris between his fingers.
She came in a torrent, shuddering, crying out his name. Pleasure arced through her like an electric current; she could almost smell the burn of it on her skin.
Inside her, his cock was a solid shaft, pushing ever deeper, driving her climax on and on. Then he tensed, groaned, and even through the condom she felt the heat of it as he came, his body clenching, writhing.
“Marina … Christ!”
He kept pumping into her, even as his cock went soft, and small climactic shivers ran over her skin in shimmering waves, as though she couldn’t stop coming.
Finally they were both limp, weak, and he rolled onto his side, taking her with him. Her mind was numb, her body spent, shaking. Yet she still needed more; she couldn’t seem to get enough.
It was almost unreal to her that this was James lying next to her, his chest heaving with uncaught breath. That he had just been inside her body. It seemed like some sort of wild dream and yet more real than anything she’d felt in a long time.
Outside, it was really raining, the drops hitting the windows in thudding little splashes. She could hear the sound of it running down a drainpipe somewhere outside the building. And faintly, the cars on the street below driving through puddles. It comforted her, made James’s body next to hers feel as though he was keeping her safe. It was as though they were isolated from the rest of the world, the rain cocooning them away in his bed.
Still, something nagged at the back of her mind.
Don’t feel too much. You know what can happen if you do.
Oh, yes, she did. And she’d never planned to allow that to happen again, to be so vulnerable. But with James it was unavoidable, unless she wasn’t going to see him at all. She knew already she didn’t have it in her to turn away from him. And after tonight …
What?
But it was too much to think about. She curled into his side, listened to his quiet breath, knew he was asleep. And let herself drift into that same nowhere place, where she could dream of the rain falling outside, touching her skin like his fingertips, his soft lips. Like the words he’d spoken to her.
You are mine.
Chapter Seven
JAMES WAS AWAKENED by a soft shuffling and the sudden absence of heat. He opened his eyes and saw Marina’s shadowy silhouette in the diffused, early-morning light as she got out of bed.
She was beautiful.
He’d been with plenty of beautiful women. So why did she make his heart lurch in his chest?
He lay quietly as he watched her get dressed, his eyes half-lidded. She was graceful, every movement like a dancer’s. He’d seen it before, the way she handled the ropes, even her drink. And last night …
Last night she’d taken him somewhere he’d never gone before. Something about her. Had to be. Because it was more than the ropes, although that had been a catalyst. But he knew it wouldn’t have happened with anyone else. The dynamic between them just worked. And he’d felt a sort of slipping away, as though when she had him bound, he’d given himself permission to let the rage build. And when she’d let him out, she’d allowed him to vent that rage on her, in her body. But once he’d touched her, it wasn’t rage anymore. It was converted to something else. To sex. To … something more.
Damn it. He wasn’t making sense, even to himself. All he knew was that he felt better. Lighter. And he wanted to do it again. Wanted to fuck her right now, just drive into her body over and over. Wanted to make her come, watch her fall apart beneath him the way she had last night.
He was hard again. But she was so quiet, so thoughtful, in the dim morning light; he didn’t dare disturb her. And he wanted to see what she was going to do, if she would leave without saying good-bye.
Why the hell did it matter?
It just did.
When she was dressed she paused, looked around the room, her gaze resting for several long moments on the windows.
It had stopped raining. And it must be early; the streets outside were nearly silent, other than the occasional passing of a car. Finally she turned, moved toward the bed, and he opened his eyes, let her know he was awake.
“James, I have to go to work.”
“Okay.”
“I … we can talk later, if you want.”
“Do you want to?”
She seemed surprised that he’d asked. “Yes.”
“Good.”
She was too close for him not to touch her. He reached up and pulled her onto the bed so he could kiss her. Her mouth was soft and lush, and his cock twitched.
Yes, to have her right now. To strip her down and wrap his arms around her. Push into her body as he had last night. But he’d take his
time, explore her.
She pulled away. “I really have to go.”
“Do you want me to get up? Walk you back to your car?”
“I took a cab last night. I’ll get one on the corner.”
“I can drive you.”
“No, don’t get up.”
He could feel her shutting down, separating herself from him. He didn’t know why she was doing it. He didn’t know why he cared.
“How late do you work?” he asked her.
“I don’t know. Each day is different.”
“I’ll call you tonight. See if you’re home.”
Why was he pressing the issue?
“Alright.”
He twined his fingers in her hair, and her face softened for a moment before she pulled away. “I really do have to get going.” Then she was gone.
The bed felt too big to him, suddenly. And he was still rock-hard. Needing her.
He reached down and brushed his fingertips over the swollen head of his cock, breathing in the scent of leftover sex from the night before. His body arched into his touch, and he wrapped a hand around his rigid shaft, began to stroke. Pleasure shivered through him: his cock, his balls, his belly. And in moments he was thrusting into his fist, as he’d thrust into Marina last night. Just fucking her, fucking her, her body soft and yielding beneath him.
His climax came crashing down on him, pleasure like pure white heat, making him jerk hard into his hand, come shooting onto his stomach.
Marina …
Yeah, he didn’t know why he cared, why he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Why this God damn driving need couldn’t be sated by jacking off.
Why he wanted to just be with her, as much as he wanted to fuck her, wanted her to tie him up again.
Crazy.
He’d call her tonight, ask if she would see him. And he’d figure things out then, after he talked to her. He’d spend the day calming down, getting his head back on straight. Because this was crazy. He’d known the woman three weeks. And it shouldn’t matter if it had been three months. Three years. A man like him wasn’t built for relationships. He’d never been in that headspace. Not with his kind of job. Not with the kind of risks he took.
