by Eden Bradley
Oh yes.
He cleared his throat. “Safe words. Do you have anything in particular? I want it to be something you will remember to use. And you must promise that you will use them if you feel any need—if you are thirsty, if your bonds are too tight, if the pain is more than you can take, if you are panicking. Yes?”
She nodded. “Yes. Of course. I use the standard ‘yellow’ to slow down or check in and ‘red’ to stop the scene.” She licked her lovely lips. “But Roan…I sort of can’t believe I’m saying this to someone I just met, but…if I’m going to do this, if I’m going to play again, I may need to be taken beyond my pain limit. I may need to challenge some of those emotional triggers. Can you do that with me?”
His whole body went soft—everything but the hard-on raging between his thighs. Too perfect, and in a way he thought he’d never encountered before.
Perfect for me.
Don’t go there.
“Yes,” he said so quietly it was almost a whisper. “I can do that with you. For you.”
She was watching his face, searching it, her blue eyes so wide and sweet, yet with that stubborn streak in there somewhere. She was a complicated creature. But then, so was he. And she was damn beautiful.
When she licked her lips once more, it was too much for him. He slipped his hand behind her neck, the skin there warm and soft, and pulled her in hard, crushing her mouth with his.
She tasted as good as she looked. Like sugar and woman and desire.
He opened her lips with his, his tongue meeting hers. A small sigh from her was all the encouragement he needed—he wrapped her slim body in the cradle of his arm and yanked her in close, needing to feel every inch of her against him. She was kissing him back, hard and hungrily. Lust raced through his veins, tension building, coiling inside him, threatening to break loose. And if he didn’t stop he was going to strip her bare and fuck her right on this couch.
Too soon.
Control!
He pulled back, loosening his grip on her hip, on her neck. She was breathing hard, blinking, eyes heavy-lidded and full of longing.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he demanded.
“Is that an order?”
“Yes.”
“I’m thinking that it’s been too Goddamn long since I was kissed properly. Too long since I’ve been played. And maybe…” She paused to take her bottom lip between her teeth, making him want to groan. “…maybe the island—or Vardalos—does know what I need. Because this situation made me realize pretty quickly that I need some good, cathartic play. But Roan, I don’t know if… God, I hate to have to say this, but I might cry. And I hate to cry. Especially in front of anyone.”
Worry creased her forehead. He wanted to smooth it away and take her to that place she so obviously needed to go. See her through it and be there for her on the other side.
He caressed her cheek, marveling at his attraction to this woman. At the fiercely protective instincts she brought out in him—had from the moment he’d seen her. “I can handle a few tears. I’ll even enjoy it, if that helps. And Miranda, I somehow forgot to mention that aftercare is one of my limits. I won’t play with you if you refuse that.”
“I’ll need it. I always have. And not just a blanket and something to drink or eat. I need contact.”
Oh, yes. Perfect.
“Then we are on the same page.”
Miranda pulled in a long, slow breath. She couldn’t figure out how much of her hammering heart was nerves and how much was relief—it was all a jumbled mess inside her head. No, that wasn’t entirely true. Because she knew in mind and body the need she felt. For release. For catharsis. For him. She simply had no idea how she was going to feel about it once it was over. But it was time to stop running. She’d been doing just that for too damn long. And now she was being presented with the perfect situation to help her overcome her past and move forward: a stunning stranger who had been vetted by Vardalos. Whoever her mysterious employer was, whatever he was, everything that happened on Eden went the way it was supposed to. It was well known that the resort had never had a single complaint. She could trust this—Vardalos, the island, Roan—as much as she could trust anything.
And Jesus, Roan… He was so intense and gorgeous and commanding, yet she felt pain deep within him at the same time—the pain that gave them a common ground beyond the kink. It made her feel as if he truly could understand her and that was a sort of safety net in itself.
“Miranda.”
Pulled out of her musing, she looked up and found his glittering green gaze locked on hers, making her tremble. God, she was attracted to this man.
“Yes?”
He put a hand out, lifted his chin a fraction of an inch when she didn’t respond and she knew to put her hand in his.
“We begin now. For the last time, tell me you want this. That you feel ready. Safe.”
“Yes. All of it.”
Certainty flooded her, along with the heated rush of blood through her limbs, her breasts, her sex. She squeezed her thighs together.
This man was going to touch her. To kiss her. To play her.
Oh yes.
“Then come with me now,” he said, rising to his feet.
Her mind was emptying out, the world fading away as he led her across the room. He stopped in front of an enormous bondage frame made of sleekly black-painted metal.
“Roan. I feel…at a loss. It’s been so long. Five years. Suddenly it feels like a very long time. Like a century.”
He smoothed a hand over the back of her neck and her entire body wanted to sway, to bow into his palm.
