"Ricco." She hissed his name. A demand. A plea.
He lifted his head to smile up at her. "You taste delicious."
She wanted to scream when he went back to his tying, leaving her on fire. There was no way to rub her thighs together, he was wedged between them as he worked. His hair brushed her inner thighs, the sensations keeping that tension inside of her winding tight until she thought she would go insane with desire. Then he was moving her, pushing her down to the floor, spreading her legs even farther apart.
He drew up her left leg and deftly wove rope from her shin to her upper thigh. He did the same with the right, forcing her knees up with her legs wide apart. He wound the rope around one of the bedposts and slipped it into the loop of the tie on her right and then did the same with the left. His eyes on hers, a small, very wicked smile on his face, he cinched the rope, and she gasped as it drew her left leg wider apart. He cinched the other rope and her right leg was pulled wider.
He stepped back to survey his work, his gaze burning on her wet, needy sex. All she could focus on was the bulge at the front of his trousers. She licked her lips. He stepped closer, right between her legs. Her head was tilted up, and if he had been naked she would be at a perfect angle to get what she wanted, and suddenly it was all that she wanted.
"What is it, farfallina mia?"
She hadn't realized she was making frantic little mews. "You." He just stood there, looking down at her, stretching her need out until she wanted to scream. "Your cock. In my mouth. Right. Now." The last was a demand, nothing less, because if he didn't give her what she wanted, she was going to lose her mind.
He reached for the last two buttons of his jeans, undid them and began to slide the material off his hips. He seemed to move in slow motion. Every cell in her body focused on him. His hands. His skin. The slow revelation of his beautiful cock. Full. Hard. Long and thick. All hers. All for her. He stepped away from her and she cried out, straining in the ropes toward him.
He shimmied out of the jeans, turned and placed them over the back of a chair and reached for the camera.
"Ricco." Now it was a plea. Her body needed. Craved. Was obsessed with having him. She had to be touched. Her skin burned for his touch. Her sex wept with need and there was no way to hide it from him with her legs drawn apart. She supposed she should have been ashamed, humiliated, that he could see her need of him, but instead, she wanted him to see his effect on her.
"You look so beautiful. Your throat." He trailed his hand down her throat. "Your breasts." The position of her arms had her breasts jutting out toward him, nipples, twin tight peaks, desperate for his attention. He massaged first one and then the other. In one motion, he suddenly shredded the delicate lace, leaving both breasts bare, framed by red lace and hemp.
He stepped back and took several pictures from several angles while she panted, her breath so ragged, her sheath on fire. Everything he did inflamed her body more.
He came closer again and leaned down, once again, his hand on her throat, feeling her heart beat into his hand while his wicked fingers and thumb tugged at her nipples. Then his mouth was there, hot and demanding. She was helpless, unable to move or touch him. She realized just why some women and men found the ropes so erotic. The sexual tension built beyond anything she could ever have conceived. His mouth on her breasts had her shuddering with desire. Her sex clenched and throbbed, burning in need.
He took several pictures of her. She couldn't see her breasts but she knew his marks were there. He knelt, his hand going low, sliding between her legs, finger moving the lace aside to brush over her clit, making her entire body ripple with pleasure. The pleasure was so intense it bordered on pain. His finger probed deep and her needy body clamped down instantly, trying to draw him deeper. Her muscles were tight and they held him inside her, where he could feel the fiery heat. His finger moved and she cried out, moving her hips, desperate for release.
He removed his finger, licked, then sucked, his eyes on hers. Another small cry escaped and he smiled and reached down, once again ripping lace. The action nearly sent her over the edge, her orgasm so close she reached for it with everything in her. He moved back, just out of her reach and she moaned with the loss.
"Beautiful," he murmured, and snapped several pictures.
"Ricco. Please." She couldn't manage anything else. She hadn't known a woman could be so aroused.
