by BETH KERY
“It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize. What you say is true. I wish it wasn’t, but it is too often.”
A tense silence settled. He continued to stroke her cheek gently with his thumb. They just stared into each other’s eyes as a bedside clock ticked gently, so many unsaid words, so many anxieties, so much longing seeming to swirl around them. That ache in her chest swelled.
His thumb moved, now drying a single fallen tear off her cheek. The conflict inside her grew untenable: her sadness for some of the harsh realities of life clashing with her overpowering desire for him.
“I feel guilty,” she said in a shaky burst of honesty.
“Why?”
“For wanting you to make love to me the way you do, for wanting you to restrain me and take me so hard that I can’ t think of anything else. I must be sick—” She broke off when he lunged toward her, and suddenly she was crushed against his chest, his arms around her. Her face clenched when she absorbed his familiar scent. His hand delved into her hair, cupping her skull. She shuddered with emotion.
“If you’re sick, what am I for wanting to do it to you?” he mumbled gruffly against her forehead. He pressed his lips against her skin, and she sensed his urgency. “It’s not the same, though, Harper. Is it?”
“No,” she replied emphatically, hating the doubt that tinged his tone. “You never hurt me, you only make me feel . . . so much. I don’t want to be ashamed of it. I don’t want men like Clint Jefferies or . . . anyone who’s cruel and heartless and evil to make me ashamed of it. You’re not those things. You take what you want in bed, but you’re not selfish. I don’t know how you do that. You’re just . . . you.”
He rolled her back against the pillow and came over her, his face hovering above hers. He pressed close, and she could feel that he wore a pair of thin cotton pajama bottoms. His heat emanated into her skin. His groin pressed against her outer thigh. He was growing hard. His features looked shadowed. She was very confused at that moment, and yet she wondered if she’d ever seen him so clearly.
“And you’re you. Harper McFadden,” he mouthed the two words, barely making a sound but saying the two words emphatically, nevertheless. She held her breath at something she sensed in him, some unfurling power. “Do you know why I like to bind you and have you at my mercy?”
“Because you’re a sexual dominant?”
“Maybe. Partly.” He leaned down until their lips were less than an inch apart. “But mostly because of Harper McFadden.”
“What?” she asked, confused.
“Mostly because that’s my fantasy,” he continued, his voice low but brimming with fierce emotion. He shifted his hips and pressed his cock tighter against her. “To have you. To keep you. To know that at least for a short period of time, no one and nothing will take you from me. To know for a fact that you’re one hundred percent mine . . . no matter what. Are you mine right now, Harper?”
Her lips parted in aroused disbelief at his stark adamancy. She’d thought that his revelation about Regina and Clint Jefferies, and Jacob’s and her subsequent admissions of their conflict about their sexual preferences, would dampen their ardor. If anything, it seemed to have amplified their need. She was confused by his intensity, but what he’d just confessed had struck her like a whiplash of honesty, cutting straight through everything else.
“Yes. Completely yours, Jacob.”
He swept down on her, taking her mouth in unapologetic hunger. The heat that swept through her was familiar, but stronger now, more dangerous than ever before. He abruptly ended their kiss and shifted his weight, straddling her. He straightened his back. Her pulse leapt at her throat when she saw his grim, determined expression. Holding her gaze, he reached for the hem of her nightgown. He drew it up over her belly and above her breasts. He examined what he’d revealed. Her skin prickled beneath his heavy stare. Lifting his pelvis off her slightly, he cradled her hip in his large hand. His thumb reached down to the top of her mons. He rubbed her skin, but he stroked something deep inside her, making her vibrate subtly with mounting emotion. “Mine,” he declared thickly, and she felt the storm building in him. He was about to rattle her world. He already was.
“All mine,” he repeated as if to himself before he grabbed her wrists and drew her arms above her head. He pressed her hands into the pillows.
She panted softly, looking up at his large, shadowed form. Whatever she experienced at that moment, it was complex, sharp . . . overwhelming. He brushed his fingertips softly against her sides, making her breath hitch and her nipples draw tight.
“I want to tie you up right now. We’re the only two who have to decide. Ours is the only opinion that counts, and it only counts for us. Is it sick, Harper?”
“I don’t think so,” she whispered shakily.
“But you’re not sure? You’re willing to take the risk of being wrong?”
She hesitated. “For you, yes. As long as you’re here. With me.”
“I promise.”
Her face pinched tight as emotion shuddered through her. She felt that sense of déjà vu again, the one that made no sense to her, given what was happening in the present. She’d never experienced anything remotely like what she was feeling with Jacob, there in that moment, so why did she have a feeling of familiarity? As if he sensed her anguish, he cupped her jaw, his thumb feathering the corner of her mouth—her scar. This time, she didn’t flinch away.
He stood after a lung-burning moment. “I’ll be right back.”
He walked toward his private office, and she knew what he was going to get: ropes. It stunned her. She would never have guessed in a million years she would willingly allow this, of all things. And yet . . . she longed for it. Ropes would declare she was his for the taking . . .
Undeniable, flagrant evidence of their bond.
• • •
His hand closed around several bundles of rope.
