“Amazing,” she said.
He smiled. “I’m glad you appreciate my work.”
The relief in his eyes spurred her courage. He cares what I think. “Will you do more?” she asked.
“Oh yes, baby. So much more.”
As he raised his arms, working above her, he caged one of her legs between his. She needed the support. She’d grown light-headed. Was it from her lung restriction or because she felt herself letting go? Who cared? His sensual but deliberate handling of her body reflected his surety. It was if they’d been together for years, not less than a day. Like I belong to him. Her female parts, already awakened, fired hard at the thought. Ava began to surrender to him.
Before she could settle into that submission, he yanked more rope through the corset she wore. Her breath caught.
“Breathe, Ava.”
She sucked more air between her lips and felt the tight crunch of ropes around her chest. Yes, the man had skills—and a focused attention on her that made every nerve in her body crave more of him and his hands.
“You’re good at this,” she said.
He sent his lust-filled gaze toward her. “Only because I have a beautiful subject to work with.”
A sharp pull from above made her look up. He’d looped four lengths to a large carabineer overhead. The suite boasted high ceilings that hid a network of cables and hooks. He must have lowered the rigging from inside the ceiling when she was in the bathroom. At what point had Bret become the only thing she saw?
Shel knew where Ava was. Ava had to call her in two hours. The fleeting thoughts interrupted her sensual fog. God, why did she call Shel? She didn’t like the idea of checking in, like a child calling her mother.
Bret’s hand caressed the side of her face and, like a crack of lightning, returned her focus to him.
“Ava,” he said softly. “Stay with me.” He drew her closer. She leaned more heavily into him and nestled her face nestled into his neck. She inhaled his male scent and her tongue reached out to lick his skin. She wanted to taste him.
He pulled back and cradled one side of her face once again. “Soon, baby.” He brought her hands down to touch the hard bulge in his pants. “I want you, too.”
If only he’d free her hands, she could pull that glorious erection from his pants and give him some relief. She wanted to do something for him—anything to make him feel as good as she did in that moment—like she was his precious treasure.
“What can I do for you?” she asked.
“You’re doing it.” He pressed a kiss into the crown of her head, and moved her bound hands against his chest. Damn him. She didn’t like losing the connection with his arousal.
As he looped more lines around her torso, binding the tops of her arms to her sides, she stared at his beautiful face absorbed in what he was doing to her body. His concentration made her focus on him more.
But then another pull sent her gaze down. An even larger, more intricate knot formed in the middle of her sternum, like a rose embellishment. So pretty. He connected the knot by another length of rope to the hanging eyehook.
As he kneed her legs farther apart, she grew even wetter. He paused and stared at her pussy. His eyes had glazed, and the fabric across his pants drew taut over his impressive hard on. She didn’t need to see his bare flesh to know she’d have trouble accommodating him. Her mouth watered. She couldn’t wait to try.
Bret went to work on her lower half, looping rope around one thigh to form an intricate shackle. She grew mesmerized by the pattern, the only thing that could tear her eyes from focusing on his crotch.
A slow pull and her leg lifted from the ground.
She giggled. “Flamingo.”
“Okay?” he asked.
“More.” She meant to say ‘more than okay’ but the one, simple word took all her effort. Besides, the word reflected what she wanted. More. More of Bret, more of his hands and what they could do. More of anything he wants.
Bret’s fingers grew more insistent with each wrap, and she felt herself sink further into the bite of the rope. His nostrils flared slightly when she grunted at a particularly harsh pull. His eyes darted to her face.
“Don’t stop.” She didn’t think she said the words out loud. She must have, because he smiled and returned to his work.
After giving her other thigh a similar manacle, she let herself lean back. With one slight push from Bret, she tipped backward fully until her body hung in the ropes in a semi-seated position. His eyesight rushed to her wet pussy, now spread wide and available.
“So beautiful.” He pressed his thumb to her clit and she startled. She felt a trickle down her inner thigh. He looked up at her, not hiding in his eyes the lascivious effect she had on him. His obvious hunger ratcheted up her own.
