“Oh. Yes.” Closing his eyes, he continued to massage her neck. He needed to get focused and stop thinking about how he wanted to pound that asshole ex of hers bloody. “We’ll get to those. As soon as you’re done with your dessert.”
“I’m done now.”
Chapter Twelve
Chaili stared at her reflection in the mirror over the couch.
She’d expected him to take her to his bedroom but he hadn’t.
They were in the living room. Or she guessed he called it his living room, although the massive sprawl of the room put her piddly little living room to shame. The couch was a long, liquid spread of gleaming leather and she was standing in front of it, her back to Marc as he bound her.
Thanks to the mirror in front of her, she was able to watch the entire thing, too.
He didn’t use rope or cuffs.
Bondage tape was a new experience. It had more give than the leather restraints she was used to, but considering the time Marc was taking as he bound her arms behind her back, crossed with her forearms pressed together, she didn’t know if it mattered that there was a little bit of give in the tape.
When he finished with her arms, he dropped the tape down onto the couch and stood there, his hands on her hips, staring at their reflection in the mirror. “You’re beautiful,” he said gruffly.
Chaili swallowed.
He reached around, tugging at the tie that held her skirt up. It fell away, leaving her naked before him. Then he trailed his fingers up, tracing around the edges of her tattoo, along the delicates lines of the butterfly, stroking the scars. Her lids drifted low, shielding her eyes.
“Look at me. I want to see you, watching me as I watch you…you’re so damned amazing,” he whispered. Abruptly, he stopped. “I want a picture of you. Is that off limits?”
Chaili blinked. “Ah… a picture?”
“Yes. You. With me.”
She looked down at her scarred chest and then back up, into his intense golden eyes. Unsteadily, she said, “Okay.”
He was gone before she could say another word and she squeezed her eyes closed, refusing to think about it. Pictures…shit. She wasn’t going to let herself get self-conscious. She’d think about the way the tape felt…the way it felt as he stared at her. And what he might be planning. Her breath caught in her chest, as she eyed the tape. Was he done?
He’d said something about hog tying…
“Change your mind?”
She looked up and saw him in the doorway, holding a camera. A tripod.
“Nuh…no,” she stammered. She didn’t think, at least. “I mean, it’s just for you.”
Something flashed in his eyes and the smile that curved his lips was almost wild. “Damn straight. Just for me.” He set the camera up, angling it a little. He glanced up at her, had her shift around a little. Then he moved to stand behind her, bringing one arm around her. “I should have thought of this before I tied you,” he said gruffly. “I’ll do more…but for now…”
He spread his hand open over the tattoo. There was something oddly possessive, protective, gentle about the way he touched her. Chaili closed her eyes, lowered her head, struggling to catch her breath.
She heard a low, electronic whine and opened her eyes, saw something in Marc’s hand. A remote, she realized. He had a remote for the camera. Jerking her head up, she stared at him in shock and he took another. “Look at me,” he said.
She did and he covered her mouth with his, a soft, gentle kiss.
Another picture.
Then the gentleness fell away and the hand he’d splayed over the tattoo lifted, cupping her cheek as he thrust his tongue inside her mouth, deep. Hard. Over and over. It was a deep, brutal possession and she wasn’t even aware of the camera taking picture after picture.
He undid her. Stripped her bare. Shaking and gasping for breath by the time he lifted his head, Chaili swayed, caught off balance. His hands at her hips steadied her. “Stay there,” he rasped.
Like I can do anything else, she thought, dazed. Licking her lips, she tried to will some strength into her shaking legs, but it wasn’t happening.
In the mirror, she caught sight of herself and her breath hitched once more in her throat.
Her face was flushed.
Her eyes glowed.
With her arms bound behind her, the flat plane of her chest seemed almost vulnerable…and the tattoo, the marks of her scars almost surreal. For the first time, she realized they weren’t quite as disfiguring as she’d always thought. No. It wasn’t what she would have wanted, but as much as she’d been telling herself she’d accepted herself, she hadn’t fully managed it.
