Paradise: The Masters of The Order Novel Two

by Verne, Jillian

  Memories of the night they reunited filled her mind as she stepped over the threshold. They’d come so far since then. It wasn’t about total control anymore. It was a back and forth, a shifting tide, a balance that satisfied both of their natures, but still allowed them to reach places together they never would alone. Where they were going today was a place she knew Jacques wanted to take her, but wouldn’t until she showed him just how committed to their lifestyle she truly was.

  As soon as they entered the gallery, Nicolai stepped out of his office, locked eyes with her as if Jacques wasn’t in the room and grinned. No mistaking that kind of grin. Jacques’s cousin didn’t say a single word and the sexual tension in the room skyrocketed.

  “Exquisite Isabella,” Nicolai said in a low, smooth voice and kissed her hand.

  She swayed on her heels. Grace, elegance and incredible talent, all wrapped in the most unbelievably stunning package. Dios mío, could this man be any more sexy?

  “Come with me.”

  Ah, sí. Add that commanding aura and sexy becomes ¡Muy, muy, muy sexy!

  Nicolai led her by the hand to the stairs leading down to his studio. Jacques followed. When they reached the bottom, she fished around in her purse to find the ticket she’d stolen from Jacques’s desk drawer and handed it to Jacques. Her breath picked up as he read it.

  Auction Item Number One: A Portrait by Nicolai Stavros. Awarded to Jacques Meszaros. 750,000€.

  So did his.

  “My wedding gift to you,” she said with a mischievous wink and turned to face Nicolai.

  Nicolai held out his hand to take the ticket from Jacques. “You okay with this, cousin?” he asked.

  He’d told her he would. Nicolai needed Jacques’s consent before anything more could happen. Within the Order, protocol was king. No one was allowed to touch another man’s woman without permission. To do so would be an insult and punishable as a breach of their honor code. Jacques may want the Order to protect her, but code aside, she’d show anyone who harmed her husband what “punishable” really meant.

  Jacques took a firm grip on her shoulders from behind. She could feel the tension, and the arousal, as he began to truly grasp what was happening. “Only if you’re sure, Isabella?” he said very close to her ear.

  She leaned back into the warmth of the hard body behind her. “I’m sure, Jacques. I want Nicolai to expose the woman I’ve become because of you. The real me for all the world to see.”

  Jacques kissed her nape. “Thank you, Isabella. I adore your bravery.”

  Bravery? That didn’t seem to be the right word for an experience like this. She glanced at Nicolai and swallowed hard. Or maybe it was. No way this would be a nice sit-in-a-chair-tilt-your-head kind of photography session and she knew it. Nicolai’s work was high art and pure sex.

  Keeping one hand on her shoulder, Jacques tugged the zipper of her dress and began to draw it down her back. His fingers slipped the fabric off her shoulders, taking the lacy straps of her bra down with it. The dress fell to her feet. Her breath hitched as he gripped her forearms, holding them at her hips.

  “Step out,” Nicolai said.

  The reality of what was about to happen hit her and she couldn’t move. She breathed in through the nose, out through the mouth and again trying to muster her courage. She’d taken several leaps of faith since meeting Jacques and each time she’d found more of herself. She wanted to take this leap too, but her feet were frozen as if that white floor was solid ice.

  “Do you trust me, Isabella?” Nicolai asked as his earlier command hung in the air.

  "Yes, I do," she managed, but didn't move.

  Jacques gave her arms a little squeeze for support. Her hands clenched into tight fists as she stepped aside. Nicolai reached out to unsnap the clasp between her breasts and gently guided the cups of her bra away to expose her completely. He smiled again, silent and threatening as he put her bra into his pant pocket. The look in his eyes was so inviting, so seductive as his gaze trailed over her naked skin.

  Aye yi yi. Nicolai is really good at this.

  She glanced over her shoulder to gauge Jacques’s reaction.

  “You are my whole life, Isabella,” Jacques said with unmistakable pride in his voice, “and I trust my cousin with my life.”

  Jacques loved Nicolai, trusted him implicitly. She could too. She leaned back into Jacques’s chest and let her body loosen beneath Nicolai’s perusal.