“Don’t worry. You don’t have to do anything. You don’t have to decide anything. I will do everything in my power to intuit what you need, to ask you to tell me if I have any doubt. But I usually know. I’m not being cocky. I’m being truthful. Because my objective here is to meet my need by meeting yours. There’s a sort of simple yet exquisite synchronicity in my handling it all. That’s the beauty here. Well, aside from you.” He leaned in and brushed his lips over her hair, murmured, “Have I told you how beautiful you are, Miranda? If not, it was a terrible oversight on my part. Because I think you are exquisite, and it makes me want to do everything for you. And to you. You don’t need to say anything, to think of a response. You don’t need to think of anything. Simply do as I say and focus on what you feel. Can you do that for me, beautiful girl?”
She nodded, swallowing hard past the lump of emotion and desire clogging her throat. Trying to swallow down the flashing images of Daryn. Being with him at the club in Paris that was his favorite. Everything a little too damn French for her tastes, but she’d been so eager to please him it hadn’t mattered. And now this man was saying this was for her. “Yes, Roan.”
This was really happening. Now. Her legs began to shake again.
“Excellent. I want you to stand very still for me. I’m going to undress you.”
There wasn’t even a moment’s pause before he moved behind her and quickly lowered the zipper on her dress. He smoothed the straps from her shoulders, letting the material slide down her body. And every moment seemed to move in slow motion, with her aware of every single small sound and sensation—the slip and fall of the fabric, the air playing over her skin, the rhythm of her own breathing. Of his. And God, the heat of his hands on her body. His grip was firm on her calves as he helped her step out of the dress, leaving her in nothing but her high black heels, her black lace bra and bikini panties.
He slipped his fingertips over her shoulders, then his hand flattened on her stomach and desire trembled through her, pooling inside her, making her panties wet.. When was the last time a man had touched her like this?
She tensed when he slid down her bra strap, some small part of her still fighting what she knew she needed. Wanted.
His mouth was right next to her ear, his big body closing in behind her, making her feel oddly trapped and ridiculously turned on all at the same time. “Roan…”
“It’s okay, my beauty,” he told her, his English accent stronger than ever. “I expected a little panic from you. A little fight, which I rather like. And I am willing to go through that with you.” He came around to stand in front of her, tipping her chin until her gaze met his. “To a point.”
“This is weird. That’s all,” she protested, knowing those weren’t quite the right words for what she was feeling. But she didn’t know what else to say. She was shivering all over.
“Is it? Is it strange that we don’t know each other well? Because this isn’t pick-up play. It’s not as if we met at a club and decided to scene together. It was decided for us. I think I’m beginning to understand why. It seems you are, as well. But this isn’t going to work unless you can give yourself over to it. To me. You know how this works, Miranda.”
“I do know. But suddenly this is all getting very real. And that means…it means I have to face stuff. Stuff I’ve been running away from for years.”
He caressed her cheek, her jaw, his gaze following his fingertips, and she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “What are you running from?” he asked, and she had some sense that he was asking the same of himself.
“From the world.”
He nodded. “Aren’t we all? All of us who know what it is to have lost someone?”
“Yes. But it’s more than that for me. We—my husband and I—we traveled all over the world together—literally. We hit every continent. This is the only place…” She had to stop, to pull in a gasping breath. “This was the only place I could go to escape those constant reminders of him. And I can’t believe I’m telling you this. That I said it out loud.”
His hands settled on her shoulders, their weight reassuring. She wanted to just collapse into those strong hands, but she couldn’t allow herself to do it.
“That’s because this is working. It doesn’t matter why, but we both know there are many reasons. Many layers. But you have to let it go, Miranda. Your body. Your emotions. I will handle it, whatever the fallout of our play may be. This is my job. One I take quite seriously. One I want to do with you. I promise you.”
“Because you’re attracted to me?” It didn’t seem like enough. Not to turn herself over the way he was asking her to.
“That doesn’t even begin to cover the burning ache I have for you already. And yes, that’s part of it. Of course it is. But as I said, we both know there’s something more here. Is that what you need to know? Because I don’t like admitting it. Even to myself. But I can’t possibly deny it. Can you?”
She blinked back a tear that threatened to fall. She wouldn’t allow it. Couldn’t. She wasn’t ready to fall apart in front of him. She nodded. “Okay. Okay.”
“Is it? Shall we go on? Or do you need to stop?”
“No. Don’t stop.” She pulled in a long breath. She could do this.
She was afraid if he didn’t push her limits now she would never be brave enough to go through with it—to face the demons that had chased her to the island, that had lurked over her shoulders since Daryn’s death.
He watched her carefully for several long moments, then he moved in and briefly pressed his mouth to hers, making her soften all over. His lips were warm. Like velvet. She wanted more. And some small part of her mind understood that he’d done this with purpose, to help her shift gears. Roan Abrams was perhaps the one man who could do that for her—to get her mind to go still with one touch. With one small kiss.
This was crazy.
Maybe she needed a little crazy for once.
She looked into his dark green eyes once more and licked her lips.
“Oh, that’s a dangerous move,” he said. Then he leaned in and kissed her again, just that small press of his lips against hers. Then again, and again, each kiss growing in intensity, lingering longer. Until, moment by moment, the tension between them built. Until her body strained to touch him, to find his cock beneath his sophisticated trousers and stroke him, although she didn’t dare. Her nipples were so hard they hurt. Her sex swelled with such aching desire she could hardly stand it. And all he’d done was kiss her!