He set the camera carefully down and once again moved between her legs. His hand circled his cock, his thumb sliding over the head to smear the pearly drops all over. Her gaze was riveted there. Her tongue went out to moisten her lips. She couldn't move her head forward the scant inch to reach him. She could only watch as his fist did a slow slide up and down.
"Is this what you want?"
She tried to say yes, but it came out sounding like a sob. He smiled and stepped that inch closer, the head of his cock sliding over her lips. She opened her mouth but he just traced her lips, just enough that she had the hot masculine taste of him setting up the addiction. His hand slid into her hair, fisted there. When he pulled her head farther back, every rope on her body vibrated, sending shock waves through her.
She cried out as her body reacted, the nerves going wild. His cock slid into her mouth and she closed her lips around him, drawing him in, grateful she had something to concentrate on instead of the need raging through her like a firestorm. She'd read books, learned technique by practicing on a banana or cucumber. It had been a silly idea, but she was so glad she had. She used everything she'd learned, flicking her tongue. Dancing it. Fluttering it against the spot right beneath the crown that sent shudders through his body.
His hips began to move, a slow, gentle rhythm. She didn't understand how he could be so gentle when she felt wild and out of control. She suckled strongly while he did the work. She couldn't move her head so he set the speed. She should have been afraid, but when he slipped deeper, she welcomed him, trying for more.
She wanted to swallow him down. Take him deep into her. Surround him with the damp heat of her mouth the way the ropes surrounded her. Her eyes never left his face. She needed to see the desire there, the way his breath hitched. The shudders running through his body as she worked him. She was powerless in the ropes and yet at her most powerful. This man trembled before her.
"Farfallina mia." He began to withdraw slowly.
She clamped her lips tighter with a small cry of dissent. She could feel him swelling even more, growing thicker and hotter. Drops of his essence leaked into her mouth and she eagerly swallowed them down, taking his length deeper still.
"I'm not going to be able to stop and you'll have to swallow," he warned.
She suckled harder. Her tongue teased and danced, fluttered up and down his shaft as she worked him. His hips thrust deeper. The fist in her hair tightened on her scalp, setting the ropes in motion so they flicked her skin with tiny bites and flares of heat. She kept her eyes on his. The lust there. The love. The need in him matching the hunger in her.
Then he was erupting. Swearing. His head thrown back. His throat as vulnerable as hers. She could barely keep up with the rocketing stream jetting down her throat. It was perfection. But her sex clenched and wept and needed until she wanted to cry. Even taking him into her body, swallowing him down, bringing him practically to his knees, didn't ease the burning. If anything, it only made it worse.
He withdrew slowly from her mouth and she licked her lips, her gaze clinging to his, silently begging for more. For anything. For his touch. His kiss. His everything. He bent his head and brushed his lips across hers, his hand going to the back of her head, to the ropes. One handed, he released her hair so she could straighten her head. The action sent more vibrations singing against her sensitive skin.
She cried out and he caught at the rope around the post, releasing first one and then the other. He caught her up, her legs still spread wide, still in the crab position, her knees up and tied to her shins. That left her sex completely exposed and open to him. H
e set her on the bed, one hand went to her belly and he pushed her back. Her hands were under her shoulders, but she didn't care. All that mattered was his mouth on her.
He didn't wait. There was no pause. No warning. His tongue stabbed into her, fingers spreading her wide, and then he was devouring her. She fell over the edge, screaming, her body throwing her mind into chaos, into somewhere she'd never been. He didn't stop as her orgasm rushed over her like a freight train. His tongue was wild, licking, slashing, fluttering against her clit, following his fingers as he plunged two into her, pushing through tight folds to find her most sensitive spot. She exploded again, fragmenting, thrown deeper into a world of pure feeling, so deep she feared she might never return.
She was helpless under his onslaught, that wicked tongue and sinful fingers extracting more and more cream. The moment one orgasm stopped, the next began to build. Each one seemed stronger than the last. Then he was once again over top of her, his cock slamming deep without preamble. She was hot and slick and screaming as he drove into her because nothing had ever felt that good.