  “I’m ready, Nicolai” she gasped in full surrender to the scene.

  “Thank you, Isabella,” he answered in a voice so gentle it was barely a whisper.

  “You belong to him now, Paradis.” Jacques said next to her earlobe as his hands dropped away and he stepped back. “Take her, Nico. She is yours.”

  Jesucristo. Forget being an artist, Nicolai was a Master of the Order, her Dom, and she, his submissive. She almost ran, but thoughts of retreat were in vain. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t tear her eyes from the pools of cerulean blue that seemed to be hypnotizing her. Nicolai’s eyes were otherworldly, the color of them unreal. Deep. Captivating. Unfathomable. Like the sea. And those ocean eyes were splashing over her body like water against a piece of sculpture.

  Then a devilish sparkle lit Nicolai’s face, making him look younger but no less intimidating as he spoke to Jacques. “I’m going to suspend her in a beautiful tie. Your angel bound in red.”

  His voice was smooth, utterly confident as he asked her, “Have you ever been tied, Isabella?”

  She couldn’t answer, only flick her eyes to the large metal ring that hung from the ceiling and the long red ropes laid out beneath it. Nicolai hadn’t said exactly what would happen during their time together in his studio, only that if she gave him her trust, he would take good care of her.

  “I asked a question, Isabella.” Nicolai’s words, although matter-of-fact, held an undeniable, quiet authority that somehow encouraged her trust.

  “No, Nicolai. I’ve never been tied.”

  “I would like you to call me ‘sir’ while you’re with me,” he responded.

  She really wanted to look at Jacques, but she was too intimidated to turn away from Nicolai.

  “Yes, sir.” Addressing Nicolai like that made her acutely aware that he was not Jacques and a new sense of nervous anticipation swept through her.

  Nicolai stroked his fingers lightly over her cheek and his lips curled, threatening a smile. “You’re afraid, Isabella.”

  The expression told her that he enjoyed her fear and that made her more afraid, but there was something else in those clear blue eyes.

  “There’s a sexual goddess in you, Isabella, lurking just beneath this gorgeous exterior. Do me the honor of introducing me to her. It is her I want to photograph.”

  Do me the honor. Nicolai was honored that she would pose for him? Shouldn’t it be the other way around? After all, he was the world-renowned artist.

  A tingle of excitement hopped up her spine. Nicolai Stavros, the Nicolai Stavros, was going to photograph her, Isabella Rey Meszaros, an oncology nurse from a humble Spanish family. She wasn’t an aristocrat or a celebrity or a model, but he was going to transform her visage into a work of art.

  Nicolai didn’t move or speak, only stared and held out his hand waiting for her to accept his invitation. She understood that if she took it, she was allowing him to take her wherever his imagination wanted her to go. She’d seen his work. She knew that this man’s imagination topped anything hers could conjure. Her heartbeat picked up as she felt her mind hit a limit.

  Jacques’s voice reached out to her. “There is no sin in being who you are, Isabella. Let Nico show the world how beautiful you truly are.”

  Yes, Jacques is right.

  She wanted the world to see what a masterful artist like Nicolai Stavros could create with a woman like her. A sudden, overwhelming desire to give Nicolai anything he wanted came over her. She put her hand into his.

  Nicolai smiled and it was almost humble. “Thank you
again, Isabella.”

  As she fell into his care, part of her thought that she shouldn’t want something like this, but she did. She wanted this life with Jacques, this life within the Order, and there was a promise in those crystal eyes. Nicolai was going to reach into her soul and expose the woman hidden inside, but he wouldn’t harm her. He wouldn’t make her into something she was not.

  “If at any time you become overwhelmed, just tell me to stop and it ends.”

  With no expectation of a reply, he unsnapped her garter and slipped his fingers under the band of her stocking, guiding the silk down her leg. He crouched and tapped one foot with a finger, telling her to lift it, then the other, and slipped off each shoe and stocking. His eyes ran over her body as he stood and stepped away.

