No, it had to be more than that. She felt him. Even in the dark, she was under his spell, so it couldn't be only his looks.
So how did she get him to move beyond the dead woman who'd been lucky enough to win his heart? She didn't care if Kellen broke his vow to what’s-her-name; his fidelity ran so deep it was a liability. But she did care if her come-ons hurt him. She didn't want to hurt him. She wanted to get lost in him. She wanted him to show her his rope-tying art and how letting go of her control to him could be freeing. She wanted to know all of him—good and bad, spiritual and physical. She wanted him.
So if she had to squirm around on this bench unfulfilled all night, she'd do it. The worst he could do was leave her here alone.
When she reached the end of the piece, she allowed the last note to ring. This was her best work, she decided. Like the melody that had won the Grammy, this composition rang true, as if the notes had always been inside her and had just been looking for an outlet. Kellen had drawn them from her subconscious. She didn't know if he realized his influence.
"Thanks for helping me with the song," she said quietly.
“Is it finished?”
“Mostly.” A bit of that old anxiety twisted in the pit of her stomach. Maybe it wasn’t as good as she thought it was. “Does it sound incomplete?”
"It's perfect," he said breathlessly.
She breathed a sigh of relief. Perfect. That’s what she’d been going for. "I don't think I could have done it without you. Do you want me to give you credit as cowriter?"
"No," he said. "I didn't do anything but listen."
And apparently that was exactly what she’d needed. His presence had helped. The undeniable sexual attraction she felt for him had reached deep inside her and unleashed a daring and incredibly sensual force within her—one she had never recognized existed, but welcomed.
"Dawn," Kellen whispered.
"Yeah?"
"Do you have any rope? Something soft that won't damage your skin."
The surge of moisture between her legs was accompanied by a soft moan. Was he really going to tie her?
"There's a decorative rope along the banister around the upstairs loft," she said. "It has seashells and little red starfish hanging from it, but they’ll come off easily. Will that work?"
"It will have to."
Dawn stumbled as she rose from the piano bench. "I'll get some candles. You get the rope. My bedroom is at the top of the stairs on the right. I’ll meet you there."
"Not on your bed," he said. "On the piano."
Dawn’s womb clenched and her mouth dropped open. A piano didn't sound like the most comfortable place to be tied up or tied down—she still wasn't positive what tying entailed—but it sounded sexy as hell. She bit her lip and nodded, not sure if he could see the gesture in the dark, but if she spoke, she was certain any words would come out as one long moan of longing. Days spent imagining her piano teacher making love to her on the lid of her daddy’s baby grand hadn’t prepared her for the impact of those three words—on the piano—spoken from Kellen’s lips. Like every woman, she’d lusted after men, but not like this. Not with body and mind. Not to this degree. This was completely new for her, and the strength of it made her quiver in places she didn’t know could move on their own accord.
She bumped into him as she attempted to find the kitchen. He caught—and held—her loosely by both arms. She felt his body heat, but he didn’t drag her against him the way she wished he would. He didn’t kiss her. He didn’t grab her ass to crush her mound against his erection. Oh God, why wasn’t he doing any of those things? All of those things?
Oh, please, Kellen.
“Are you sure about this?” he said, close to her ear.
If he hadn’t been holding her arms, she probably would have sunk to the floor.
“Does it hurt?” she heard herself ask. Did she care? Some part of her did, apparently, but the primal part of her that he’d awakened didn’t give a fig if she felt discomfort.
“Not at all,” he said. “Being bound is a physical experience, but it affects most people psychologically as well. Being helpless will probably push you out of your comfort zone. If you’re not sure you want to do this, you need to say so now. If you back out once I get started, I’m not sure I’ll survive. I need to see my work finished. This has become a spiritual ritual for me. It’s… it’s hard to explain. I will stop if you make me, but I’d rather not start if you have reservations.”
She wanted to understand his words by experiencing his spiritual ritual for herself. “I’m sure. I don’t have reservations.”
He drew her against him at long last and gave her a friendly hug. “Thank you,” he whispered.
She melted against him, pressing her palms against his back to draw him closer. She wanted more than a friendly embrace. She wanted some heat. Passion. She sensed it in him. How did she unleash it? She turned her face into his neck and couldn’t resist rubbing her lips against his flesh.
He dropped his arms and pulled away. “I’ll go find that rope,” he said. A brief flash of lightning showed his retreating back and then he was gone again.
Was she really throwing herself so willingly at this guy?
A side table scraped against the floor several feet away. “Damn it,” Kellen cursed. “I’m not sure if my toes are going to make it through the night.”
Yeah, she was totally throwing herself at this guy. She hoped to God that he planned to catch her.
She smiled and turned to shuffle carefully in the direction of the kitchen for those candles. Maybe they’d save Kellen’s toes from utter destruction.
