“Of course. Sir.”
He raised an eyebrow, then lightly slapped her left nipple with the end of the rope. The sting shot a sharp burst of need straight to her clit. “Don’t be cheeky, harem girl,” he admonished her. “Your pleasure pleases me, but I will withhold it if I have to.”
“I apologize, sir.” Stopping this delightful interlude was the last thing she wanted to happen.
“After you’re properly and safely suspended, I’d stand in front of you, fill that gorgeous pussy of yours, then give you a gentle push.”
He gripped her hips, pushing her away then bringing her back to him. “You’d fuck me by the motion of your swings,” he told her. “The same as if we used a sex chair.”
Nadia licked her lips, desire so thick in her system she found it difficult to form words. “Which . . . which manner will you introduce your poor harem girl to, sir?”
The grin he gave her fueled her desire into a blaze. “Both.”
“B-both?”
“Yes. I drew a wild card the other night, which inspired me to create this weekend for you, and to introduce you to Kinbaku. That’s a Japanese form of binding.”
“Kinbaku,” she repeated, trying out the word. Kaname’s Kinbaku.
“Your nipples just got harder,” he said, his voice low and husky. “I think someone really likes the idea of being tied up in my ropes.”
“Yes,” she tried to say, but the word wouldn’t escape the want thickening in her throat. She swallowed, moistened her lips, tried again. “Yes . . . sir.”
“Right answer.” He trailed the end of the rope down her rib cage, over her belly. Goose bumps broke out over her skin, her breath coming in short gasps as he stroked the end of the rope over her navel. “When I first started exploring human sexuality, I began with my mother’s native country and quickly became fascinated with the binding art. Kinbaku can be a show, an art exhibit, a punishment, a power exchange. It depends on the intent between the rigger and the living canvas. For many, it’s all about the art, the grace and beauty of the human canvas combined with the artful placement of the rope. For others it’s about dominance and submission, or the meditative effect of being bundled up and the grace of surrendering. And some people use it as a prelude to sex.”
His gaze pinned her in place as he slid the braided cord over her swollen clit. “It will be all of that for us, and more. Spread your legs.”
With her heart suddenly doing a tap dance in her chest, she did as he ordered. He reached up, his movements almost formal as he removed the heavy coin collar from her neck. Next he removed the matching earrings, then the bracelets and finally the belt. He stripped her in silence, and as he did so he stripped away everything that had held her back—every bit of uncertainty, worry, and past specters. Everything fell away, everything else was unnecessary except for this moment, her, him, and the rope.
The first coil of rope he wound just above the rise of her breasts, then added another. As she’d thought, the cording was supple yet lightly rough, a weird balance that dug into her skin and made it easy for him to knot. As he coiled and knotted the rope above and below her breasts he kept up a low monologue, telling her how beautiful she was, how wonderful the rope looked on her skin, how much pleasure he got from seeing her in his ropes.
He wove the ropes into a diamond pattern on her skin, but she could feel a knot strategically placed against her anus with another knotted just above her throbbing clit. Rope parted her labia, holding her open. Each tightening of the knots sent waves of sensation through her body that were at once soothing and sexually stimulating. She fell under his spell, succumbing to the joy of pleasing him, the security of being tied, the comfort and relief of giving herself over to him and his care. In that moment, that perfect place of bliss, she felt as if she truly belonged to him. Nothing and no one could tear them apart when they had these ties to hold on to. The more he worked, the more pliant she became, surrendering as she did, the only sounds their combined breathing and the slide of the rope over her flesh.
He then guided her hands behind her back and used another length of rope to bind her at the bend of her elbows then again at her wrists, secure but not tight enough to hurt. A sense of helplessness swept over her, a sharp moment when she had to decide to fight or surrender, decide whether being bound like this was too much or exactly what she needed.
Kane stepped back in front of her and she could see the question in his eyes. That he knew her so well, knew the indecision swirling inside her, made the decision easy. She smiled and nodded, letting her acceptance show in her eyes. “I feel beautiful.”