  Nicolai turned off the overhead lights in the studio, leaving only the photographer’s spots on, and began to move the umbrellas to adjust the lighting. She struggled to stand straight and still while the light changed around her, growing brighter, then softer. She watched his eyes roam over her hair, her skin, the curves of her body until he seemed satisfied with the way the light fell on her. Then he removed his shirt and shoes.

  Madre de Dios. Nicolai was gorgeous enough dressed. Undressed, he was…delicioso. Life within the Order was delicioso.

  She held her breath as he sailed across the white floor holding a pair of satin stilettos. Opulent red with a touch of white lace at the toe and a thin ankle strap.

  “A gift.” Nicolai’s eyes followed the single elegant finger trailing over the lace, then met hers as he stroked her cheek. “A small indulgence beneath your gown to evince the bride’s passion. Perhaps.”

  “Son perfectos,” she whispered, touched by the intimate insight in the gift. An impeccable blend of sexy and elegant, the shoes captured her essence as Jacques’s lover and his bride. They would perfect her wedding ensemble. “Muchas gracias, Nico.”

  Nicolai didn’t correct the informal address, only flashed his eyes with a quick nod, the barest hint of gratitude that she would wear his gift on her special day. Then he knelt on the floor and guided each shoe over her toes. She felt herself rise, the curve of her arches mirroring the curve of her back as she balanced her body on the sophisticated shoes.

  “Keep your feet together and rest your hands on me,” he said as satisfied eyes ran from her heels to her neck.

  Nicolai Stavros and his artist stare gave new meaning to the word “intense.” So focused, so reverent as he lost himself to his work. And so unbelievably stunning as he knelt half-naked at her feet.

  Nicolai pressed his open hands on the front of her thighs and flexed his fingers as if he was touching a woman for the very first time. She watched his face, mesmerized by the awe in his eyes. His mouth was so close. She could feel his warm breath on her belly. His hands moved across her hips, over her bottom and back around her legs, which were parted just enough to let them run along the inside.

  Her confidence faltered when he focused on the contours of her least favorite body part. Why do Doms always have to go there? The familiar clench of vulnerability and its accompanying ache answered the question.

  As those firm hands continued to explore her, she had the impression that Nicolai was molding her, as if her body was a piece of clay and he was working the skin and the muscle to create the shape. With both hands gripping her thigh, he leaned his forehead into her stomach and kissed her navel.

  “Would that these mortal hands could create such perfection.”

  Okay, maybe my thighs aren't that bad.

  Nicolai’s hands came to rest on her waist and he tenderly brought her to her knees. She stared into the depth of his eyes, heard his deep masculine chuckle when her eyes wandered through the chestnut waves of his hair, across sweeping grace of his broad shoulders to the hard lines of his torso. His lower body was covered, but his arousal was perfectly clear.

  She sighed. This man is a work of art.

  He picked up a strand of rope and began to brush it lazily over her shoulders, down her arms, across her breasts. The rope was soft, but thick and heavy. Its weight skimming over her body made her skin tingle. He coiled the long length loosely around her several times, then pulled it away with a slow, velvety stroke.

  “Close your eyes. Let yourself float away with me,” he whispered, the sound of his voice like the velvet caress of the rope.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Nicolai snaked the rope between her thighs and she gasped when he pushed it up tight against her sex. He rocked his hand, forcing the thick length through her folds and driving a delicious desire deep into her body. The rope became warm and moist. Before the stimulation swept her into the magic zone, he stopped, leaving her with a familiar, vicious emptiness.

  Does every Dom share the same bag of dirty tricks? How do they know the precise moment before satisfaction finds a woman?

  She’d never been able to sneak an orgasm with Jacques, but God damn it, Nicolai hardly even knew her.

  One hand on the shoulder guided her to lie across the floor; pressure from the other tilted her onto her belly. With both hands, Nicolai gently lifted her head, turned it to the opposite side of the room, and fanned out her hair. Then he put a hand over her bottom, pressing her mound against the cool floor. The sensation only enhanced the empty ache, making her thigh muscles tense and her vagina clench…ah, sí, nothing but air.

  She could see Jacques sitting at the edge of the pool of light surrounding her. His smoldering eyes blazed with barely leashed excitement, vaguely reminiscent of what she’d seen in them before, but never quite like this. She could feel his admiration and imagined how she must look to him in this moment.

