“No,” I whispered.
“Then why are you so wet for me?”
I shook my head as best I could. “I don’t know.”
“Of course you do. You love submitting to me. You love it so much you’re begging me to make you come.”
He fucked me more forcefully now, untying me from the headboard and flipping me over with my wrists still bound to take me on my knees. My stilettos bit into his calves as he spread my legs, pushing them apart until my joints ached. He reached around and teased my clit until I felt the delicious throb of an orgasm building. He must have felt it too, because he removed his hand and said, “You can’t have everything at once. No matter how much you want it.”
I knew that if I argued, he might slap me again. I found myself craving the surprise and intensity, the feeling of sensual surrender. What kind of educated, independent woman was I? I couldn’t possibly want to be slapped. I couldn’t enjoy being subjugated – but was it subjugation if I agreed to it? If every moment excited me more than it scared me?
As if he could sense my confusion, he asked, “Are you okay, Sophie?”
“I’m more than okay,” I said.
“Good. I want you on top so I can see every inch of you.”
He helped me straddle him, lifting one of my knees and positioning my hips. Bringing my tied hands to his lips, he kissed them – first fingertips, then palms. Contrasted with the slap and his harsh tone from a few minutes ago, it was almost painfully sweet.
“Ready for me?” he said, guiding himself into me with exquisite slowness. Again and again I felt my body tighten and then open until he’d filled me to the hilt. “Has anyone ever fucked you like this before?” His voice was ragged, barely above a whisper.
“Never,” I said.
“I’m beginning to think you like being my captive.”
“I do,” I said. “More than I want to.”
At this, his cock expanded until every nerve in my pussy vibrated. He grabbed my waist and rocked me against him as if he wanted to climb inside me. I slid up and down, my thighs burning from the effort, his climax my only goal.
All thoughts vanished. Without sight I was pure sensation, living for Marc’s next groan and the thrashing of his heart under my fingers. He caught a bead of sweat trickling between my breasts and rubbed it over my nipple, bringing the sensitized flesh to a diamond-sharp point. I clutched at his shoulder with my nails.
“Marc,” I whispered, pleasure rippling through me in tight waves.
Part of me had been afraid that the second time wouldn’t equal the first, but it was even more passionately romantic. This was what other women dreamed of – what I’d dreamed of – and tonight it was mine.
“You turn me on so much,” he said. “I don’t think I can last. I know I can’t.”
Grabbing my ass, he pulled me forward and fucked me to a fever pitch, showing me with every drive how commanding he was. He filled me to the limit and beyond, but he didn’t stop. With every drive, chills snaked down to my toes and through my belly. I dropped my head back, sliding my hips in rhythm with his hard thrusts.
My first night with Marc, I’d been a terrified, innocent girl. Tonight, I was still afraid, but a lot less innocent. I could have gone to a hotel at any time, but here I was, tied up and conquered like Marc’s personal slave.
“Like that,” he muttered. “Sweet girl, just like that.”
I felt something warm against my wrists and realized that Marc had the rope between his teeth. His breath came fast against my palms, stopped, and then started again in short bursts. He bit down hard, pulling the rope so tightly my hands tingled. He was silent for a moment, then whispered my name before exploding inside me. “Marc,” I said, still riding him, thrilling him to the last instant.
Pulse after hot pulse electrified my body until he shuddered one final time, letting out a sigh of complete, animal release. “Amazing,” he murmured. “You’re a fucking angel.”
I collapsed on top of him, spreading my bound palms over his cheeks. His hands were damp and hot, melting into my skin. I hadn’t come but I felt utterly satisfied, touched so deeply it was beyond physical.
Our chests rose and fell together as our breathing slowed. I tried to sit up but he held me tightly against him, his heart hammering against my breasts. “Don’t go anywhere,” he said. “Stay right here.”
A thrill went through me at his tone. “Is that an order?”
“Of course.” He rubbed his fingers lightly over the nape of my neck. “I didn’t let you come tonight, but not because you don’t deserve it.”