“You are beautiful.” He cupped her cheek for just a moment, a smile of approval bowing his lips. Warmth spread through her and she sank beneath it, sank into experiencing the weight of the ropes, the soft but scratchy pressure across her skin, losing focus as Kane’s hands and the ropes became her entire world.
Her eyes slid closed as she slipped under, into a place in her head she’d thought only a pill could deliver her to. This was better, so much more everything, because Kane had control.
She didn’t know how long the binding took or even how he did them as he added more ropes to her waist and legs, molding and shaping her body as he saw fit. But she came partially back to herself when he gripped her shoulders, the rope, tilting her horizontal then lifting her off the ground. A length of rope led from a knot between her shoulder blades up to a large hook on the upper bar and as she watched Kane added more ties until she was suspended entirely along her right side, her left leg stretched toward the floor, her right leg bent and suspended. Then he stepped back, leaving her alone.
For a moment her heart hammered in her throat, the fear of falling overriding everything else. Then she breathed deep, realizing the ropes held her, supported her. Her eyes slid closed as she surrendered, relaxing completely, her head lolling, hair falling into her face. She felt secure in her immobilization, cradled and comforted even though her position and the placement of her bonds left her completely open and vulnerable.
She had no idea how long she’d hung there, moments, minutes, mental hours. Suddenly the silence became too much. She opened her eyes but couldn’t see anything with her hair falling into her face, obscuring her vision, the darkness of the room burned the color of fire by the fading sunset and low candlelight.
Yet as much as she enjoyed the ropes, it was the process of being bound by him, of going under because of him, of being connected to him that she truly craved. Suspended there, blinded by her hair, deaf to everything but the pounding of her heart, she couldn’t feel him, couldn’t sense him in the silence. A feeling of abandonment flared to life inside her, burning away the contentment. He wouldn’t leave her. Not like this. He wouldn’t. She trusted him.
Panic boiled up her throat, threatening a scream. Just as her muscles tensed with the urge to escape, he touched her. The curve of his hand on her cheek, brushing her hair back from her eyes, made her sob in relief. She went limp again, sagging in her bonds, craving his touch, his nearness, his heat. Craving everything he could give her.
“Do you remember your words, Nadia?” he asked, moving so that she could see him. He’d removed his clothes and stood before her beautifully, heartbreakingly, gloriously naked, his cock so hard and ready it pointed up like a beacon.
She blinked back to full awareness. Staring up into the depths of his eyes, she felt as if he saw straight through her, through the old pain and fear and bullshit to the vulnerable soul beneath. “Yes . . . sir.”
“Do you need to say them?”
His touch soothed her fragile nerves. “No, sir. Having you touch me makes it better.”
He used both hands to touch her, his fingers stroking over every inch of exposed skin, teasing her, cupping her, filling her. Each touch brought him back to her, her to him, reconnecting until his presence filled her senses. She sighed as contentment returned again.
>
“Do you like this, Nadia?” he asked after another long silence, his nimble fingers plucking on her already-hardened nipples. “Do you like being bound like this, suspended like this?”
“Love it,” she answered after a long moment, her words slurred. Desire stirred, rising through her blood like a leviathan from the deep, sweeping away her trancelike state.
“Perhaps I’ll tie you in something every day, so that while you’re working and baking and chatting with your friends you’ll feel my ropes and think of me.”
A low moan of pure lust pushed out of her. A spicy little secret that no one would know about heated her blood and liquefied her core. “Think about you all the time already, sir.”
“I’m glad.” Positioning her so that she could still see him, he stepped between her outstretched thighs, her raised leg resting high on his waist. He ran his hands over each cord, tracing a path down to her thighs until his thumb rested against the knot at her clit. A jolt of want shot through her. “Whose is this?”
“Y-yours.”
His free hand stroked over his penis, pushing the hood back, revealing the engorged head already shiny with a bead of pre-come. “And this?”
