Her gaze was riveted to his fist, that casual slide as he pumped up and down, and those little white drops that made her mouth water. Her entire body shook with need. The idea of his hands touching her skin was terrifying to her, but at the same time, she needed his cock. In her mouth. Inside her. Everywhere. She was going to die if the fire inside burned any hotter, and it had just started.
Sevastyan reached out in his abrupt way, grasped her hair and pulled her close, almost making her lose her balance. It was the same firm, decisive movement he used when tying her hands. It got her attention instantly. He didn’t let loose of her hair, but instead, tilted her head back more.
“I asked you a question.”
She touched her tongue to her lips. “Yes. I understand. I’ll try.”
“I don’t expect you to try, Flambé. I expect you to do it.” There was no give in him. “We are going to succeed.”
She nodded and stared into his eyes. He could mesmerize her with his eyes. He had no idea the control he had over her with his eyes and his voice. Or maybe he did. His touch. The confident way the rope slid through his hands. When she watched that, she knew she associated the rope with him. That he wrapped her with himself when he wrapped her with that rope. She wanted him—wanted that same feeling of safety she got in the ropes when she was outside of the knots when she was with him. She needed it now more than ever.
She leaned into him and let her hands shape his thighs, feel his muscles. He sat with his thighs apart. He always was so casual about nudity. Most shifters were. He was particularly beautiful to her and she needed to get her mind right, to put him first so she wouldn’t jump back when she accidently brushed her nipple against his leg as she leaned to close.
He covered her breast with
his palm and she had to smother a cry as flames shot straight to her sex. Deep inside that volcano grew hotter, sending thick rivers of molten lava running through her veins to every part of her body, igniting bundles of nerve endings. He left his hand over her breast while the other stayed in her hair. Both hands felt aggressive, rough, the touch possessive, not at all light or tentative. Her body reacted with flaring heat, but less pain.
“I want your mouth on me, Flambé.”
She licked up his inner thigh and then over and around his velvety balls before complying, getting him wet, running her tongue up and down that thick shaft. Teasing under his crown, running along the thick vein and back down to the base. She licked at the drops that instantly tasted like an aphrodisiac, sucking at them and swallowed them down, eager for more, before she slowly engulfed that broad head.
Sevastyan took a deep controlling breath and removed his hand very carefully from between his leg and her breast, murmuring soothingly to her as he did so. He kept his voice steady, disciplined, the voice he used when tying, knowing she responded to that best. Just that movement would send streaks of fire darting from her nipple to her clit. He felt her body flinch and her mouth clamp down around his cock as she did her best to ignore the sensations building.
Quickly, he tore out the scrunchie she’d haphazardly put her hair up with and gathered the mass tighter, twisting it quickly, braiding it partially so it would stay higher and off her skin, even if they got wild, which there was no question would happen. Once he had it up, he put the scrunchie back in, securing the mass even tighter than she’d had it to make sure it wouldn’t fall. It wasn’t an easy task when her mouth was surrounding him with such heat.
He stroked her shoulders, using rougher touches. He’d noticed before the kinds of brushes on her skin that heightened her pleasure or could confuse her body, bringing her too close to pain to make the touch truly pleasurable. He might be a dominant, and he preferred erotic bondage and intense play, but not if it hurt her. The moment she said it hurt, he would stop and they would never repeat the act again. She needed firm, not light, and he massaged her arms and shoulders, her neck, digging his fingers into her muscles as if he owned her.
He caressed the sides of her breasts with firm strokes of his knuckles and then his fist. She nearly swallowed him whole. Her gaze jumped to his for reassurance. He let his eyes do the talking, knowing his showed his dark lust for her. He felt her mouth grow hotter, nearly scorching him. Her hips rocked. Beneath her skin something moved aggressively and liquid formed in her eyes.
“I’ve got you, baby,” he reassured. “We’re there. She’s close.”
He continued to move his hands over her body, a slow assault, touching her in all the places he knew she loved the most, every touch a heavy stroke of ownership, concentrating on her, not on the sensations she was creating in him, for him, nearly driving him insane. He traced her ribs and then traced under her breasts before forcing himself to remove his cock from her mouth, although it was one of the most difficult things he had ever done. He felt like he might shatter, he was so hard. He caught up the bottle of lotion he’d had the presence of mind to bring and poured it into his palm to lather over his aching cock.