“Why, then?”
“I want you constantly craving me. You’ve waited this long to come with a man. You can wait a little longer, until I think it’s the right time.”
We lay clinging to each other until my wrists began to ache and the air cooled around us. Sliding slowly out of bed, Marc went into the bathroom and brought back a warm, damp towel. He bathed me, my face, my thighs, between my legs. Then he took off my shoes, tossing them to the floor and rubbing my aching feet until they tingled.
“Thank you,” I said.
“No need to thank me,” he said. “Ever.”
I heard a match scraping and the crackle of a wick catching fire. “Ready to be freed?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
He snipped the rope on my wrists using the same scissors he’d used to cut my dress. With gentle fingers, he untied the blindfold and pulled it from my eyes. I blinked in the light of a single white candle, my vision blurry at first and then, strangely sharp. I’d seen the glittering gold painting of the nude woman earlier, but it stood out to me now as if outlined in black ink.
Turning over the blindfold in his hands, Marc traced a finger across two damp spots and looked at me with what seemed to be fascination.
“Your tears,” he said, and brought the fabric to his lips.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Hours later, I woke up in a rumpled bed with the sun high in the sky. Beside my head on the nightstand was a mug of what smelled like café au lait, and next to that, a large pair of kitchen scissors. When I reached for the coffee I accidentally brushed the scissors and they dropped, blades open, to the carpet. I peeked over the side of the bed to see a shredded dress, a mascara-smeared blindfold, and a scrap of rope lying on a wadded-up towel.
None of it was a dream. It was all real.
“She stirs at last,” Marc said, striding in with far too much energy and cheer. “Ready for breakfast?”
“Breakfast?” I said, leaning back against the headboard. “Last I checked, all you have are apples.”
“Au contraire, I had the fridge stocked while we were at dinner last night. I’ve been to the boulangerie this morning so we have croissants and yogurt, and I made fruit salad with strawberries, and the best part is that you can eat it all in bed. Or you can eat nothing at all and drink champagne.”
He leaned a shoulder against the wall, his black velour robe falling open to reveal well-defined pecs and a tanned stomach ridged with lean muscle. It was the first time I’d been able to look at his body without the distraction of touching him, or being touched. His legs were long, powerfully athletic, and dusted with pale brown hair that grew darker as it reached the tops of his thighs. His cock hung down, thick, heavy, and long, a stunning specimen of masculine strength.
Unable to tear my gaze away, I felt an involuntary spasm of need as heat spread like a wildfire across my breasts. Where was all this insatiable lust coming from? Didn’t he just ravish me a few hours ago?
When I remembered to look back at his face, he was smiling, eyebrows raised. “Maybe I should get dressed before we try to have a conversation,” he said.
“Probably a good idea,” I said, fanning my blazing cheek.
His cell phone buzzed in his robe pocket. “That’ll be Eleanor calling back,” he said. “Tomorrow she’s taking you to see the prison, and today we’re playing a horrible tourist couple, just as we planned. Sound good?
”
“Perfect,” I said, smiling back at him.
“Breakfast in bed, then?”
I raised the pillows behind me. “I won’t move a muscle.”
When Marc finished his call he came in with a loaded tray and climbed into bed next to me. I ate with the window open to the garden below, the sheet pulled up to my chest. Sexy bare legs stretched out, he fed me forkfuls of fruit and buttery bites of pastry while he texted his assistant.
“I. Will. Be. Unavailable. All. Day. Full of typos but she’ll get the gist.”
“You usually work on Sundays?” I asked.
“Business never sleeps,” he said. “Unless there’s a beautiful American girl who needs a tour guide, and then everything can wait.”
Smiling, I licked a smear of apricot jam from my fingers. “What are you going to wear for this day of sightseeing?”
“Considering I don’t own a loud Hawaiian shirt, probably jeans and a blazer.”