Yet.
But maybe she was getting closer.
Marc nudged her over a little and she blinked, feeling more than a little off balance, although it had nothing to do with what was going on in the physical world. Everything to do with what was happening inside her head.
Licking her lips, she looked down at the couch. She hadn’t quite processed what she was seeing before Marc nudged her back into place. “Bend over,” he whispered in her ear.
Oh. Hell.
Chaili bent over the round black leather ottoman he’d moved onto the couch, biting her lip as she waited for it to shift under her weight. It didn’t. He nudged her up higher and then, with his eyes intent on hers, he reached down, caught her lower leg, bringing it higher.
“Okay?” he asked softly as he brought her ankle almost flush with her thigh.
Chaili groaned.
“Is that a yes or a no?”
“Yes…” He was going to tie her. Like this. Pressing her face against the leather, she closed her eyes, sucked in a desperate breath. There was a bit of pull in her muscles, but not much. She was active, flexible as hell, a fact Marc obviously seemed to appreciate.
A fact he was appreciating slowly.
Shuddering, she fisted her hands, the one part of her she could easily move, and sank her nails into her palms, while the need and hunger sank its claws into her belly.
Finally, he finished. He’d hogtied her, but modified it—her ankles were bound to her thighs and her hands were bound behind her back, forearm to forearm. The position left her unable to move, and she felt completely exposed.
“I told you I wanted to see you bound,” he teased, pushing her hair back and peering into her eyes. “Can you move much?”
She tried, squirming around; she could move her hands. That was about it. Lying as she was, it wasn’t even that easy to move her head. She felt completely helpless. It was erotic as hell. Frustrating as hell.
Giving him the power…the trust to do this.
The real twist was that she trusted him a hell of a lot more than she would have trusted Tim. He’d always tried to take things too far.
“Okay. You got to see it. You going to do those dirty, unspeakable things to me now?” she asked, swallowing the knot that settled in her throat, trying to forget those dark, unwelcome thoughts that tried to creep in.
He pressed a thumb between her eyebrows. “You know…I can tell when you start thinking about him. You get this line…right here.” He stood, moved behind her. “It pisses me off, Chaili. You need to stop it.”
The first spank, hard, almost too hard, caught her by surprise. She gasped and twisted. Perched on the leather ottoman, in what felt like a damned precarious position, she jolted hard enough that she might have fallen if he hadn’t been there to steady her.
“Be still,” he growled. “You think about him when I’m with you. Stop it.”
He didn’t do it again, moving to stand behind her.
She opened her mouth to snarl at him and then she groaned as he pushed her thighs apart and then sank deep inside her. No preparation.
No teasing. Just that deep, sudden penetration.
He took her rough, and fast, and the first orgasm caught her by surprise. While she was still gasping, he pulled away and she craned her head. Through the sweaty strands of her hair, she saw him. He
was stripping his clothes away, watching her with burning eyes. “You going to think about him again while I’m with you like this?” he rasped.
Chaili closed her eyes. “Shit, Marc. I’m sorry, okay? I…he…”
He tangled his fingers in her hair and tugged her head up, staring into her eyes. “He can’t come into your head unless you let him in. Just don’t open the door.”
He continued to watch her, his gaze searching. Finally, after long seconds passed, he stood and moved away, out of her sight again.
Squeezing her eyes closed, she twisted her wrists, jerking at the bonds that held her trapped.
“It’s not as easy as that to undo them,” Marc said from somewhere off behind her. “It’s going to take more than just jerking at the tape. Of course, if you want me to let you go, just say the word.”
Chaili curled her lip. She wasn’t about to do that. She just…
Muttering under her breath, she continued to jerk at the bonds until he came up behind her.
Then he touched her.
One finger.