“Mine,” she answered, surprising them both with the growl in her voice, the possessiveness. “That’s mine.”
“Yours.” With his gaze never leaving hers, he curled his left hand into the ropes around her waist, using them for leverage as he entered her, a slow, measured progression that she felt every moment of. “Mine.”
When he bottomed out he held still, hot and hard inside her, filling her completely. A possessive light blazed in his eyes as he stared at her, then at the spot where they joined. “Ours.”
Emotion welled inside her, threatening to choke her. “Kaname.”
“You need to let go, Nadia,” he ordered, his soft voice at odds with his hard body as he pulled out of her. “Let go, and trust that I’ll catch you.”
She stopped breathing as he filled her again in one long, slow, toe-curling glide. He threw back his head, the tendons of his neck standing out, his body rigid as her slick sheath welcomed him anew. “God, Nadia,” he groaned. “Good, so damn good.”
He began to move, long, slow strokes all the way out then all the way back in. She couldn’t hold him, couldn’t reach for him, could only accept the pleasure he gave her. Accept him she did, keeping her gaze locked to his, her inner muscles clamping down on him, her clit bumped by the knot and the root of his cock each time he buried himself deep.
Desire ignited an inferno inside her as she danced between being restrained and being unchained, between holding on and letting go. The ropes around her torso abraded her skin in a sweet pleasure-torture-pain-bliss that sent tingles shooting throughout her body. She surrendered to it, surrendered to Kane, to his mastery and his skill and his care, knowing that he’d catch her when she fell.
Her orgasm ambushed her a heartbeat later. She came with a keening cry, caught up in a white-hot ecstasy that rocketed her up and out into a sea of transcendental delight. As if her orgasm had given him permission he quickened his pace, the deep strokes coming faster and faster as her body hung suspended for him and his sensual onslaught. His hand settled on her mound, stroking and squeezing her clit, drawing her pleasure out stroke by sinful stroke. She tried to hold back, tried to delay her second climax, but she was too open, too needy, too ready for him.
The orgasm struck like a lightning bolt, hot and powerful and blinding. This time she screamed, body rigid, pleasure short-circuiting her senses. Kane grabbed her ropes with both hands as he went wild, growling as he drove into her, taking her with an intensity that was almost brutal. He came with a shout, clutching her close as he flooded her womb.
Warmth enveloped her. She opened her eyes to find herself in Kane’s arms in the shower, the ropes gone. The diamond pattern marking her skin was the only reminder that she’d been bound. “Did I pass out?”
He kissed her as he helped her stand. “You went deep, sweetheart. Almost too deep.”
“You gave me permission to let go. I knew you’d be there to catch me.”
“I always will,” he promised. “Always.”
In that perfect moment, she believed him.
FIFTEEN
The dance beat that signaled Audie’s ringtone jerked Nadia out of a sound sleep. She fumbled for the phone on the nightstand, conscious of Kane’s warm bulk behind her. “Hello?”
“Nadia.”
“Audie? What time is it?”
“I don’t know.” Audie’s muffled voice wavered, thinned out. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called you.”
“Wait.” Nadia sat up, rubbing away sleep. “You sound weird. What’s wrong? Did something bad happen?”
“Yeah.” Audie choked back a sob. “I messed up, Nadia. I messed up so bad. Can you come?”
“Of course I can.” Audie had been acting strange for the last couple of days, but refused to talk to Nadia about whatever was bothering her despite Nadia’s repeated attempts to get her to talk. In the short time that she’d known the younger woman, Nadia had never seen Audie cry, though she knew the redhead had plenty of reason to. She knew Audie’s gleeful fuck-em-all attitude—literally and figuratively—was a weapon in the arsenal she used to keep people at bay, to protect the scared little girl she kept hidden away. For that armor, so ingrained, to crack now meant that something truly horrible had happened.
Nadia slid out of bed as Kane stirred. “Are you at home?”