Why did he feel so compelled to do this after he’d exposed part of his past, and they’d acknowledged their mutual uncertainty about their sexual preferences? Maybe it was because he despised anything that kept him from Harper: even doubt.
Nevertheless, that’s what he saw on her face when he closed his office door and walked back toward where she lay on the bed, bundles of black rope in one hand, a towel and a pair of blunt-ended, EMT shears ideal for rope cutting in close quarters in the other. He sat on the edge of the bed, seeing the whites of her eyes as she looked at the shears.
“I need to cut the rope at times, and I want to do it safely,” he explained. “Besides, I’ll always have the shears on hand. If you start to have any pain or numbness from being in the restraint, or if you start to feel uncomfortable and want to stop, just say so. I’ll immediately get you out, if not from the planned releases I’ll put in the rope, then by using these. I’m pretty good at knowing where and how hard to bind to maintain good blood flow, but everybody is different. I refuse to have you marked or hurting in any way, but I need your input to make that happen. You have to speak up. Say you understand.”
“I understand.”
He nodded and set the shears on the bedside table. He saw her look down anxiously at the neat bundles of rope resting on his thigh.
“The rope ties me to you as much as it does you to me. Do you understand, Harper?”
She glanced up, her mouth falling open. She nodded. His reassurance had worked, and that gratified him. He, of all people, knew what a challenge this would be for her.
He reached and turned on a bedside lamp.
“I want to see you better. I’ve fantasized about this. If you knew how much, you’d probably be shocked. Forget the probably,” he added harshly under his breath.
With the soft glow of the lamp, he could more easily read her expression, but it revealed other things to him, as well. The soft glow of her flawless skin, the telltale pink flush of her cheeks and lips, the
hardness of her nipples. His cock tugged at him. He ran his hand over her chest, glorying in the firm swells and tight, rigid nipples. The ache in him swelled.
He slipped the silk nightgown over her head and tossed it aside.
“I’m going to turn up the air-conditioning,” he said, standing and setting the coils of rope on the table.
“Why?”
“I know it may feel chilly now. But I’m going to put quite a bit of rope on you. Things will get hot. Fast.”
He saw her throat convulse as he turned away. He thought he saw arousal in her large eyes, and prayed he was right in that assumption. When he returned he saw that her head was turned, and she was gazing at the rope. He sat down at the edge of the bed and picked up a bundle.
“Touch it,” he said.
Her gaze rose to his face skittishly before she reached. Her fingertips slid over the tightly twisted silk. Arousal stabbed through him. He lowered the bunch of rope, sliding it across her abdomen. She watched. He had the distinct impression she was holding her breath. The vision of the black rope against her pale, taut belly sent another jab of arousal through him. It was every bit as erotic as he’d imagined.
“I’m going to tell you what I’m going to do before we start, and you can tell me if you have any problem with any of it, either now, while I’m binding you, or at any time after,” he said gruffly, watching himself stroke her with the rope, knowing her gaze was on the same thing. “I’m going to have you bend your knees toward your chest and spread your thighs. I’m going to bind your shins to your thighs. I’ll be careful of your joints. The ropes won’t mark you, but there might be some compression spots left on your skin: nothing permanent, just the kind of thing from a pillow after sleeping hard on it. It’ll fade quickly once you’re free. I’ve seen how flexible you are. It should work well, but I want you to tell me at any time if you feel uncomfortable. Understood?”
“Yes,” she whispered. He slid the rope over her rib cage, and her abdomen muscles leapt. She stared at the black coils as if mesmerized.
“Harper?”
She blinked and looked at his face.
“After I’ve bound your shins to your thighs, I’m going to bind your wrists just above your knees. Your hands will be free, though. You’ll be able to exert some force on your legs. If I tell you to roll your hips back further, I’ll expect you to do it unless you’re uncomfortable. You’ll be completely open to me. I want you to know that.” He saw that she was panting softly. Was she aroused, listening to him explain what was about to happen? “I want you to hear this next part. Are you listening?”
“Yes.”
“As soon as you’re bound, I’m going to fuck you. Hard. And I’m going to do it for my pleasure, not for yours.”
She exhaled softly in a burst of surprise.
“I know you’ll think that’s selfish. But it’s just a fact. I’ve fantasized about this. It’s going to be very arousing for me. What are you thinking?”
“I wasn’t expecting you to say that. But . . . all right.”
“You’re sure?”
She nodded.
“After that, I’m going to make sure that you like the ropes, Harper. I’m going to make you come while you’re restrained, several times. But I just wanted to be fair, and tell you what will definitely happen first.”
Her lips parted. A pink flush had risen in her cheeks.
“I understand,” she said softly.
“Okay,” he said, standing. He quickly unfastened the twist on one bundle, and a short black length of the silk rope slithered free. “I’m going to bind your wrists temporarily while I do your legs. From this point on, you’re going to be mine.”
She licked her full lower lip in an anxious gesture.