“Which reminds me, it’s almost eleven in the morning and I still don’t have any clothes on,” I said.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing. More pain au chocolat?” He tore off a piece and fed it to me, wiping the corner of my mouth with his thumb. His eyes connected to mine so intensely I couldn’t blink. Everything I wanted was in those flaring, silver-gray irises.
He licked his finger after wiping my mouth. I flushed, unsure how to react to so much attention. Trevor had never slapped me or tied me up, but he’d never brought me breakfast in bed either. He’d never rubbed my feet after sex or kissed my tears, even when they were pouring down my cheeks after one of our many fights.
A friend of my college roommate, Julia, he’d been one of the few single men at a rooftop party in Chelsea two years ago. He was alone, I was alone, and we’d both had several of Julia’s Cadillac margaritas.
“Go talk to him,” she’d said, pushing me in his direction. “He’s hot and you haven’t been laid in weeks. Or is it months?”
Though I didn’t admit it to Julia, it had been years. One and a half to be exact.
I slugged my drink, walked over to Trevor, and introduced myself. It wasn’t love, or even lust, at first sight, but we had friends in common and neither of us was involved with anybody else. We slept together after four dates, and I pretended it was great.
Six months later the lease on my overpriced apartment was up, and it was easy to move in with Trevor “just until I find another place.”
Both of us worked a lot. When we were home together, sometimes it felt like we were acquaintances, roommates making conversation at the dinner table. I told myself that it just took time before a relationship felt natural. Two years of my twenties vanished before I realized that we’d never be close. And that I’d chosen him for that very reason.
When Marc brought the breakfast tray back to the kitchen, I went into the bathroom, shut the door, and texted Julia. Considering her role in getting Trevor and me together, it seemed fitting that she be the first to know how quickly I was moving on.
Amazing night in Paris.
What’s his name?
How do you know it’s a man?
Details. Now.
His driver kidnapped me from the train station.
Be serious.
I am. Dead.
Christ. And?
Foie gras, wine, lobster. Private dining room.
Wow. Sex?
Sex? Please. They haven’t invented a word for what we did last night.
I leaned against the sink and tapped my phone quickly, trying to finish before Marc wondered where I was. I typed out “blindfold” and “rope,” words that even to my eyes looked obscene and dangerous. Too late to take them back now. I wouldn’t bring up the slap, gentle as it had been. Could a slap be gentle? Could it be as exciting and intimate as it had felt last night?
I glanced at myself in the mirror – soulfully smeared eyeliner, bruised lips – and glanced away just as quickly. My face was similar but something indefinable had changed.
This isn’t fiction. Be careful, Sophie.
There’s nothing to worry about.
How well do you know this guy?
I know his name is Marc Brayden and he’s gorgeous. Ha.
Where are you staying? Please don’t tell me a dungeon.
Rue de Fassett in the Montmartre neighborhood. Gorgeous apt. # 40 if you want to look it up on street view.
I will! Trevor’s been trying to get in touch with you. Why don’t you call him?
Because I have nothing to say to him. Let’s talk soon, okay?
After showering and drying my hair, I wrapped myself in one of Marc’s heavy white towels and popped open my suitcase. I was digging through a pile of wrinkled dresses when he came into the bedroom with a large box. Though he’d put shorts on under his robe, his body was almost as naked as before and just as distracting.
“I have an outfit for you,” he said, setting the box on the unmade bed. “I want to see you in it today.”
“How do you have an outfit for me?” I asked. “I thought you went to the bakery this morning.”
He reached for my hand, kissed it, and let it go. “It was delivered while you were asleep. Every day you’re here you’ll have something to wear.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “It gives me pleasure.”
All I could do was stare at him. Any minute now, I’d snap out of this extended hallucination and discover that I wasn’t being treated like a princess by the most amazing man I’d ever seen. “You know someone who delivers clothes?”
“I have a professional relationship with a lot of shop owners in this city. I refer friends and colleagues to them, and they deliver special orders when I need them.”
“How did you know my size, anyway?”
His eyes roamed over my towel-wrapped body. “Just an educated guess based on what I’ve seen and felt. Your dress and lingerie fit last night, didn’t they?”
