“Why?” she repeated. “I knew what I wanted.”
“Not then you didn’t. Not really. I didn’t want to spoil you,” he said, stepping closer until his body heat seemed to surround her. “I didn’t want to be a regret to you.”
“You wouldn’t have been,” she murmured.
“Will I be now?” he asked, his voice soft.
Her eyes went wide. “Can you truly ask me that when I am standing here before you?”
He nodded slowly. “I must ask you, Claire. I know part of your reason for offering yourself to me is to get what you want. Will you look back on this with disgust in the future? Will you tell yourself you traded your body unwillingly?”
She pursed her lips with dissatisfaction. “I am trying to get what I want, War. Which is you. Your hands on me, your lips on me, your body buried deep in mine. I came to you to ask for your help with my daughter, yes. But I offered myself to you because I have wanted you since the moment I first saw you in the paddock, watching the horses run. There will be no regret unless you intend to turn away from me now.”
“I couldn’t if I tried, not now that I’ve had a taste,” he said. “But I want more, Claire. More than you are perhaps willing to give. I want your utter surrender. Your complete faith, at least in my bed, that I will take care of you.”
Utter surrender. Those two words ricocheted in Claire’s head, conjuring up images that both aroused and terrified her. She had never fully surrendered to anyone. There was always a part of her she had kept safe, separate. Aston had commented on it, been frustrated by it.
And now War wanted that part of her too. And with War, it seemed possible to give it. Just for a little while.
“Aren’t I supposed to be taking care of you?” she squeaked out.
He smiled. “Do this and it will be taking care of me, I promise you that.”
She hesitated, her heart stuttering, her mind spinning. She recognized on a deep level that if she gave over to him now, tonight, this would take them to a place of no return. He had held back until now. If she said yes, that would be over. Her body would be his playground.
“I—” she whispered.
He touched her chin and tilted it up so that she was forced to meet his eyes once more. She lost herself in his stare, the focused, heated gaze that drew her deep inside where she could almost pretend she hadn’t blown up her life over two years before. Where she could pretend she was his.
“Yes.”
He blinked several times in rapid succession, like he was confused, as if he had been anticipating her refusal. But then the corners of his lips slowly turned upward. He tilted her chin higher and dropped his lips to hers, driving his tongue inside and tasting her, probing her, opening and awakening her.
Her body softened with just that gentle kiss, readying for him, opening for him, growing wet for him. In that moment, she felt like she was his. Truly his. Only his.
And she chose to remain in that illusion for a while.
He drew back from her and turned away. He crossed to a wardrobe and opened a drawer, digging under clothing before he returned with four long coils of rope in his hands.
She stepped back. “What is that?”
“Feel.” He held them out.
She hesitated, staring at the rope. There were black and red strands, braided together. And when she finally followed his order and stroked her fingers along them, her eyes went wide. “They are soft,” she said.
He nodded. “It is a silk rope, very expensive and made for exactly what I am going to do to you now.”
“Which is?”
“Lie down,” he said, motioning to the bed without answering her question.
She let out her breath in a hurrumph of frustration. “You refuse to tell me.”
“You said you’ll trust me. So let me show you. And never forget, you have a word that will stop me cold. You have the power, Claire, no matter what happens.”
She pondered that for a moment. He was right, he had gifted her with that word, a word of her choosing, a word that carried so much meaning to her. Trust. If she said it, he claimed he would abide by her decision to stop him.
As she stared at the ropes, still coiled in his hands, she wondered if she would have to say that word to him at last. She let her gaze move to his face. He stood by, impassive, waiting for her to decide if she would follow his order. She could tell by the way he shifted his weight that he was growing impatient, but he didn’t say anything to her.
Finally, she turned and walked to his bed. She lay down on the coverlet and swallowed hard. “Now what?”
He grinned, unable to contain his obvious pleasure. He sat on the edge of the mattress beside her. He took her hand, lifted it to his lips and pressed a hot kiss to her knuckles. She shivered as he swirled his tongue between her fingers, turned her palm over and kissed her there as well. He extended her arm, gliding his mouth up the tender flesh of her wrist, her inner arm.
Her breath was short as he kissed her, caressed her, and her body went limp. Just when she thought she might combust from those light kisses, he wrapped the rope around her wrist once, twice, and then reached up to swiftly bind her wrist to the bedpost above her.
She jerked her gaze to her tied hand. She tugged, but there was no moving, no escaping.
“War,” she whispered, unable to keep the fear from her voice.
“It’s all right,” he said. “I don’t want to hurt you. Just please you, Claire.
She swallowed. Her word, that word that would free her, was on her tongue, but she bit it back. There was something erotic about looking at her wrist bound in those smooth, soft black and red ropes. Something powerful about knowing that she couldn’t escape.
She nodded at last and he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to her lips. “Your faith means so much,” he murmured, before he leaned over and grasped her other hand.
She was ready for him this time and sighed as he kissed her flesh, smoothing his rough fingers over her palm, down her arm, his tongue lapping and his teeth nipping. And finally, he tied that wrist to the opposite bedpost.