Dawn located several pillar candles and the lighter for the grill and hurried back to the family room. She set the candles on a nearby side table—probably the same one that Kellen’s toe had become acquainted with—and lit all three candles. She placed the nearby lamp on the floor and glanced up at the banister that ran the periphery of the second floor loft. The whimsical rope garland that had charmed her the first time she’d glimpsed it now made her shudder with longing. The candles gave off just enough light for her to see Kellen’s hands freeing the long lengths of blue and tan rope. He was none too gentle with the seashells that had hung from the ropes. Several of them rained down from above.
“Almost got it,” he said after a moment.
She couldn’t see him well, but she imagined he had a perfect view of her standing below the loft, gawking up at him. She was so anxious to get started that a cadence of hurry, hurry, hurry began to sound in her head. Not wanting to appear as desperate as she felt, she grabbed a sheet of score paper and sat at the piano to write down the notes of the now completed composition. Her current favorite because it so reminded her of Kellen and all the things she wished he would do to her. If not tonight, then sometime in the near future.
Using a pencil, she marked the notes quickly, the melody filtering through her head as surely as if she’d been playing it aloud. She’d make the piece look pretty before she sent it off, but she had to get it down. The familiar task calmed her and ate away the time that she’d have spent pacing while she waited for Kellen.
She didn’t realize he was standing behind her until she heard a clink against the floor. She glanced over her shoulder. He was watching her with a look somewhere between fascination and terror.
She tossed her pencil aside and collected the score sheets into a haphazard pile. He seemed to be having second thoughts, but she wasn’t going to let him change his mind. She should have gone up to help him with the rope so he didn’t have time to think of that other woman—Sara.
“Sorry, I interrupted,” he said. “If you need to work, I’ll—”
“No.” She cut him off before he could say leave. She knew that’s what he was going to say, and she wouldn’t let him. “I was just passing the time while I waited for you.”
She stood from the piano bench and leaned over to remove the prop that held the baby grand’s lid open. She carefully lowered the lid and sli
d her hands over the smooth surface. Her heart was thudding like a jackhammer, but she wasn’t going to chicken out. She always worried about doing the wrong thing, about appearances, about disappointing someone, but tonight she was doing what she wanted to do. For once, she’d forget about the pressures of the outside world and allow this man to set her free by binding her body. She still wasn’t sure what that meant, but she trusted that he was going to show her.
She again turned to him and found him clutching the long coils of rope in front of his crotch. She hoped that meant he was hiding another erection, though he couldn’t possibly be as aroused by her as she was by him.
“Will those ropes work?” she asked, nodding toward his crotch.
“They’re surprisingly soft and supple. Exactly the kind of rope I’d have selected for your first time. It’s almost like…”
“Destiny,” she said.
He smiled and leaned back against the piano for support. “Except I would have chosen a green rope instead of blue, to match the pretty flecks in your hazel eyes.”
He’d noticed her eye color? She loved that he’d been paying that much attention to detail. It meant he was interested. Didn’t it?
“Blue for the ocean,” she said. “Like our song.” She stiffened suddenly. “That’s it.”
“That’s what?”
“The name of our song. Blue. I’ll call it Blue.”
“Doesn’t blue usually mean sad?” he said. “That song is joyous, not blue. It made me feel happier than I’ve felt in five years.”
Her breath caught, and she felt a strange prickling behind her eyes. Her work had touched him that deeply? “It did?”
He nodded.
“What would you call it?” she asked him.
“Dawn.”
“Yes?”
“No, that’s what I’d call it. Dawn.”
She grinned. “Kind of narcissistic to name a song after yourself, isn’t it?”
“But it’s like dawn. A beautiful departure from darkness. The end of the inky night sky. The awakening of light that turns the sky blue again. The beginning of a new day.”
Though her tummy was a jumble of butterflies, she couldn’t tear her gaze from his. She knew he wasn’t just saying strings of pretty words to woo her—though they were quite effective in that regard—but that he really felt what he was saying. And she realized he felt that way about her. She was his dawn. The end of his darkness.
Or maybe she was just wishful thinking.
“Take off your dress,” he said.
Her mouth dropped open in shock. So maybe he wasn’t as romantic as she thought.
“I mean, if you’re ready to begin,” he said.
She was. She just had whiplash from the speed at which he changed gears.
Dawn unfastened the wide belt at her waist, letting the strap of leather fall to the floor.
She grabbed the skirt of the loose dress and took a deep breath before tugging the entire garment over her head. She tossed it aside, standing before him in her white lace bra and panties.
The heat of his gaze made her blush, and a powerful shame drew her hands to cover herself as much as possible.
“Don’t hide,” he said. “You’re beautiful.”
She didn’t feel beautiful. She felt awkward. She’d always hated that she was so tall, that her hips were too narrow, her breasts too small, her shoulders too wide.
“Beautiful,” he said again. “I’ve never bound a woman as tall and slender as you,” he said.
She stared at her dress on the floor, willing it to rise up from its puddle and cover her again. She was certain he’d much rather use a more feminine form for his bondage sculpture. Why had she agreed to this?