“Perfectly,” I said, lifting the top of the box. “Even the shoes were right.”
“Either I’m very lucky or I have an instinct for the female form.”
“But we knew that already,” I said, smiling. I pulled a sexy red skirt, silk blouse, and skimpy black panties from the tissue paper. “Is there a bra?”
“Absolutely not,” he said with mock horror. “It’d be a crime to cover up such a beautiful body.”
I smirked at him. “Thank you, but a bra is the norm if you’re a woman.”
“Maybe so,” he said, patting my ass lightly through the towel. “But you won’t be wearing one today.”
He disappeared into the bathroom. I waited until I heard the shower, then slipped on my bra and stood in front of the mirror. Beige, with smooth, slightly padded cups, it was the furthest thing from sexy and it didn’t match the panties. I unhooked it and put on the blouse, a fitted white button-down that clearly showed the outline of my breasts and nipples. I could see every movement as I turned from side to side and bent over. I’d never gone braless except to sleep, shower, and have sex, but I was about to go sightseeing in a major city wearing only a transparent scrap of silk.
This was the new Sophie, who got tied up and went sightseeing braless.
I tucked the blouse into the skirt, which was thigh-length and pleated, almost girlish, with a narrow band at the waist. The panties were net tulle with a tiny red bow. Because we’d be walking a lot, Marc had suggested that I wear my ballet flats. In the mirror, I looked like a very naughty schoolgirl.
When he emerged wet-haired with a towel around his waist, he beckoned me over. “I’m glad you understand that a bra is unnecessary,” he said, tracing the curve of my breasts with his hands. “It’s a warm day so you won’t need a coat.”
“I really shouldn’t go out like this,” I said, shivering at his touch.
“Why not? You look gorgeous.”
He was so tall I had to lean my head back to see his face. “The blouse is beautiful but…it’s so form-fitting. Everyone will
be able to see me.”
“Yes,” he said, kissing my neck. “And how lucky they are.”
Though I’d feared whistles and leers, I received only a few appreciative looks from male passers-by. Marc, wearing jeans, a black t-shirt, and a blazer, seemed not to notice the scores of young and not-so-young women who gawked at him wherever we went. We drove through charming little neighborhoods, walked under the Arc de Triomphe, and ducked inside the Louvre just long enough to glimpse the Mona Lisa. We stood at the top of the Eiffel Tower and took pictures with my phone until the battery went dead. Later in the afternoon, we stopped at a café in an area popular with tourists and sat outside at a small table. Marc ordered a plate of smoked salmon and French cheese, along with a carafe of white wine.
“Does Eleanor wonder why I’m staying at your apartment?” I asked, filling his wineglass first, then mine.
“She knows I let guests stay there,” he said, putting two slices of fish on my plate. “She’s just glad I’m speaking to you, the nosy journalist digging up our family secrets.”
I laughed. “Far from all your secrets, I’m sure. Maybe Eleanor will tell me the rest when I see her tomorrow.” I broke off a small chunk of baguette. “Can you come with us?”
“Unfortunately I have meetings all day, but you’re mine after five.”
“Yours for –” I looked at my watch. “Let’s see. Another four days, twenty hours, and…sixteen minutes.”
He smiled. “You’ll be amazed at what we can do together in that time.”
I tried to smile back but couldn’t. Four days, twenty hours, and sixteen minutes. I had a bleak vision of my life when I was home again – going to work, bar-hopping with friends, trying to date again. Who would I be then? What would I have to look forward to? Would I ever stop comparing ordinary existence to these days with Marc?
And what would he do when I was gone? Go back to stifling his desires? I tried to imagine him having the kind of plain, ordinary sex Trevor and I once had, but could see him only as he was with me. Fiercely passionate. Intense. Completely focused on his own savage form of pleasure.
“When did you realize that you liked being…” I stopped, unsure how to finish.
Descended (The Red Blindfold Book 1) Page 12