“Put your hands like this.” He showed her what he wanted, demonstrating by putting his wrists together, palms inward and facing each other. She took the position quickly, informing him that while she might be nervous, she was excited, too. He quickly did a triple column tie, binding her wrists together. To increase her arousal—not to mention his own—while he restrained her, he placed her so that her upper arms plumped her pretty breasts, her lower arms lay on her belly, and her fingers were just inches away from her spread sex. After he’d finished with the temporary hand restraint, the anticipation in him had drawn tight, making even breathing difficult for a second. He touched one of her calves.
“Bend your knees. Spread your thighs.”
He pushed her knees toward her chest when she followed his instructions.
He began his task soberly, his cock growing heavier and achier with each pass of the rope. By the time he’d finished binding her legs, a sheen of sweat had broken out on his upper lip and abdomen. He always loved the process of roping a woman firmly and artistically, finding it an explicit slow build.
But there was nothing slow about tying Harper up, though. It was hot, spiking torture from the get-go.
6
make me
FEEL
twenty-six
Harper had feared the idea of a rope restraint, worried she’d find the experience degrading and scary. But of course Jacob challenged her fears with his low, seductive voice and patient description of what he’d do. Then the process began, and she found the anticipation almost unbearable.
When he’d told her he planned to fuck her hard once she was restrained, forbidden arousal had shot through her. She’d also noticed the towel he brought, and thought she knew what it signified. He planned to come on her again. It excited her beyond belief, the idea of being the helpless target of his lust, the prospect of watching him lose himself to pleasure.
Besides, it took only a minute of watching him methodically binding her legs to make her realize she was witnessing a sexual art. He maneuvered the rope with deft expertise, applying constant surface tension with his hands. His tightening of knots somehow never burned or chafed her skin. He bound her very firmly, but there was never discomfort. She experienced only a slow, delicious surrender as more and more of the black silk rope covered her skin.
Finally, he stood next to the bed and looked down at her, his expression tight and unreadable. But his eyes seemed to burn her as they completed a tour of her naked, bound body.
He’d looped rope from her ankles all the way up her lower leg, each pass also capturing her upper leg, so that her calves were held very snugly against the back of her thighs. Only her knees and feet were free of rope. He’d wound the rope around her forearms and wrists, as well. With the aid of his expert knot tying, her hands had been restrained to rope just above her knees. She was spread wide. Her dark red pubic hair and pale stomach stood in stark contrast to the black of the rope. Jacob could see more than her. Much more. As he stared between her thighs right now, he looked directly at her open, aroused sex.
She couldn’t help but see the beauty of his work. The black rope against the canvas of her pale skin struck her like some kind of Japanese sex art: clean, sleek . . . and oh, so utilitarian.
“Do you want to struggle, Harper?” he asked, his heavy-lidded gaze traveling the length of her body to her face.
The question took her by surprise. She felt strangely secure in the restraint. There was a surprising amount of rope on her. She found the weight of it somehow comforting. Maybe because it was clear there was no escape. Not that she wanted to escape, but . . .
“No,” she said. “Do you want me to?”
“No. It’s different for everyone. Some like to struggle. It arouses. I’m glad you don’t want to. This time. You’re ready to submit from the get-go, aren’t you?” he asked thickly.
He reached between her thighs and dipped his forefinger into her slit. She gasped as he penetrated her. “You like to be tied up, period. Don’t you? You’re so damn wet,” he grated out. He bent, lowering over her bound form, and slid his finger out of her vagina. He pushed the ridge of i
t between her labia, rubbing her in a bull’s-eye fashion. Her feet twitched upward in the air at the exciting sensation. She saw his heavy erection flick upward behind the thin, insubstantial fabric of his pajama bottoms. He grunted and reached beneath the low waistband, whisking the length of his cock out of the garment. She moaned. His cock was swollen and flushed, the surface tension of it seemingly as taut as the ropes he’d put on her body. For a tense, thrilling moment, he jacked himself firmly from root to tip, twisting his hand slightly just below the fat, delineated head with each pass. All the while, he stimulated her clit. She stared at him, lust-drunk. She felt so much in those moments, and was helpless to do anything but allow it . . . to drown in it.
He straightened after a moment, his mouth shaping into a snarl. He cupped his firm, round testicles on the last pass of his hand, squeezing them tautly, the stalk of his cock rising high in the air. Heat flashed through her. He’d been right to turn up the air-conditioning. He withdrew his finger from between her lubricated labia, and she suppressed a whimper.
“I’m going to have you now.”
Her breath hitched at his grim proclamation. He shoved the pajama bottoms the rest of the way down his long, powerful legs. He stood next to the bed. She watched anxiously as his flagrant erection bounced slightly in the air when he stood. He reached for the bedside table drawer. A moment later, he rolled a condom onto his protruding cock.
He was going to fuck her without mercy now.
She thought she’d die from the sharpness of her anxious excitement. He reached into the bedside drawer and withdrew a length of black fabric. He stepped toward her.
“I’m going to blindfold you for this first part.” Maybe he noticed her flash of disappointment. She’d been anticipating watching him lose control while he took pleasure in her body. “I told you, this part is just for me. Selfishness has its place, Harper,” he added more softly. Her gaze flicked to his face. What he’d said was so strange. He knew she despised selfishness in men. So why was it that his deliberate, planned selfishness sent a shiver of forbidden excitement through her?
