He pulled on the ropes as if testing them and each time he did, flames shot through her. She cried out, need burning through her, hips jerking uncontrollably.
“Stay still, I need to make certain these knots are correct.” His tone was low, the same, as if she was an inanimate object and his art was all that mattered.
He knew the knots were perfect. He was being a devil. She didn’t know if she wanted him to be the devil. That only added to the fiery need building and coiling tighter and tighter until she thought she might go insane.
Sevastyan slid his fingers under the knotted rope and gently ran his knuckles up her belly to her breasts. The knots tugged and rolled over her clit and rubbed and burned deliciously between her cheeks, inflaming every sensitive bundle of nerves she had. His index finger began to brush back and forth under h
er breast, tracing the curve very gently.
“When you were spying on me at the club, which pose made you want me the most, Flambé? Which was the one that made you decide you had to be with me?”
He bent forward and took her left breast into the heat of his mouth, sucking hard, his tongue fluttering against her nipple and then pressing it tight against the roof of his mouth while his fingers played the rope like a harp, setting the knots dancing over her sex again, setting her on fire. The combination shook her entire being.
She couldn’t find her voice. She was helpless, unable to touch him, when she wanted to cradle his head to her breast and keep him there. She was unable to reach that place that would let her fly, although she needed to get there so badly. She wanted that knot to rub and burn over her clit and at the same time she desperately wanted it to stop. The knots running between her cheeks were producing the most erotic sensations, sending waves of heat crashing through her. He added his teeth to the mix, an unexpected tug and sting on her nipple, making her cry out.
“Answer me, Flambé. Which pose?”
Her mind was in utter chaos. She loved him best this way. So in charge. So distant. So arrogant. So completely Sevastyan Amurov. She tried to force air into her lungs, to find a way to breathe through the raging firestorm so she could get to a place where she could think.
“Sevastyan.”
He bit down again and she cried out as the sting sent waves of dizzying fire blasting through her, threatening to send her over the edge, but stopping just short. She tried to find relief against that knot, but it wasn’t working. She couldn’t get there no matter how hard she tried.
“Flambé. You look so beautiful just like this. Open your eyes and look in the mirrors. Look at yourself. And then tell me.”
She couldn’t. She knew what she would see. The need. The wanton hunger. The desperation only Sevastyan could produce in her. But he was relentless. Merciless. That was why she was so obsessed with and addicted to him. He could make her feel this way when no one else could.
He bit down again on her nipple but this time his teeth remained, and he tugged, stretching, his fingers on the rope, tugging at the same time, dragging those knots up tighter between her cheeks so they rubbed deliciously and dangerously. Sparks erupted. Flames burst through her. She lifted her lashes and forced herself to look in the mirrors that surrounded her.
Moans escaped. She looked so sexy. So completely erotic. So not Flambé. The artwork was beautiful, framing her breasts with the colors of the ropes. She could see marks from his mouth and teeth and that just added to the eroticism of the image. He towered over her with his wide shoulders and muscular body, looking completely merciless while she looked . . . a willing captive. Desperately adoring. More than willing to do anything for him, and she was. She would.
She’d never come close to wanting a man the way she wanted him. She hadn’t known her body could crave the things she wanted from him. She hadn’t known this kind of need existed on any level.
Sevastyan curled his palm gently around her throat and tipped her chin up using his thumb. She felt the tug of the ropes, but almost softly, against her skin—like his voice. “Which pose, plamya?”
She was going to die if he didn’t relieve the terrible coiling need burning through her body. “You,” she whispered. “It was just the way you are.”
“The pose.” His voice never changed. His expression never changed. He wasn’t going to relent.
In desperation she told him. “You did one where you braided her hair and arms down her back and tied both legs onto a pole, stretched out in the splits.” Her breath was ragged. She could barely think. Her head fell forward onto his shoulder and rested there. “You bent her head forward toward her legs and tied her in that position and then hoisted her into the air and anchored her there.”
“And then what?”
She was floating. She couldn’t think anymore, remembering that night. She’d never seen anything like it. That had been the night she knew she was in terrible trouble. She’d wanted him all the other nights, but that night she had been burning up for him. She’d actually gone to Cain’s office, determined to ask him to train her. To let her be his, so she could have what those women had, but thankfully Cain wasn’t there. He’d gone home.
“You did what?”
His voice changed for a moment and a shiver went down her spine. There was a note of rage hidden in that calm and that was worse than anything she could imagine. She’d confessed to him aloud that she’d gone to Cain? What was wrong with her? She couldn’t think clearly. She couldn’t move her arms or legs. She was too exhausted, but her body burned and burned. For him. For Sevastyan. Worse than she ever thought possible.
“Tell me what happened next, Flambé,” he insisted, as if her confession had never taken place.
“You took her and left.”
“I fucked her. Say it. I fucked her. Hard.”
“Yes. From behind her. You didn’t even touch her. You held on to the pole and you fucked her hard from behind. It was very impersonal.”
“Exactly, Flambé. It was very impersonal. There is absolutely nothing impersonal about any of the things I’m going to do to you. Ever. Each of them is going to be very deliberate. And very personal.”