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He sank into his chair and beckoned her to stand in front of him, facing him. Immediately he pushed her thighs apart. “Are you burning up now?” He kept his voice soft. That same tone that told her he was in charge and expected answers. His fingers moved up her inner thigh slowly, brushing flames deliberately.
“Yes.”
“Here?” He flicked her already exposed clit and she moaned. She was totally inflamed. He flicked a second time a little harder and she had to steady herself, a cry breaking free. “Yes, right there. Everywhere.”
“I can see that. Kneel down, legs apart, and let me get this lotion on your arms and shoulders and then I’ll see what I can do to help. Keep your knees wide, and face me so I can rub this on your breasts as well.”
Obediently, Flambé sank down, not paying much attention until her sex hit the knots in the rough rug made of sisal rope. He had painstakingly made the rug himself, tying the knots and then weaving the rounds until he had a good-sized piece he could use. He’d stashed it just in case it could be useful someday. He was very glad he’d done so when she gave another little cry and rocked her hips.
“Baby, you need to try to stay still for me.” The rough rope would play over her burning sex and the knots would slide on her tender inflamed parts, adding to the coiling tension so that she would strain for release.
He took the lotion and began a slow massage into her neck and shoulders. At first, the lotion had a soothing effect on her skin. He knew it would. It had natural aloe vera in it, but his touch on her body was sensual, whispering over her pressure points, the ones that triggered her needs, that ones that heightened her awareness of him. His hands slid from her arms to her breasts, massaging the lotion into the full mounds, cupping the soft weight and massaging lotion into the undersides, not wanting to be neglectful.
“Turn around for me. No, don’t get up, just spin around, keep your knees wide.”
She closed her eyes and obeyed him, grinding down on the knots as she did, rocking her hips forward, a kind of long groaning sound of need escaping. He simply continued with the slow massage, starting with her neck, digging his fingers deep into her tense muscles, finding every trigger point. Occasionally, he bent forward and nipped at her earlobe or whispered a kiss along her ear, watching the goose bumps rise on her skin.
When her skin was glowing and she felt hot, when she couldn’t stop moving, he put the lotion down and reached around to her front, very gently covering her breasts with his palms. “Baby, if you prefer, you can go lie on the bed and I’ll make love to you slow and easy and take away that burn right now. I’ve never tied you twice in one day and you’re already climbing out of your skull. That can either be a good thing or a bad thing. I don’t want you burning to the point of hurting. I want you burning to the point of anticipating. If you want to stop, we’ll stop, and I’ll give you my cock, let you sleep while I make us dinner and then you can rest again.”
He fell silent and waited. Flambé didn’t disappoint him. She tilted her back until it was nearly in his lap, her nipples hard little points of flame in his palms.
“Or what?”
“I’ve wanted to build a pattern called the necklace on you. I think it will look beautiful. It really depends on how tired you are.” One finger slid back and forth along the side of her breast, adding to the flickering flames of electricity snapping over her skin.
Her hips rocked. She kept her head in his lap, her back stretched, her breasts thrust into his palms. “I’m never too tired for you to tie me, Sevastyan.”
His heart stuttered. He heard the note of truth leopards couldn’t hide from one another. She had seen the bundle of green rope, silk, a stark contrast to the sisal rope rubbing on her bare pussy. He reached one hand for it, keeping the other on her, rubbing gently, reassuringly, soothing her.
The necklace was a beautiful pattern. He wanted to add a couple of variations to it, but essentially, he would tie it the way it had been done for many years. There was no screwing with perfection. He pulled her hands behind her back and looped her wrists and then wove a quick cuff and open lace glove over them. Pulling her head back farther and down toward her hands, and hands up toward her head, he quickly braided her hair into the rope and the rope and hair into the line with her cuffed hands. Now her head was anchored and she was unable to move it.
He checked her pulse, whispered encouragement and kissed her as he looked down at her body. The light had changed in the room. Evening had shifted the sun so that the ball had dropped from the sky, creating orange-red streaks that were already fading to bluish grays.