“Sevastyan.” Flambé’s body trembled and she reached out to him, the expression of terror and lust on her face breaking his heart.
Slipping from the railing, he crouched down, his hands on her thighs, fingers digging deep, loving her the only way he could tell her. Taking care of her. Showing her she wasn’t alone and whatever she needed, no matter what it was, he could find a way to be that for her. He stroked his tongue up her thigh. She felt so delicate. Her entire body shuddered. Her hands clamped down on his shoulders. He was careful to go slow when she tried to force fast.
He knew she felt desperate, but fast wasn’t good for her—not yet. She needed a slow assault so her body could accept his. He had to use the utmost care in every touch when her body was this sensitive. The lotion and balm the doc had given them would only go so far to calm her nerves. The shots he gave her for clotting and hopefully, again, to help with her hypersensitive nerves, wouldn’t last forever. He was the one who had to learn her body and how to touch her to relieve the burn. He was an expert when it came to reading her and she mattered that much to him. He would take it slow and keep his touch as firm as possible to get her body ready for his.
She didn’t have to love him back. He probably wouldn’t know what to do with it if she did. No one ever had. He had the feeling she hadn’t ever felt loved. That was going to change. He knew he loved her. He didn’t know when or how it started, it just crept up on him, but he wasn’t going to let her feel alone. She would always know she could count on him.
Tying was a personal art. He had to know every subtle sign his model gave him. He’d always been extremely careful of every person he’d tied, but Flambé was more than just a rope model to him, she had become his world. Her nails bit into his shoulders and she cried out as he nipped at her inner thigh and murmured soothingly, letting her feel the warmth of his breath against the sensitive nerves bursting like fire beneath her delicate lips and inflamed clit.
“I’ve got you, baby, you have to trust that I’ll get you through this.”
He repeated the mantra over and over between kisses and licks. Between lapping more aggressively and settling his mouth over her slick heat and finally devouring the addicting spice, that combination of cinnamon, cloves, a hint of coriander and jasmine that was all Flambé. That combination along with the spicy hormones she was throwing off were beginning to make him feel as desperate as she was, but he forced his body under control, ignoring the thunder roaring in his head and the fire pounding through his veins.
Flambé’s breath was ragged, hitching, frantic. “Please, please, please. Sevastyan. I need you right now.”
Sevastyan stood up slowly, forcing himself to take his time, giving her that steady control, wanting her to see that no matter how far she spun out of control, he was always there for her, calm when he had to be. He could be completely counted on. Disciplined when there could be none. He studied her face for a long minute, tipping her chin up to his while his gaze drifted over her, making certain she was all right and her body could accept his.
His hands went to her waist, testing, lifting her, sitting her on the railing, spreading her thighs apart so he could stand between them. “Clean my face, baby.”
Beyond frantic, Flambé leaned forward, her tongue licking at the liquid on his jaws while he cupped the weight of her breasts in his palms, his thumbs sliding over her nipples, carefully watching her face. Before she would have screamed in agony; now, she seemed to move into his hands, finding pleasure, not pain. He tugged on her left nipple hard, pinching down, experimenting. Sex could get wild, savage even, definitely brutal. He wanted to see if she could handle his touch when they would get real with their bonding sex.
She threw her head back, crying out again, but the sound was one of need, not pain. Her little whisper of Sevastyan sent hot blood pounding through his cock. All the time taken in preparation seemed to have worked. Her body responded. Instead of wanting to claw her own skin off, she wanted him inside her, wanted his hands and mouth on her.
He kissed his way down the line of her throat, teeth nipping while she wrapped her legs tight around his waist, trying to press her slick sex tight against him. He held her while he kissed her mouth, over and over, letting the flames take them both higher and higher. Kissing her was literally like igniting alcohol, turning them both to living flames. Her name was very apropos. Kissing her was very much like lighting a match to a stick of dynamite. She moved him every time. Intimate. Sensual. Darkly lustful. Damn-right sexy. All Flambé.