“You were unsure of this. Weren’t you, Ava?”
She nodded slightly.
“You aren’t now, are you? You’re starting to fly.” He ran his hands down her hair.
She let out a soft breathy moan.
“Thank you,” he said.
“For what?”
He leaned close so his breath ran over her cheek. “For trusting me enough to let go.”
Her eyes pricked. She did trust Bret. After watching him take such care with his rope bindings—with her—she’d let this man do anything he wanted.
“Does something hurt?” He slipped fingers underneath a rope near her hip.
“No.” The rough surfaces bit deliciously and scratched her skin as she swayed. She hung, both constricted and spread apart, immobilized but strangely freed. Being bound and unable to move removed her choices. She didn’t have to think or do anything. Bret was in charge of all her decisions.
She gasped when he grasped her butt cheeks and pulled her closer. Her wet crotch connected with his. Water meets stone.
Bret spun her in a 180 degree turn to face the ocean view. Yellow light danced off shallow peaks in the ocean.
“Your skin glows in this light.” Bret’s lips ran down her neck to her shoulder. She shuddered at his feather-light kisses.
“One more, baby.” He cradled her head with one hand while he ran a final length of rope from the small of her back, up through her labia and finally looped it through a knot near her belly. He grasped it, pulling her into him. Oh, God. The slither of rope stimulated her clit, roughly, mercilessly. She moaned from the not painful, yet not gentle, sensation.
He spun her once more so she could stare into his face overhead, his eyes on fire as he drew the rope back and forth. Her body seized frantically. Her hands grasped one of the suspension ropes to steady herself.
Then, he stopped and dropped between her legs. Warmth touched her clit. His face buried deep between her legs as his mouth soothed—and tormented her. Oh, God. He worked her over with his lips, tongue and gentle grazings of his teeth.
“Let me hear you, Ava. Let it out.”
She didn’t want to make the raw sounds bubbling up in her throat. But she couldn’t hold them back. She wouldn’t hold back if that’s what he wanted.
She gave into the feeling of his mouth and cried out.
Before she could climax, Bret let go of his hold on her hips and stood. “Ava, I should get you down. But the way your pink lips parted when I fingered your cunt, and then to taste you—”
“Please, Bret. Now. Please.”
Ava didn’t recognize the women who now inhabited her skin. With each wrap of the rope, she’d expected to panic. She hadn’t. Her control had slipped away as easily as an ocean tide, bit by bit until there was nothing left but a vast open space. Relief.
He stepped between her spread legs. She heard the sound of a zipper, loud, foreboding, and more than welcomed. She heard the snap of rubber. A condom? She didn’t have time to assess his movements or his intentions, because he’d sunk into her with one, long, slick glide of girth that stretched and filled ever millimeter of her insides. She was right about his size. She still wanted him deeper. She wanted him under her skin.
Her heart flipped at the ardent, searching look on his face. Now she understood what being wanted looked like. Bret’s face wore the definition of desire. Being the center of a man’s universe had nothing to do with how much she could please him. It had everything to do with how much he wanted to please her. Yet, she wanted to turn the tables—serve him. Give him everything.
~ ~ ~
Bret felt her struggle to take all of him. His cock and his brain warred with each other. Let her down. Fuck her to pieces. No, stop. Fuck.
He grasped for composure and self-control. He knew the ropes chafed and burned with each rock. He had to move gently or risk hurting her. As he grasped two ropes that kept Ava semi-upright, he checked on her well-being. Her eyes, so full of desire and gratitude, egged him on. But he couldn’t risk harming her. Ava’s first rope experience must be pure bliss, because he planned on doing this again with her. When? They had so little time before she caught a plane home.
After shedding his pants and shirt, he began to unwind her bonds. He wanted skin on skin the second he released her. Still, he had to force himself to slowly reverse his work. Her nude form teased him. Hell, taunted him.