Shadows fell across Flambé’s face. Already she looked as if she was slipping into subspace, and he wanted her focused completely on him. He caught the rope and tugged hard, snapping it against her scalp, causing it to sting, bringing her eyes flying open. He waited until she was looking at him and nowhere else. He snaked the green rope around her neck and began to weave it in the intricate pattern that was high up on her neck and made its way down to her breasts until the ropes were draped and pulled over them in loops, covering the mounds and nipples at an angle, two strands at a time. Each weave ran around to the back and was threaded into the bindings of her hands and back up to the necklace ties at her neck.
When Sevastyan was finished, Flambé was kneeling on his rug made of sisal rope, her naked inflamed thighs and clit pressed tight into the knots there. Her hips bucked continually, riding the knots, her body bent almost backwards. At the same time, the necklace around her throat and breasts seemed almost demure in contrast to the sordid display of her open legs.
He moved out from behind her, camera in hand, and took several shots of his work, then several shots of her face before seating himself once again. He tugged on her braided hair, letting the knots unravel, watching them slide away quickly. He’d deliberately used ones that could easily be removed fast. His woman was just about done.
When he had the ropes off of her, he lifted her, carried her to the bed and took her down to the mattress, his body blanketing hers. Murmuring soothingly to her, he kissed her over and over, stealing her breath, wanting to steal her heart. Her soul. God, she was the most amazing woman he’d ever found.
He had no idea he could be tender. He was a rough man, especially when it came to sex, but for her, there was tenderness. She was slick and hot, and so tight that when he pushed into her folds slowly, filling her, he didn’t think he could make his way into that snug tunnel. She gasped, her lashes suddenly lifting in alarm, eyes staring straight into his, her fingernails biting deep into his shoulders. She shook her head at him, fear creeping into the gold of her gaze.
“What is it, baby?” he murmured, one hand stroking her mound, her inner thighs, circling her clit, feeling her body shudder as her pussy swallowed another inch of him. “Look at you taking me.” It was an erotic sight, seeing himself disappear into her body. “Look at us, Flambé.”
Her gaze slid from his face to their joined bodies. Her feminine form was flushed, covered in his rope marks, in strawberries where he’d left his personal marks behind, on her breasts, her thighs, one on her neck, but low so it wouldn’t show when she wore a shirt. She had a business and she was the boss.
He dipped his head and kissed her throat. The action sent his cock sliding another inch into her. She shuddered. Her sheath, scorching hot, tightened like a vise around him. His breath hissed out. He stopped moving and watched her face. That beautiful face while she squirmed and did her best to try to impale herself on him.
“We’re doing slow and easy, Flambé.”
She shook her head, looking as if she might fling herself off the bed and run.
He began to move again, because it was impossible not to. He needed to bury himself all the way, to feel her body surrounding his. It was easy to drown in her eyes. She didn’t want to look at him like this; he could see her trying to escape their connection. It was too deep. Too visceral. She shook her head again. “Faster. Harder. Not like this.”
“Just like this, Flambé. It’s good, baby. You know it is.” He whispered the truth to her, and it came out like a sin between them instead of the growing love he was trying to convey.
He detested that he wasn’t good at romance, at telling his woman what he wanted her to know. He could do it with his ropes, but she didn’t hear him. He was trying with his body, but she didn’t want it. Verbally, he couldn’t get the words out that would reassure her, because in the world he grew up in, those words were a death sentence. He had to try to reach her someway and she only let him close through sex or ropes.
He did a slow surge forward with his hips, forcing her tight petals to give way and open for him. This time he didn’t stop but, all while holding her gaze to his, buried his cock deep in her. The burn turned to flames licking hot and wild over and around him, feeling as if the fire was consuming him in a new and different way. That shocked him. Judging by her expression, the feeling shocked her as well.
They were both used to hot and wild. Fast and furious. Slow and easy was so different, but equally as good, very moving. So much so that terror had crept into her eyes. He tried to reassure her, but a part of him was feeling that same fear. She had taken him over when he wasn’t looking. When he’d been so busy binding her to him. Wanting his own woman for all the wrong reasons and realizing, when he had her, what the right reasons were.