He took her hard and fast, driving into her, leveraging with his arms on the bed while his hips surged into her over and over. Streaks of fire raced through her body from toes to breasts and radiated to her arms and legs. Every hard thrust sent her body skittering on the mattress, pushing her deeper so that the ropes vibrated and sang, flicking at her skin, taking tiny, heated bites, so it felt like Ricco was touching, kissing and nipping at her everywhere.
The need coiled tighter and tighter. Built higher and higher. Her head thrashed from side to side. He had to stop--he could never stop. It was terrifying. Beautiful. Brutal. Perfect. His cock swelled, pushing at the tender tissue, triggering the gathering explosion. She came apart. Completely and utterly apart. So many pieces. So good. So bad. So everything. She heard her keening wail, the only sound that could possibly emerge when she'd fractured into a million pieces and all were floating somewhere in subspace.
She felt the hot jet of his release filling her, triggering another orgasm so her body rippled and the ropes vibrated and sang while he lay over her, fighting for air. He brushed kisses into her belly button and over the underside of her breasts. He lifted his head to look at her, his eyes still dark with the intensity of their wild joining. "I should have been a little more gentle."
Mariko's head was still spinning. Euphoria was difficult to come down from. "I didn't want gentle. I wanted perfection and I got it."
He kissed her and then stood up, looking very male and very satisfied. Instead of beginning to untie her, he caught up the camera again. She touched her tongue to her lip. "What are you doing?"
"If I can get my hands to stop shaking, I'm going to take a picture of you. Dio, you're beautiful. I'm getting hard just looking at you." He snapped several more pictures from various angles and then put the camera aside.
She didn't have to ask--he was already releasing ropes and he was fast at it. The moment he had her untied, he began massaging her arms to ensure her circulation was in no way impaired. He shredded the red lace, tossing it aside so he could massage the rope marks on her skin. "You'll wear these for a few days," he said.
"I hope they last a long time." She was truthful.
She couldn't keep her hands off him. She wanted to touch him everywhere and she did, stroking, caressing, kissing, biting, licking at him. Her fingernails moved over his back and down to his buttocks.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"We have until two o'clock and I'm making every single second count."
"I'm human, Mariko. Coming twice is . . ."
She pushed him to his back. "Then I get to play."
He laughed softly as she kissed his throat and down his chest to his nipples where her tongue flicked at him. "Play all you want." His hands covered her bare buttocks, fingers digging deep in a massage.
She kissed her way down to his cock, already semihard. Yeah. She was going to get her way.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Ricco detested that his woman had insisted she go along. He was proud of Mariko for her decision and knew she would never do less, but he was determined to find out where the kidnappers were holding Ryuu. His methods might not meet with her approval.
She was exhausted as well. Coming out of the ropes was usually a slow process, but they'd had wild sex several times. More than he'd ever thought possible, before both had fallen asleep. She had been draped over his body when he woke, her breasts against his ribs, her arm around his waist. He'd fallen asleep on his back and stayed that way, something very unusual for him, but he loved his woman lying over top of him. He'd slept soundly, again something very unusual.
Nao's condo was on the top floor. There were security cameras everywhere. Shadow riders were required to hear lies, disrupt electricity and be able to be pulled apart and put back together. Most could compel the truth as well. That was a specialty of Ricco's and he'd damn well get the truth out of Nao.
Stefano held up his hand at the entrance to the tube and indicated a camera pointed right at them. It wouldn't be able to capture their images, hidden inside the tube as they were, but the moment they stepped out, it would record them. He raised his hand, a gesture that wasn't strictly necessary, but one all of them made. It was a human gesture. The disruption really began in their brains and had nothing to do with hands. Stefano concentrated, and the dim lights flickered. The camera smoked and then abruptly went dead. He looked cautiously around, seeking any other devices that might be a problem before he stepped out into the hallway and beckoned to Ricco, Taviano and Mariko.