Slicked with something unbelievably cool against her heated flesh. Teasing her clit. Just her clit. Tingles, cool at first, and then more intense, spread through her. She groaned and squirmed on the leather that supported her weight, jerking against the restraints harder, twisting against them almost desperately. “Marc,” she whispered.
“Unspeakable…dirty…things,” he said slowly. He spread the cheeks of her ass and she trembled, held still as she waited.
But he did nothing.
“What are you doing, damn it?”
“Watching you go crazy.” He reached down and stroked her clit, then traced her gate with the tip of his finger and that tingly sensation started to burn, spreading everywhere he touched. “There’s this gel you can use on a woman’s clitoris. Doesn’t work on every woman, but if it’s going to work, you’ll feel it pretty fast. Are you feeling anything?”
The sob caught in her throat and she twisted her wrists again in the tape. “Damn it, Marc…”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
Yes??? Yeah. It was a yes. She ached, throbbed—could feel the blood pulsating…oh… Trembling as he stroked down and pushed one finger inside her, twisted his wrist.
She shrieked and clenched down around him, stunned by the intensity of the sensation.
A second time. A third time.
Each touch, each stroke was a cross between pleasure and the purest edge of pain.
And then he stopped, right when she was on the edge of climaxing.
She was trembling.
Marc stared at her as he grabbed the tube of lubricant from the couch. “That’s one unspeakably dirty thing,” he said, his voice raw, staring at her raised ass. “I’ve got you bound and restrained, so fucking turned on you’re almost ready to beg me, aren’t you?”
Her voice was a rough rasp as she demanded, “Is that what you want?”
“No. If it was, I’d tell you.” He grabbed a small tube from the couch, took off the top and sprayed it on the narrow opening of her ass, watched as she flinched a little. As the spray went to work, he reached for the lubricant and opened it, slicking it over his cock, and squeezing more of it into his hand. “Now I’m going to fuck your ass.”
She tensed.
“Is that a problem?”
“Marc…I…”
She jerked against the restraints—arms bound at her back, her ankles drawn up, tied to her thighs. He smoothed his free hand down her hip and then nudged her legs farther apart before he pressed his slickened fingers against her, preparing her. In. Out. The tight ring of muscles at her entrance resisted for a moment, then yielded, letting him know the relaxing spray was working. As he pushed past that first initial resistance, he closed his eyes, bit back a groan at how silken she was around him. “Is it a problem?” he asked again.
But all she did was moan, even as she tried to twist away. He held her steady with his free hand at her hip.
In. Out. Preparing her. The low sound of her whimpering, the broken sound of her breathing, the trembling of her body, he noted every nuance of her reaction and once he had her ready, he moved between her bound thighs, using his hands to spread her open.
“You know how to make it stop, Chaili,” he said gruffly. Tucking the head of his cock against the puckered mouth to her back entrance, he pressed against her. Slowly. Just the head…bit by slow, torturous bit, and oh, hell, it was amazing. “Now I’m doing another dirty, unspeakable thing…pushing into this hot, tight hole and you can’t touch yourself. Does it drive you crazy, baby?”
“Yes, damn it!” She jerked again.
“Aw, now,” he said gruffly, steadying her with a hand on the base of her spine. Stroking his fingers along her soft skin, he soothed her as he advanced another slow inch. “Be still now or you’ll make me get all rough here. It’s easier when you can touch yourself, isn’t it?”
She panted, tried to pull away. Catching her hips, he held her steady, the blood pounding in his ears, hunger biting into him, threatening to tear him into shreds.
He eased back, giving her a minute, but she cried out, clenched down around him in protest. “You want more, baby girl?”
“Yes, damn it. Please, Marc?”
He pushed deeper, waited until he felt the resistance and then he stopped, pulling out, keeping at just at that depth, a slow, easy pace. “You didn’t answer me. It’s easier when you can touch yourself, bring yourself to orgasm that way while this happens, right?”