First, he lowered one leg, then the other, holding her close as he released her bindings. But by the time she knelt on all fours so he could free her thighs from the thick hemp manacles, he’d lost the self-discipline battle.
He laid his hand on her back, checking her breathing. “Dizzy?” he asked.
She slowly shook her head side to side.
Good, because her position goaded him beyond control. She’d dropped her head to her forearms. Her ass tortured him with its availability. The marks on her skin and her submissive pose, surrounded by the rope spread out around her like tentacles, called to him like a siren.
He told himself to be patient. But then she murmured.
“Bret.” She’d said his name like a plea.
After checking the tautness of the thicker wound sections with his fingers, he sunk back into her body from behind. A length of rope bit into his knee as he glided in and out of her moist heat. Well, it was only fair he earned some burns, too. She’d be marked for days. He dug his fingers into her hips, hoping he’d left more.
He hadn’t wanted to mark a woman in years. He hadn’t dared given he demanded secrecy about his rope work and who he played with. Before today, he’d never wanted to brand a woman and then parade her before the world. Let the world see who she belonged to. Me. Mine.
Ava lifted her head, craning her neck toward him. Her dark hair hid her face. Her moans urged him to move faster. He obliged. He covered as much of her body with his own as he could. He pitched deeper and harder. She convulsed underneath him, and he couldn’t hold back any longer. His usual control was no match for her honest response to him. He let go and lost himself in her fire.
Pulling himself from lethargic bliss, Bret unwound the remaining loops from Ava’s thigh.
She lay on her side, panting and watching his movements. Her eyes remained glazed for a while, even after he carried her into his bedroom. After laying her on his bed, she shuddered. He cradled her body close until she stopped shivering. He fixated on her breathing as she fell asleep in his arms. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Ava, I want more of you. I haven’t wanted more from a woman in years,” he whispered.
She gave no response. He doubted she’d heard him. She’d fallen fast asleep.
He slipped free to retrieve her phone. Any minute and her friends might break down the door. Two hours with Ava had flown by. “Ava, love…call your friends. It’s been two hours.”
After Ava groggily told her friend she was okay, she dropped the phone onto his chest. He picked it up.
“Hello? She’s okay, just very tired.” He had no idea who he spoke to on the other end.
“I sense that.”
Ah, he recognized the woman’s voice as the friend he’d seen outside the restaurant earlier. “She’s okay. Shel, right?”
“Yes. I can tell she’s okay. But for the record, you do know I’m a personal injury attorney, right?” He could hear the smile in Shel’s voice.
“I do now.”
“Good. See you in the morning, Bret Wright. Bring Ava.” Shel killed the call.
He didn’t know Shel, but he already liked her. Her directness cut through the usual, diplomatic bullshit. Yes, Ava’s world felt good.
He pulled Ava closer to him. She felt good.
Bret lay awake for hours. Sleep eluded him. His mind fired on all cylinders. How could he convince Ava to stay with him on St. Thomas? She now had a taste of his secrets. He prayed she still believed he had “potential.” He had to convince her he was more than a prospect. Because he was not letting her leave in a few days, not without a fight.
Chapter Seven
Ava stretched out long in Bret’s massive bed. The sunlight streamed across the thin sheet covering her.
She bolted upright. Oh, my God, I had sex with Bret Wright. She glanced down at her wrists. And he tied me up. Uh, oh.
Even if gentlemanly, kind, holy-hell-so-panty-dropping-hot Bret was who he seemed, what she’d done with him was unwise. One word from him in the wrong ear and she’d never work in her field again. She didn’t have Bret’s money and the immunity from harm it purchased.
She glanced at Bret. He lay on his side, wide awake, a bemused look of consideration on his face. “You’re not always going to have that shocked expression when you wake up next to me, are you?” He laughed and fended off the corner of the sheet she flapped at him.
“Don’t make fun of me.”
“Come here.” He drew her down to his chest. “Having buyer’s remorse?”