His legs entered her line of sight, and the rope he’d been holding landed in a tangle on the floor. She choked back a sob when his hand cupped her shoulder and then slowly slid down the length of her arm. She was sorry she was a disappointment. That she wasn’t an ideal specimen for his art. That she wasn’t pretty enough. Wasn’t perfect.
“Can I see your back?” he asked.
She spun around. Annoyed with him. Annoyed with herself. His fingertips traced eight slow paths down her back.
“Your lines are amazing,” he said.
Yeah, her flat as a board, straight as a stick lines.
“So graceful. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more perfect body for this.”
Her brow furrowed. Perfect? But didn’t he prefer curves? “Do you think so?” She lowered her hands and looked down at her too white belly and those stupid freckles that decorated her chest.
“Can I start? I don’t think I can wait any longer.”
She nodded, feeling almost proud of her body. How weird was that?
“Just take off your bra and panties and sit up here on the piano for me?”
Whoa. Too fast. “I’d rather leave them on,” she said.
His fingertip traced the top elastic of her panties along her lower back. “I guess I can work them into the design,” he said. “If you’re more comfortable with that.”
She nodded and was surprised when he moved to the side table and blew out all three of the candles.
“What are you doing?”
“I want to do this by feel.”
“By feel?” she squeaked.
“I don’t want to get distracted by your beauty.”
She chuckled. “Okay. That was just cheesy.”
“Just stating facts.”
“You already have me in my underwear and willing to be tied and at your mercy. You can lay off the pick-up lines.”
She felt him move to stand just behind her. His palms slid over her rib cage and down her quivering belly toward her small scrap of lace modesty.
“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” he said. “It’s probably a good idea to leave them on. Your exposed pussy would be far too tempting to resist.”
He cupped her mound and gently squeezed. Her breath stalled as she involuntarily arched against his palm.
“I can feel your heat,” he whispered into her ear. “This doesn’t have to be a sexual experience, you know.”
With Kellen in charge, yes, it did.
“I can’t help it,” she said. “Just being in the same room as you turns me on. How do you expect me to react when you touch me in the dark?”
“Just as long as you realize I’m not going to make love to you. Not because I don’t want to or because you aren’t the most beautiful woman I’ve ever touched, but because I made a promise I’ll never break.”
Dawn scowled. That fucking dead girl again.
“If you want, I will make you come, though,” he whispered. “Give you more orgasms than you can stand.”
So maybe his inability to break a promise wasn’t really a burden after all.
“Do you want that, Dawn? Do you want to come?”
“Y-y-yes.”
His hand slipped into her panties. When his middle finger slipped over her fully engorged clit, her legs buckled. He drew her back against him until his hard cock was prodding her in the ass. She squirmed against him, wanting that big thick shaft buried deep inside her already.
He bit her ear and eased her around the piano until she faced the keyboard.
“Play my song while I make you come for the first time,” he demanded quietly.
As if she could argue with that request.
She fumbled with the keys and didn’t start at the beginning. She started with the second stanza. The one that rose and fell like the waves, like a lover possessing what was hot and achy and swollen and wet just for him.
Kellen stroked her clit with the cadence of the song, rocking slightly against her with each soft and sensual caress. He wasn’t rubbing her to get her off—he was increasing her need to a feverish level. When she reached the final crescendo, he sent her flying. Song forgotten, she clung to the keyboard and cried out with release as her pussy clenched hard on the emptiness between her legs.
Needin
g more, much more, Dawn bent forward so that the stiff cock that had been scarcely rubbing against her ass was lodged firmly in her cleft. The only thing separating his hard flesh from her slick heat was a pair of lace panties and a thin pair of boxer shorts.
He jerked his hand out of her panties and stepped back, sending the piano bench tumbling backward with a crash.
In the silence that followed, she was only aware of her ragged breathing and his. The intense pleasure began to recede as she slowly regained her bearings. Her release had been fantastic, but hardly satisfying. She wanted more of him. All of him. Inside her.
“I knew I should have bound you before I touched you,” he said. “Do you think I’m made of willpower? You can’t rub up against me like that and expect me to keep my promise to Sara.”
But she didn’t want him to keep his promise to Sara. Dawn wanted to fuck Kellen until she could no longer feel her legs. But he didn’t want her enough to give her what she craved. She should probably feel bad about pressuring him into doing something he wasn’t prepared to do, but she just felt bitter toward a woman who no longer existed except in Kellen’s heart.
“I got caught up in the moment,” she said, which wasn’t a lie. “I didn’t intend to rub up against you. It was involuntary.”
He was quiet for a long moment. She couldn’t imagine what he was thinking. Probably deciding if he should locate his clothes before he fled the house or brave the storm wearing only her boxers. She pushed away from the piano and turned to look at the space where he stood in the darkness.
He sighed. “You’re right. That was my fault.”
Kellen lifted a hand and cupped her jaw in one hand. He traced her lips with his thumb. She could smell her sex on him. Dear lord.
Tie Me (One Night with Sole Regret #5) Page 7