He pulled back with a small groan, leaving her panting. Shivering.
She flexed her hands. “Roan.”
“Shh. Quiet now.” His words were firm, in control. Exactly what she needed.
He pressed down on her shoulder with one hand, while with the other he wiped his mouth. Oh, it was beautiful to see the stark hunger on his face. To know he was as shaken by the kiss as she was. But in moments he’d composed himself, schooled his features, all Dom again, which she loved.
Oh yes. This was exactly what she needed.
Roan.
“Alright, beautiful girl. Clasp your hands behind your back.” When she paused, taken by surprise, he said very firmly, “Do it.”
Chapter Three
Fear was a quick pulse-beat in her system even as her body responded to his command, as if by muscle memory.
“I can hear how you’re panting, Miranda. It’s a beautiful thing to see, especially as you are now, with your breasts rising and falling so quickly.”
He stroked one finger over the swell of her right breast and her nipples stiffened as he traced one of the tips.
Yes. Touch me.
Need and panic warred within her. She shook her head.
“The time to resist is over. Right now.”
His hand went around behind her neck and he propelled her forward so fast she nearly lost her footing. But his hold on her was firm, keeping her falling.
Safe.
She didn’t have time to think about anything else as he grabbed one wrist from behind her back, quickly fastening it into a soft leather cuff that hung from the bondage frame by a length of chain. He clipped a carabiner to it and attached it to the chain so that her arm was out to the side and raised slightly over her head. He did the same to the other wrist, so that she was bound, but loosely, with a bit of play in the chains. And with each moment she sank further into subspace, everything going a little fuzzy except for the desire surging through her system and the certainty of his command.
Yes. Safe.
He began to move around her, running his hands over her skin. Lightly at first, then pressing more firmly over her stomach, her sides, her back. Then her collarbones—a small point of pressure there that was just enough to hurt a little. She sighed into the pain, her body remembering instantly how to convert it to pleasure.
He dug his fingertips into her flesh here and there, finding the pressure points on the inside of her arms, her outer thighs. Then he stood in front of her, placing one finger between her breasts, on the delicate skin covering her sternum.
“Miranda, look at me.” His words were a soothing command she couldn’t resist.
She found his gaze intent on her, focused so hard it was almost a physical sensation. His eyes gleamed in the dim light. Beautiful. Intense.
“This is going to hurt,” he told her before pressing the point of his finger into that one spot.
She gasped, but he let the pressure go an instant later.
“Inhale,” he told her.
She did as he instructed, her body madly converting the small spot of pain to dizzying desire that echoed through her in sharp little shards.
“Exhale slowly.”
As she breathed out he pressed once more, harder this time. But his steady gaze held hers, keeping her focused.
“Again,” he demanded.
This time he moved his fingertip up several inches, finding another point. The pressure this time was hard, the pain carrying a keen edge.
“Exhale,” he ordered, and she blew the pain out even as he pressed harder.
She leaned into him the tiniest bit, her body craving more. More sensation. More of him.
“Good girl.”
Those words, his approval, moved through her like a vibration between her thighs. She was absolutely soaked. She leaned in a little more.
“No, Miranda. I am in control. As pleas
ed as I am to see your response, never forget that. Tell me you understand.”
She groaned softly. “Yes. I understand.”
“Tell me again. Use my name. I want to hear it. I want to hear you say my name with your desire on your lips. It’s there, isn’t it, beautiful girl? If I put my hand between your lovely thighs I’d find you wet and ready, wouldn’t I?”
“Yes, Roan. Please, Roan.”
He chuckled, and warmth seeped into her muscles knowing he was pleased with her.
“Tell me, Miranda.”
“I…forget. What?”
He pinched the inside of her thigh hard and she yelped.
“You will remember all that I tell you,” he said, his tone rougher than she’d heard it. “Now think.”
“It’s hard,” she panted, “when you’re hurting me like that.”
“Yes, it is, isn’t it? Do it anyway.”
“You really are a sadist,” she muttered, realizing in some distant way that she was totally out of her head already.
He laughed. “You’re just now realizing this? I’ll have to try harder.”
“Oh…”
“Remember, Miranda,” he said, pinching her once more.
“Roan…” She fought to get her brain to work past the pain and the keen edge of pleasure building along with it. “You are in control, Roan,” she panted.
“Very good.”
The pressure eased as he pulled away and stroked a hand up her back, his smooth palm a delicious sensation on her skin. She remembered the power of that kind of contrasting sensation—the sharp, edgy pain followed by a simple stroking caress—that allowed her brain to release those lovely feel-good chemicals more quickly, more efficiently. That allowed her to take higher levels of pain, to enjoy it. To lose her ability to struggle against what was happening to her. She started to close her eyes.
“No. Look at me.”
He took her chin in his free hand, forcing her gaze to his. She loved how he manhandled her, taking her body under command. Her pussy was thrumming with need, her breasts just as needy, every inch of her skin craving his touch. Soft or hurting—it didn’t matter. She licked her lips.