“Breathe,” he whispered as he pulled away, not touching her, but allowing her to grow accustomed to the feeling of being bound. She moved against the ropes again, feeling the slide of their fabric against her skin, aware of the glide of it, the sensations that coursed through her, settling between her legs.
Legs he reached out to touch at last. He settled one big hand against her knee and she hissed out a breath of pleasure at the feel of it. His fingers were so warm against her, the roughness of his working hands such a dichotomy against the silky smoothness of her flesh.
She found herself parting her legs immediately, opening to him, welcoming him. He smiled but let his hand stay exactly where it was. He squeezed her knee gently, stroking his thumb over her kneecap rhythmically. She found herself relaxing with that touch, surrendering just as he had said he wanted her to do.
He leaned over her and pressed his mouth to her knee in an open-mouthed kiss, and she gasped with the pleasure of his breath on her skin. She expected him to glide higher, perhaps pleasure her as he had the previous night. But instead of sliding his lips higher, he moved lower, kissing along the length of her calf. She tensed at the sensation. It felt like her skin was alive, separate from her, reacting to him by sparking and tingling.
He kissed her ankle, and the third rope came around there. He bound her swiftly to the bottom bedpost and once again stopped.
She realized what would happen now. He would tie her spread eagle on his bed, utterly at his mercy. Then he could do anything, everything he wanted and she could only acquiesce. Her breath came short as she stared down at him.
He watched her just as closely, as if he were gauging her reaction before he made another move.
“You have your word, Claire,” he reminded her softly. “You are not a slave.”
“Just a captive,” she breathed, nudging against the ropes to prove the point.
“A willing captive,” he said. “The ropes are not to hold you prisoner. They are to set you free.”
“How?” she asked, cocking her head in confusion.
“You spend your life in control,” he said. “Fighting to have and be and do what you want. This is to offer you a moment to release that fight. To give over to someone who will anticipate your needs, who will steer you to the heights you so richly deserve. You don’t owe me anything in return, just your release, your tremors of pleasure, your sighs as you finally find ecstasy.”
She considered that a moment. He was right that her life, especially in the past few years, had been a constant battle. She had grappled with her feelings, her decisions, her path for so long that she was exhausted with the conflict. The very idea that War would sweep in and take over, even in just this one arena, was powerful indeed.
Could she let him? Could she truly surrender herself? She didn’t know. But she wanted to try.
“Finish what you started.” She locked her gaze with his. “Or do you intend to tease me?”
“Yes,” he growled, but he leaned over and swept her other leg into the rope and bound it to the bottom bedpost in one swift motion. “There,” he said with a wicked smile. “Now you are just where I want you.”
She shivered at the possessive tone of his voice, at the way his gaze flitted over her with proprietary certainty. He would have his way. A piece of her revolted at that thought, wanted to deny him just to maintain the control she had fought to obtain. But the other part, the larger part, sank into this moment, enjoying his watchful gaze, shivering at the way he moved around her, letting his fingers slide along her skin lightly.
“One last thing,” he said as he opened a drawer beside his bed. He pulled out a silky mask and held it up so she could see it. “Do you remember what I asked of you last night?”
Her mind was so blurry as she stared at the mask in his hand that she shook her head. “N-No.”
“Tsk, you’ll have to pay better attention. Once this mask is on, Claire, I want you to be quiet. Save your gasps and moans for me, and when I’m ready for them, I’ll tell you. Can you do that?”
Do that. Right now she wasn’t certain she could truly do anything. Her mind was spinning from anticipation.
“You can answer out loud,” he teased.
“Yes,” she gasped as his fingers slipped around behind her knee and massaged the tender flesh there. “I’ll try.”
“Good,” he whispered as he leaned over her and slipped the mask over her eyes. He tied it gently, and the world slid into darkness.
Chapter Twelve
Claire drew a few long breaths, obviously acclimating to the duel experiences of being bound at War’s mercy and blind to what he would do next. This was, of course, what he had meant by utter surrender. And it was beautiful. He wished he could spend all night just looking at her like this, naked and ready, waiting for him…though he wouldn’t say patiently. She was shifting constantly, as if trying to find a way closer to him.
They could work on that later. He smiled at the idea and pushed away the fact that she would likely be gone before “later” came.
Right now she was here and she was his.
She licked her lips and he groaned softly. Goddamn, she was the one bound, but he was the one on her string. Just the tiniest movement from her and he was no longer in control of himself or his needs or his body.
But he had to be. Because he wanted this to be so good for her. He wanted it to be unforgettable. A way to brand her with his scent, his touch. To heal her by reminding her she could believe in another person to hold her and her needs as a sacred thing.
He took a deep breath, calmed his nerves as best he could and reached out to stroke her cheek with just the tip of his finger. She made a muffled moan and turned her face into his touch.
“Careful now,” he whispered as he dragged that one finger lower, along her jawline, down the gentle slope of her throat. “I don’t want to have to punish you.”