  Hot. You look hot.

  Jacques cleared his throat to cover his laugh. He’d read her thoughts and he agreed.

  Nicolai bent her knee and began to run his fingers around her ankle, her foot, right over the shoe. Then he wrapped a rope over the same trail his hands had followed. She went liquid and let him manipulate her body. The touch of his fingers, then the touch of the rope, curling around her torso, her arms, above and below her knees. He was precise, arranging the bind to exactly mirror the path of his hands, making her feel the patience and care in each detail as he tied her.

  The unspoken message was clear to the caregiver she was. Everything Nicolai did said, I care about you. You are beautiful and precious to me.

  Okay, Jacques loves Nicolai and now, I do too.

  Breathing as deeply as she could in the tight bind, she gave herself over completely, allowing Nicolai free reign over her body and the art he was creating with it. He worked slowly, weaving the rope into an intricate pattern that centered on her. His passion for what he was doing to her sang through his hands. They didn’t touch to arouse, but to be the focus of his artistry was arousing.

  Deliriously arousing.

  But it wasn’t only Nicolai who thrilled her. It was Jacques and the flames dancing in those liquid fire eyes. Everything was about Jacques. For Jacques. Always for her husband. She kept her eyes locked with his while Nicolai wrapped her in the red rope.

  Nicolai stood with the ends of ropes in his hand. He pulled and she felt her leg lift, then her arms. Her torso still rested on the floor.

  “Breathe, Isabella. Allow yourself to fall into the embrace of the tie.”

  When he pulled again, she was lifted from the floor. Her muscles tensed, resisting the pressure. It hurt as the ropes constricted tighter with her full weight. The floor moved away as she was carried higher.

  She tried to calm herself as the harness shifted her position, pulling on her limbs and drawing the tie tighter around her waist. Nicolai adjusted the ropes through the ring, varying the lengths to form the pose he wanted to see. Her thighs opened. Her arms stretched behind her. Her knees bent at the knee. The bow of her body sent her breasts jutting downward. Her head fell.

  As her body settled into the suspension, Nicolai’s fingertips brushed along the delicate skin of her inner thigh. Back and forth. Ba
ck and forth. She knew he could see everything with her legs open so wide, but instead of feeling shy, she felt beautiful. The silken caress of his artist’s hands said he adored the sight of her, positioned as he wanted and suspended at his mercy. The pressure of the harness was met with a different pressure, deep inside, that pulsed in time with her rapidly beating heart.

  After a moment, Nicolai moved next to her and brushed her hair up from her nape so it cascaded over the top of her head to hang down. “You have radiant hair, like fire. Burn for me, Isabella.”

  A small push sent her into a slow spin over the floor as he moved away. She shifted slightly and the ropes ground into her bare skin. She yelped with their renewed bite and then something puzzling happened. The tension melted away and a warm, buttery feeling came over her. She felt her entire body loosen and grow warmer as if something was heating her from the inside. The torment of a moment before transformed into a smoldering seduction that thickened the molten pool between her parted thighs and morphed the ache in her dangling breasts into a titillation that burned hotter than the rope against her skin.

  Nicolai adjusted the lighting in the studio again and she watched her red hair swirl above the white floor. The subtle changes in the contrast created the illusion of fire against snow. Burn for me, Isabella, Nicolai’s words sang through her mind as she floated through the air into a dreamlike state. Flames began to flick over every bend and twist of her body until she was nothing but liquid need burning in the sublime captivity of the erotic suspension.

  Nicolai stilled the motion of her body with one hand under her belly; the other lifted her chin until she met his eyes. “Feel the heat, Isabella. Let it penetrate you.”

  He began to touch her, so very gently. Skilled, graceful hands ran over bare skin and pressed against rope, blurring the line between torment and tenderness. He cupped one breast, enhancing the ache with light pressure. She closed her eyes, savoring the alternating sensations of hands and rope against skin as she swung with the gentle rhythm of Nicolai’s caress. The pain of the harness transformed into complete, utter, toe-curling pleasure.