He moved in her, sharing her body, her haven, in intimacy unlike he’d ever experienced in his life with another being. The fire built and built like a slow-moving storm, flames licking all over his skin, all over hers, touching and receding and then coming back again, leaving them both breathless.
“Sevastyan.” She whispered his name.
He heard a note in her voice that had never been there before. She didn’t want to admit true feelings to him. To herself. But they were there.
He kept moving, building the heat between them, that slow, easy build that was anything but easy. The fire began to roar. Became a storm of emotion. Her body clamped down on his without warning, a scorching-hot grip, a blaze of fire so hot his cock jerked and pulsed, erupting in a wild storm of white-hot ropes of semen, a volcano there was no stopping.
Flambé’s body seemed to have one continuous orgasm in response, so that even when he collapsed over the top of her, careful to keep his weight to one side to keep from crushing her, every movement sent powerful ripples through her. Her arms crept around his neck and she buried her face against his chest, hiding her expression.
“I want us to try together, Flambé,” he whispered in her ear. “I know it’s scary to you. Neither of us has ever done this, but let’s try.” He waited, closing his eyes. Hoping. Hearing his own heartbeat. Feeling her body rippling with such magic around his. “We’re good together. I know we are. Let’s try, baby.”
She was very quiet for a long time. Her head nod was barely there. He felt it and his heart turned inside out. It wasn’t much, but he’d take it. She always felt so elusive to him, like she had one foot out the door. At least it was somewhere to start.
13
SEVASTYAN didn’t think his mood could get much fouler. If Mitya didn’t fucking start cooperating with him, he was going to take out a gun and shoot him himself. How could the entire world spin out of control overnight? He’d been gone one damn day. You’d think he’d taken a month off, not one single day, but Mitya was acting as if he’d deserted him.
“Get your head out of your ass, Mitya. How can I be responsible for what Ania decided to do while I was gone? She’s your wife. You’re the one who is supposed to handle her, not me. As for Rolan disappearing, he had to have help. He had to have known we had eyes on him. Someone ratted us out. Unless you think that’s me, stop yelling at me and let me think.”
“Maybe if you’d been here instead of fucking that woman every five seconds, none of this would have happened. We wouldn’t have been short of bodyguards if she hadn’t run sniveling to you that someone hurt her feelings, and Ania wouldn’t have gotten hurt . . .”
“Damn it, Mitya, that’s bullshit and you know it. Ania takes chances. That isn’t my fault or Flambé’s fault. Miron and Rodion overheard our conversation and had no fucking right to repeat anything we said. None. They know better.”
Sevastyan pressed his hand to his pounding head. Mitya was insane over Ania. He knew that. Ania had gotten it into her head to climb to the top of the loft when no one was around. She’d been in the garage working on her engine and just got frustrated. Instead of utilizing the skills of her leopard, she tried climbing the human way, missed a step and fell. She broke her wrist. Of course Mitya was going to lose his mind, but blaming Sevastyan—or worse, blaming Flambé—was ridiculous. To make matters worse, they’d lost eyes on Rolan. That meant Sevastyan was going to have to lock everyone down tight. He’d be everyone’s enemy.
“Whoa. Miron and Rodion overheard what conversation? What did they repeat?” Mitya’s voice was suddenly low. Menacing. “Something that had to do with Flambé?”
Sevastyan turned to face him. To glare at him. “Suffice it to say it wasn’t very nice. I can’t go into this with you right now. I have things to straighten out.”
He paced across the room again, Shturm raking at him cruelly. His leopard had never been so on edge. He couldn’t calm the cat. He was meaner, more ferocious and tenser than he’d ever been, ready to rip anyone apart at the least provocation. This wasn’t the time for Mitya—or anyone else—to defy or cross him.
Mitya seemed to be having equally as hard a time. Ordinarily, Sevastyan would be feeling just as upset over Ania’s broken wrist. Maybe that was partially the reason for his own furious temper. Why hadn’t anyone taken more care with her?
“No one should be repeating our personal conversations about our women, Sevastyan,” Mitya said, his tone indicating that he might just add his own retribution to Sevastyan’s.