“Yeah,” Audie said. “My neighbor called the police. I don’t want to talk to them without you here.”
Police? Dread gripped her as she searched for her clothes, only to remember that she’d been in harem girl mode all weekend, which meant no clothes. She juggled the phone as she found and opened her overnight bag, pulling out a sweater and a pair of jeans. What the hell had happened at Audie’s that the police needed to be called? “Audie, I’m on the way. But if the police get there before I do, you have to let them in, okay? You don’t want them to break the door down or anything dangerous.”
“Okay.” Another sob. “Don’t call Sugar or Vanessa. Please.”
God. “All right, Audie. I won’t call them. I’ll be there in a few minutes. I promise.”
She disconnected, tossing the phone on the bed before hopping into the jeans, followed by her bra and the sweater. She turned to find Kane out of bed, already getting dressed. “It’s Audie. Something’s happened.”
“So I gathered.” He pulled his jeans on, carefully tucking himself in. “Do you know what’s going on?”
“No, but it must be bad. Audie never asks for help. And she never cries.” She grabbed her phone, headed for the hall. “I have to go.”
“Of course. I’m going with you.”
She turned to face him. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.” He nudged her hip to propel her back into motion. “I’m going anyway.”
“It might not be a good idea,” she argued, heading for the door. She didn’t think Audie would appreciate her bringing Kane along, and, if she was being completely honest, she wasn’t sure she wanted Kane to see the messier aspects of her life and her friends’ lives. Though Audie was a part of their recovery group, Nadia and the others all knew Audie hadn’t hit her rock bottom yet. If this moment was it, it was going to be messy, ugly, and extremely painful.
She wrenched open the coat closet door and pulled out her coat, then shoved her feet into her ballet flats. “Audie sounds like she’s in a bad way, Kane. She said her neighbor called the police.”
“Then we’d better hurry.” He slipped his own jacket on, then pulled out his keys.
Why was he being so insistent about this? “Kane, seriously—”
“No arguments, Nadia,” he said as he ushered her out the door and into the hall. “What the hell kind of man would I be
if I let my woman go out at two in the morning and drive alone and upset to wherever her friend lives?”
She blinked at him. Oh my God, did he just say my woman? Her brain couldn’t begin to process the implications of his use of those words, not when she needed to get to Audie. Something had happened, something bad, and she needed to be there. “Okay.”
Out of sorts, she allowed Kane to guide her out to the parking garage. Kane was right, she wouldn’t have been worth crap driving through town to Audie’s apartment complex on the southeastern side of the city. She gave Kane Audie’s address, watching as he plugged it into the car’s GPS. His calm, assured demeanor wrapped around her, dampening her panic for Audie. She focused on the fact that Audie was alive and had been well enough to call her. That she’d called for help—and her neighbor had called the police—worried Nadia more than she’d cared to admit to Kane.
He saw her worry anyway. Wordlessly, he reached over, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. She returned the squeeze, suddenly grateful that he’d chosen to accompany her. She could have Audie’s back, knowing that Kane would have hers.
Flashing lights and curious neighbors led the way to Audie’s second-floor apartment in a complex filled with singles and college students. Nadia waited until Kane killed the engine before leaping out of the car and running up the stairs. She pushed through the onlookers and into Audie’s busted door, before pushing her way inside, then jerked to a stop.
It wasn’t as bad as she’d feared.
It was worse.
“Audie!”
Audie sat in the only unbroken chair at her kitchen table. Her bottom lip was busted, her left eye swollen shut, the turquoise beaded top she wore ripped and stained with blood. “Oh, Audie.”
“Should see the other guy,” Audie mumbled. She managed to open her left eye, then groaned. “You brought the professor with you? Great, like I needed more witnesses to my stupidity.”
Nadia blinked back hot tears spurred by the sudden fury burning through her. She knelt beside Audie, mindful of the paramedic working on her. “Who the hell did this to you?”
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