“Yes. It’s easier…” A soft, pink flush spread all over her skin and she pushed back harder on him, taking him in deeper. It was pure bliss as she eased around him, moving with him. Splaying his fingers over the base of her spine, he started to ride her hard, feet spread out, head bowed, staring at her. Just her.
“I don’t want to give you easy.” He surged deep, held there as she tensed. Bending down over her, he murmured in her ear, “I want to give you what you need…I want to make you feel like nobody else ever has, like nobody else can…and I want to make it to where you can never build another fucking wall, where you can never think of another man when we’re together.”
A sob ripped from her. Propping his elbow next to her head, he waited as she shuddered, as she trembled and shook. “I won’t give you easy,” he promised again. “But I’ll damn well give you everything I can.”
He stood back up and started to do just that.
Deep, steady strokes.
She cried out with each one. Soft, broken little sobs.
“Come for me, baby girl,” he rasped. “Come for me.”
“I can’t,” she whimpered. “Not like this…not without…”
He slid a hand down, slid it around to press it against her belly. “Doesn’t this feel good?” he asked, rolling his hips against her ass. “It feels damn fucking good to me. Your ass is hot, snug silk around my dick and you’re so fucking pretty like this, bound for me, here just for me…doesn’t it feel good, Chaili…” He bent down and pressed his lips to her shoulder. “Having to have me do hot, dirty, unspeakable things to you…”
She trembled and under his hand he felt the silken muscles of her belly clench. “You, bound, waiting and open… Your ass all but grabbing at me each time I sink my dick inside you… Doesn’t it feel good?” He eased his hand down lower. Lower. Felt the muscles of her belly tense.
But before he reached her clit, her entire body quaked and she tightened around him, tighter…tighter… “Aw, fuck.” He gritted his teeth as she clenched down around him and came with a broken, ragged cry.
And as she finally fell, he let go as well, hunkering over her and surging deep, echoing the hard, driving hunger that rode him every damn time he saw her.
He’d wipe those shadows from her eyes…somehow, damn it.
And she wouldn’t keep thinking about anything, or anybody else, when she was with him.
Chapter Thirteen
She could hear the music drifting from his stu
dio.
Bent over her laptop, Chaili let herself close her eyes for just a minute, let herself get lost in the music. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to get lost in him.
“It’s already happening, you twit,” she muttered. Already happened… As the music for “True Believer” started to play, she groaned. No. It wasn’t already happening. It had already happened. She’d been lost in Marc since they were teens, and before that? The infatuation had been well under way.
Pretending otherwise was just a waste of time.
She could remember sitting in the house with Shera, bent over homework, listening to him and a couple of the guys from his first band piecing together music. She’d been spending the night when he had first started composing “True Believer”—the strains of that song still made her shiver. It had been his breakout hit, the one that took him from being a fairly popular guy in the Chicago music scene to an international star.
She loved the song, but sometimes she also hated it. It marked the point when she started to lose him. Not that he’d ever really been hers, but at least she’d gotten to see him from time to time. She’d been able to console herself with that.
And it was before she’d made the biggest mistake of her life…
Asking him out that last time.
Having him smile at her. Pat on her shoulder like she was a cute little puppy who’d amused him. Nah. I’m beat… I just wanna crash for a while. Then, the next day, she’d seen clips of him out at a party. When he’d been supposedly too tired to catch a movie. Yet he’d gone to a party with one of the shiny little perfect girls he always seemed to date.
A week later, she’d met Tim.
Six months after that, they were married.
Six months after that…
She rubbed a finger over the top edge of the tattoo, able to find it without even looking down.
How much different would her life have been if she hadn’t married Tim? Jumping into that relationship certainly hadn’t been the wisest decision she’d ever made. If she hadn’t bothered with dating him? It wasn’t like she hadn’t already known what she liked, right? She’d maybe taken it a little darker, pushed her boundaries a little further. And yeah, she’d figured out just how far her limits were, but she’d learned a little more about pain, learned too much about rejection.
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