She stiffened slightly at his warning, but her nipples tightened to hard peaks, so he thought perhaps the idea of a little punishment actually excited her. It certainly did him, but he didn’t want to press forward too far yet. He wanted her to feel only pleasure before they tested whether just the slightest touch of pain would heighten her experience. Especially considering what she’d gone through with Aston, he knew her boundaries would be likely thin.
He rubbed the ball of his thumb over her distended nipple, circling the hard nub slowly, painfully slowly. His cock pressed against his breeches now, seeking her like a divining rod would find water in a desert.
He plucked the same nipple he had been stroking and she sank her teeth into her lower lip to bite back another sound of pleasure. He grinned. She was so very responsive. She deserved a reward for that.
He leaned over her and blew a gentle breath over her nipple. She clenched her fists and tugged at her bonds as her back arched slightly. But she didn’t make a sound. His smile grew wider. She could learn.
He darted his tongue out and lapped the tender, sensitive flesh. Her breath grew harsher, harder and her knuckles whitened, indicating that her fists were tightening. He licked again, slowly, pressing the flat of his tongue against her to savor her honey fresh flavor.
She turned her head and pressed her lips together. He put his arms beneath her, arching her back further with his support and drew her nipple between his lips, sucking hard, swirling his tongue around her over and over, sliding the peak in and out of his lips with loud pops that were the only sound in the quiet room.
She shuddered and let her breath ease out in one sighing whoosh. He pulled away immediately. He was testing her limits. She was trying not to disobey his order for her silence, but he wasn’t playing fair by teasing her.
He let her have a moment where her breath eased, her fingers unclenched, and just when her mouth turned to a worried frown, he bent his head to repeat all those same actions on her opposite nipple. She lifted her hips in time to his sucking of her breast, her legs shaking as she sought the pleasure he wasn’t quite ready to give her.
“So impatient,” he murmured. “What is it you want, Claire?”
She pursed her lips, her irritation clear on the lower part of her face that wasn’t showing. He could picture her green eyes flashed beneath the blindfold with the same.
“Tell me,” he said. “You may speak.”
“You,” she spit out in one rushed breath. Like a dam had burst. “I want you. Please.”
“Where?” he pressed, forcing her to name her pleasure, knowing it would allow her the ability to give in.
“My mouth,” she said after a moment’s hesitation.
His eyes went wide. He hadn’t expected that answer. And the idea of it made his already throbbing cock stiffen further. He stared at that lovely mouth for what seemed like forever, unable to stop himself from picturing her full lips closing over him, her tongue stroking him.
“Are you certain?” he asked.
She nodded. “I want to give you pleasure.”
He arched a brow. Oh, he wanted the pleasure she requested, but he wondered if she was being coy. This was obviously also a way for her to regain some control. Odd, considering the act would be all about him. This was a fascinating tug of war, indeed.
He stepped away from her without answering her request and stripped his clothing swiftly. He stroked his cock once, twice with his hand and then moved toward her.
“This?” he asked as he bumped her lips with the head gently.
She parted them immediately and drew him in, making a low sound that vibrated through him and nearly took his legs out from under him. He grasped the headboard with both hands and dipped his head back as he allowed her this moment’s control. She sucked him into her hot, wet mouth, sinking in her cheeks to make the taking tight. Then she withdrew just as slowly, nearly losing his cock, but not quite.
She repeated
the action a few times, enough that his legs ached, his balls tightened, his cock threatened to betray him, and he pulled away.
“Enough control for you, my naughty minx,” he growled. “Now you work for your reward.”
“I thought I was,” she said with the hint of a smile.
He shook his head at her cheek. She was his match, that was certain. Where many women simpered and cooed over him, acting like his superior size made him a god, Claire refused to cow to him. She challenged him at every turn. And he loved it.
But she was going to learn that when he said he was taking control, he meant it. He knelt on the bed between her legs. When the bed shifted beneath his weight, she immediately scooted toward him, her legs open, her sex slick and ready as she offered herself to him.
With a low chuckle, he parted the outer lips of her sex with his thumbs. She clenched at the touch, her opening trembling as he looked at her. She was beautiful, tempting, but he wasn’t going to give her what she wanted. Not quite yet.
He smoothed his finger along her slit, swiping away moisture as he did so. She lifted against him, demanding to be breached.
“Do I have to tie you tighter?” he asked. “You will get what you want, Claire, once you surrender.”
Her hips stayed lifted for a moment, almost in defiance, but then she relaxed down, her backside unclenching, her jaw unclenching too.
“There now,” he said, rewarding her for her surrender by sliding one finger inside. Her body pulsed around him, the hot suction drawing him further. God, she was heaven.
He pumped his finger gently, not giving her more than he was ready to share and loving the way her body reacted to this careful breach. Her chest flushed, her breath quickened, and she turned her head against the pillow as she bit back her response to his teasing.
“More?” he asked. She nodded, staying silent, and he laughed. “Ask me.”
“Please, more,” she gasped. “Please.”
He added a second finger to the first, stretching her farther. Again he pumped for a while, altering his rhythm until he matched the pulsations of her inner muscles as she clenched and released. When she was sweating, he glided a third finger inside. She bit out a cry and then pressed her lips together.
Ruined Page 10