“Hence the beating,” Sevastyan pointed out.
He forced air through his lungs, letting the positive sift through his brain rapidly. He had two teams of shifters already available to him. Drake Donovan had been very fast to answer his call for help. Gorya and Timur had listened to him. Without hesitation, they had managed to get Fyodor, Evangeline, the twins and Ashe out of harm’s way. They were supposedly vacationing in an undisclosed area. Knowing Timur, wherever they were, no matter how fun, they were locked down tight and very safe. Gorya had elected to stay and help protect Mitya, Ania and Sevastyan.
Sevastyan forced himself to stop pacing, ignored Mitya and faced his cousin Gorya. “I appreciate that you stayed behind, Gorya. Rolan’s hired quite the force to send against us. Most are mercenaries, not shifters. I’m fairly positive he’ll send in those men first to test our defenses. Or while we’re fighting them off, his shifters will try to come in quietly under cover of their fire. Mitya and Ania have a safe room that’s hidden and well supplied. They could live there for well over a month if necessary and they have three escape routes for both leopard and human from that room.”
“What will you do with your woman?” Gorya asked. He was draped on the wall, tall, lithe, even a little lean, all muscle, looking deceptively lazy. He was all muscle and flexible spine, a fighting machine, but he appeared to be easygoing, until one looked into his eyes—eyes that right now showed his concern for Sevastyan. He was always the peacemaker for his more volatile cousins.
Sevastyan sent Mitya a glaring challenge, one that betrayed the fact that Shturm was extremely close and furious. His eyes were all cat, pure amber, gleaming with malice at his cousin, daring Mitya to allow his leopard out.
“I had planned to have her go into the safe room with Mitya and Ania, but that’s impossible.” Even as he threw the accusation out there, he knew it wasn’t really Mitya’s fault. Part of his anger was the fact that he was beginning to think Mitya was right in that Flambé was never going to feel anything for him but her need for sex.
He turned to stalk out before Gorya could try to appease him. He didn’t want to be
appeased. He wanted to let Shturm loose to fight the way he needed to fight. He could taste the rage in his gut now, a dark red that spread through his body, flowed in his veins, consuming both of them.
“Sevastyan.” Mitya stopped him at the door. “Wait. I know I’m acting crazy. I can’t seem to calm my leopard. He’s furious no matter what I do.” He sat at his desk, his head in his hand. “There’re things that have been going on that we need to talk about . . .” He broke off as someone knocked on the door.
Sevastyan was standing beside it and recognized Ania’s scent immediately. He opened the door and caught the unmistakable fragrance of his woman too. She was farther down the hall, standing several feet away, not even looking their way. She looked small, alone, too alone. The hallway was wide, the walls tall to accommodate the high ceilings, emphasizing her small frame. She kept her head turned away from Mitya’s office even when Ania spoke.
“I’m taking Flambé out to my garage to see my project, Mitya. Is it really necessary for us to have to wade through, like, seventy-five shifter guards to just get from here to my workspace?” There was a hint of amusement in Ania’s voice.
Sevastyan wasn’t amused. “Ania, Mitya doesn’t have a say in who is guarding you right now, only I do. We’re under lockdown. Just accept that anywhere you go on the property there are going to be guards. Lots of them. At some point, you might be told not to leave the house. If you can’t accept that, you might be forced to stay in a room. You know me. You know I don’t fuck around with your safety.” He liked Ania a lot—okay, if he ever used the word love, he could admit he had that emotion for Ania. He didn’t like to be harsh with her, but he’d rather be harsh than have her end up dead.
He knew Flambé liked Ania. If Flambé had allowed herself any friend from inside his circle, it was Ania. Now that he actually thought about it, he’d never seen her with any other friend. She didn’t talk on the phone to other women. She didn’t tell him she was going to go meet someone for drinks. When she did get calls, and those calls were numerous and could last for long periods of time, she was all business. He didn’t want to alienate Ania, not against him and certainly not against Flambé. Still, her safety and Flambé’s had to come first. In the end, if either woman died, so did their man. That was the bottom line.