Taviano moved ahead of Stefano. He was extremely powerful at disrupting electrical equipment. He would ensure no cameras worked as they made their way through the condo to Nao's private quarters. The walls were decorated with expensive paintings, most depicting ancient tortures of men in various stages of undress with ropes done in intricate knots. Ricco recognized the ancient art of hojojutsu. He paused to look at the prints. Nao liked ancient weapons and ancient tortures.
A few very ancient prints and extremely rare books were kept under glass. Above them along the wall were weapons of every kind throughout the history of Japan. The collection was museum-worthy. Hundreds of weapons from every era. Ricco would have loved to have the time to study all of them, because there were three he was absolutely certain were ones he'd bid on and lost to an anonymous bidder. The first had been ten years earlier. The second, seven, and the last, five years ago. If he was correct about the items, then Nao had been keeping tabs on him for a long, long time.
He kept walking, following Stefano, but that strange nagging feeling in his gut only intensified. He noticed four empty spaces, as if the wall had been prepared for four more weapons, but Nao hadn't found them yet.
As they passed the door to the caretaker's room, Ricco hesitated. His gut was still talking to him, telling him something wasn't quite right. He stopped and motioned to the others that he wanted to check the room. He waited for Stefano's acknowledgment and then stepped into the larger shadow that slipped beneath the door.
The suite of rooms was spacious and very clean. The caretaker was a neat freak. Every single thing was put precisely in place, from the books on the shelves in alphabetical order to the coffee mugs with their handles turned the exact same way. Glasses were lined up in cupboards, plates slipped into slots so that they stuck out precisely a quarter of an inch. Everywhere he looked, the rooms were perfect.
He slipped into the bedroom. The bed wasn't made, the blankets flipped back, but no one was in it. One pillow was military straight, the other cocked at an angle. He glanced toward the bathroom. There was no light spilling out from under the door indicating the caretaker was in that room.
Ricco looked around, checking the kitchen area, what passed for a living room and the bedroom before he decided to look in the bathroom. There was no sound coming from the dark room. He turned the doorknob cautiously. It wasn't locked. He took his time opening it, slowly, inch by
inch. Waited for sound, for anything indicating the room was occupied. If anyone was in there, they were holding their breath, and doing it for a very long time.
He moved into the room with confidence, treading silently as he examined the main area where there was a wide sink and a large Jacuzzi tub. The toilet was in a separate section, wide, with a large towering cupboard behind it, rising all the way to the ceiling.
Puzzled, he looked around. Even if the caretaker had been given time off, research the investigators had discovered indicated that another caretaker always took his place. The man's name was Darin Salsberry and he'd worked for Nao five years, much longer than most of his caretakers had lasted. The substitutes came and went, most fired after two or three days with Nao. He apparently liked the way Darin took care of him, or Darin was just able to put up with the constant abuse Nao heaped on the heads of those working for him.
It didn't surprise Ricco in the least that Nao was a bully. He had been a bully when he was seventeen. His father had not only lied for him, but he'd shielded him from the consequences after murdering a family, crippling a child and causing the deaths of three other boys. More, Yamamoto had placed his son in a position of authority from early on in their overseas companies, removing him from possible retaliation from the Saito and Ito families.
The investigators said male prostitutes regularly visited the condo. Often, several returned, no doubt because Nao had millions to burn. He definitely had enough money to fund an elaborate attack on the Ferraro family. He could afford mercenaries, and most of the mercenaries, Eloisa and Henry had discovered, came from South Africa, and they weren't cheap.
So where was Darin? He wasn't in his condo. Had Nao called him? Was he with his client? That was the only explanation, yet for some reason, Ricco felt uneasy. He made his way twice around the apartment, but couldn't find what was setting off the reaction in his gut. He stood in the middle of the bedroom, breathing deeply, listening, certain something was wrong but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. There were several closets, and he ignored those.
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