“No. But I don’t usually do this kind of thing.”
“Buy a love slave?”
She lifted up her wrists, slight rope burns gracing her arms, in answer. “You won’t tell anyone about how I let you, well . . . I have to find a job, and I don’t know how open people would be to this kind of thing in Washington.”
He huffed. “Washington is full of this.” He circled her thin wrist with his fingers. “But don’t worry. My lips are sealed.” He pressed a kiss on her forehead in a mock stamp of secrecy.
“I learned long ago that sex lives made public—vanilla or other—lead to nothing good.” He eased himself up and leaned against the headboard.
“How did you learn to do rope stuff?” she asked.
“My brother is a master.”
She half sat up. “Derek is into this?”
“Deeply. Now you know our family secret. We’d expose ourselves if we talked about you.”
“Does the rest of your family know?”
“Derek and I are the only family we acknowledge.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Hey, you up for a little more adventure?” he asked. “The non-kinky kind?”
“Does it involve clothes?” She pulled the sheet around her tighter.
“For this, I’d insist on a bikini—and a mumu. I’m not keen on advertising that hot body to anyone who might be around.”
~ ~ ~
Ava, Shel, Marguerite and Jared, who Ava had to admit had “Island God” written all over his glorious self, shuffled out of the van Bret had commissioned.
Another Caribbean god met them in the tiny parking area of a private marina, opening the van door for Shel to step from the front seat. Ava decided the islands had their own secret gene pool. Everyone was gorgeous.
“This is a small area to go snorkeling with fewer tourists,” Bret said. “But don’t worry, we’ll see plenty in the water. Adam here is a genius at finding hidden treasures.” He jerked his chin to the man who’d met them.
One phone call was all it took for Bret to commission a group snorkeling excursion. Yes, his life was vastly different from anyone she’d ever met. Ava looked over the turquoise waters and white beach of a small, private cove. Did anyone ever say ‘no’ to Bret? Of course, saying yes brought her to places she’d never ima
gined, not to mention pleasures she’d never entertained.
On the drive to the beach, Shel did a valiant job of getting Marguerite’s attention away from the “patterns” on Ava’s legs and arms. Shel said she also got such marks from sitting in those “gawd awful” rattan chairs at the adult-only pool. Why didn’t Bret replace them? Bret took the cue and agreed, promising new chairs by the next day. Ava suspected Bret would do it, too, simply to keep the story intact.
Of course, by that point in the conversation, Marguerite was back to sucking face with Jared. The sight of them in a lip lock normally would make Ava retch. Instead, all she could think was how to convince Bret to string her up again tonight. She rubbed the indents on her legs and smiled over at him.
They teetered across the deep white sand to a group of umbrellas that Bret indicated had been set up for their group. The secluded beach hosted two other parties, hidden under temporary cabanas, their flaps snapping in the breeze.
For their group, five red and white striped umbrellas sheltered chairs, beach towels and a variety of snorkeling gear stacked in a corner. Two ice chests on elaborate iron-scrolled stands also sat under a small cabana, a variety of bottles peeking from a mountain of ice.
“You think of everything, don’t you?” Ava pecked Bret on the cheek.
“This is nothing baby.” He blushed. She liked having an effect on him, a complete reversal from her earlier encounters with the male species. Yes, Bret was right. Hold out for the “island relocation” offers.
“God, I love it here. Jared, when will the papers be done?” Shel stretched her back and plopped a huge floppy hat on her head.
“Rushing them for you, Miss Shel.” He flashed a big grin and pulled Marguerite closer. “That way Miss Marguerite will visit sooner.” They melted into one another in a big gushy kiss.
Wait, Ava had missed something big. “What’s going on?”
“I bought a house yesterday. Jared’s in real estate, like Marguerite.” Shel plopped herself into one of the chairs and started measuring her feet against the variety of flippers stacked nearby. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you, seeing how tied up you were with Bret yesterday.”
Undertow: A compilation of short beach stories Page 6
