He smacks the other cheek. Not a spanking. No pain. Just a slight sting that delivers an erotic thrill and the promise of so much more, if not now, soon. Too soon. Not soon enough. My sex clenches fiercely and I want the hidden part of him he still denies, but I know he will not give it to me tonight. He will not rush this and as much as I want to change that, there is safety, there is trust I can give him, in knowing he is being cautious with me.
His hands drag up and down my sides, and then finally, his body curves around mine, and he is hot and hard between my thighs, sliding the head of his cock along the slick line of my sex. “I need—”
“I know what you need,” he promises, but he does not give it to me. He slides his shaft back and forth, the nerve endings he is touching lighting up like the fire burning in front of me. I sink lower into the rug, weaker with need, and finally, finally, he presses into me, driving deep and fast, his cock finding the farthest part of me and staying there. He isn’t moving, and I am panting to the point I can barely breathe when finally he pulls back and thrusts hard into me. And oh God, that one hard pump and already I am on the edge of orgasm. Another thrust and I push against him, his only reply his hand bracing my hips, his cock nudging left, right, deeper, before he starts a fast, hard pumping rhythm. I lose time. I lose the room. The rug. The silk at my hands. I climb that peak of pleasure and tip over far too fast, all but collapsing as my body clenches around him. His hand flattens on my belly, holding me up, and then he is shaking, shattering with me, the deep, guttural sound he makes a sexy, erotic charge that ripples through me.
I shut my eyes, riding his pleasure with him, sighing with the way he slowly relaxes against me, his fingers softening at my hips, and then he folds himself around me, holding me in the most intimate of ways. “You okay?” he murmurs near my ear.
My lips curve at what is becoming our little question to each other. “Yes. Are you okay?”
He laughs, low and sexy. I really love his laugh. I think I can really love this man. “You’re naked,” he says. “Of course I’m okay. Let me get rid of this condom and I’ll untie you.”
He pulls out of me and I gasp, which earns me another one of those sexy laughs. “The feeling’s mutual,” he says of my reaction.
A smile on my lips, I sit up, my eyes lifting to the fireplace, and I don’t know why, but I see the past in those flames. I flash back to the club. I am there, living it again, afraid. So afraid.
He shoves me to my knees and I try to get up, but he holds me while the woman in leather ties me up, stretching one arm to the side and roping it, then the other. I fight. I fight as hard as I can but he, he holds me down and then I am bound, a prisoner, and he moves away. I hear her speak to him.
“How badly do you want her bruised?”
He squats in front of me, caressing my lips, and I try to bite him. Fury radiates off him and he stands. “Don’t leave scars.”
I blink the fireplace back into view. “Kayden! Kayden!” I try to free my hands, but I’m shaking so hard I can’t get them free. “Untie me. Untie me now! Please! Now!”
Kayden kneels in front of me, ripping away the silk in a flash. “Sweetheart. I’m sorry.” He cups my face. “I would never—”
I grab his arms. “It’s not you. We . . . we are good. He . . . he tied me up. He had me whipped. That’s what woke me up yesterday, but I didn’t want to tell you, and—”
“He fucking beat you? Tell me it’s Niccolo and I will go there, beat him, and kill him, tonight.”
“I still don’t know. And you don’t get to beat him and kill him—I do. Do you hear me? I do! And now I’ve made it so you can’t be you with me. Tie me back up. Tie me back up now.”
He takes us down on the rug, pulling me close, his legs twined with mine. “I’m not tying you back up.”
“Kayden—”
“No.” His tone is absolute. “Fuck, Ella. I teased you with a possible spanking, and now you tell me he beat you? I should never have let this happen tonight, when you just remembered your father’s death.”
“I’m right. You’re going to be afraid with me.”
“No. I’m not, but the timing of this was wrong.” He strokes my hair behind my ear, his voice softening. “We will get by this and we will be okay together. I promise you.” He molds me to him, into the cocoon of his body. “Tell me about dancing.”
I blink at the sudden change of topic. “Dancing?”
“Yes. I want to hear about dancing. I want to know about what you love. Who you are. What you want from life.”
My fingers tease a loose silky strand of his light brown hair, tears prickling my eyes. “You’re amazing, Kayden Wilkens.”
“The feeling’s mutual, sweetheart.” He kisses my knuckles. “Now. Tell me. You danced. You dance.”
Tension uncurls inside me, replaced by an image of my mother smiling as she watches me dance, both of us in ballet slippers, a piece of the past coming back to me. “My mom was a dance teacher, and I took it seriously enough to audition for either a big production or an elite school. I think it was a school. It was important to me and to her. Her gift to me was dance. My father’s was the ability to protect myself. I’m eager to see if I remember dancing as well as I remember shooting a gun.”
“A woman who can dance and shoot. Sexy, sweetheart.”
I smile. “Let’s wait and see if I can actually dance.”
“We both know you can.” He lifts up on one elbow. “The school thing is interesting.”
“What do you mean?”