Mariko was quiet on the way back to Ricco’s home. He glanced down at the top of her bent head as she sat beside him in the backseat of the car. “I was going to tell you about the decision to go to Tokyo as soon as we got home. Stefano makes up his mind fast. He wants to talk to Osamu.” There was no guilt or remorse in his voice, only a quiet explanation. “We both feel there is a high probability she’s involved.”
She felt there was a high probability as well, although she didn’t want to believe it. She looked down at her hands–at the scars from Ryuu’s biting her. She hadn’t thought about his tiny little teeth in years. She thought she made up the closet incident to explain the scars.
“Why does she hate me so much?” It came out a whisper. She turned her head to stare out the window at the glittering lights of the city as they drove through the streets. The day had passed while they laid his father to rest, had a reception with the townspeople and then the separate meeting with the riders. She hadn’t even been aware the sun had set and night had fallen. Now, suddenly, she felt that the sun had set on all of it, her newfound confidence in herself and her secret desire that Ricco Ferraro hadn’t been rescuing her when he proclaimed to the world that they were to be married–that somehow he could miraculously become a one-woman man.
“She raised two boys who committed a brutal murder. You were a daily reminder. Why you were placed in her home, I have no idea. My guess, if I had to make one, is that it was all about penance.”
She nodded, still staring out the window. What was there to say? Osamu had hated her. Sometimes she hated Ryuu. Most of the time the woman had loved him. She’d set up conflict between Ryuu and Mariko so that he would side with Osamu against her, feel guilty and then be angry at Osamu. Like Mariko, Ryuu was always off-balance. Osamu had been very good at keeping both that way.
Ricco shifted in his seat, reaching for her, drawing her against the protection of his body. She didn’t resist. He was warm and felt invincible. She let him hold her because she needed holding. She felt a little guilty over that. They’d buried his father today. Hers had been dead for years, yet he was comforting her.
“You didn’t eat much,” he said softly, his fingers sliding through her hair. “Are you hungry?”
She should be taking care of him, not the other way around. She felt vaguely ashamed that she could only stare out the window, feeling his hands in her hair, and his body solid against hers. Sometimes she felt completely invisible, as if she not only worked in the shadows but lived there–and she’d wanted to. Like now. Except that Ricco could see her no matter where she was, invisible or not. He could always find her.
“No.” She wasn’t the least bit hungry. She was sad. Very, very sad. She’d been living in a dream world with him, and it wasn’t going to last. She knew the truth somewhere in her head, but her heart had refused to listen and she’d let him in. He was there, inside of her, and she knew she’d never get him out.
Living with Osamu had been a child’s nightmare. She’d never understood why the woman would take in two children off the street she despised so much. Osamu had said their mother was a whore and that she had abandoned them. Mariko had been beaten “for her own good,” to get the devil out of her. She didn’t dare wear clothes or makeup that might be considered attractive to a man. She’d never felt attractive until she met Ricco Ferraro.
“Mariko,” he said softly. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”
It was the last thing she wanted to do. She didn’t know what she was feeling–although sorrow was close. He had stolen her heart with his care for her. The way he seemed to cherish her. He made her so much more than she was when she was with him. He gave her a confidence in herself as a woman, as a human. He made her feel beautiful and intelligent. He listened to anything she said. He wanted her to speak.
“Mariko.”
Her name whispered over her skin. Slid inside her. Wrapped around her heart. How could she leave him? Leave a dream? A fantasy? If she didn’t, no matter what happened with her brother, she knew the longer she stayed with Ricco, the more it would tear her apart when she left. She’d have to leave for her own self-respect. She couldn’t be in love with a man who would eventually despise her. She’d lived with that all her life and she was done with it.
“I’m okay. Just thinking. The interview must have been difficult for you.”
“In a way it was freeing. Just as it was when I told my family. I carried those secrets and the fear that they would all be targeted. They were, but I realized it wasn’t through my fault. I did what had to be done. I saved two children. I would do it again even knowing what would happen. Telling the council made me feel vindicated.”
He brought her hand to his mouth and scraped at the pads of her fingers with his teeth. She went damp, her sex clenching. He could do that so easily without even trying, his mouth hot against her cooler skin–his teeth moving over her flesh and leaving behind a trail of sparks.
The car pulled through the gates leading to his home, after making its way slowly through a crowd of photographers. Flashes went off continuously while Emilio and Enzo searched through a series of security screens on their phones before taking them all the way up to the house.
The reporters had had a field day speculating that the Ferraro family had gone to war with another crime family, and that the Saldis had sided with the Ferraros. Of course the news media had picked up the story and run with it. Sensation sold, true or not.
All the while, as the car moved through the eager photographers and reporters, Ricco kept his arm over Mariko’s head, keeping her face pressed into his chest so none of the cameras could capture her image. Despite her emotional turmoil, the protective gesture made her feel cherished. That was part of his charm, part of the reason so many women–including herself–fell for him.
The moment they were inside the house, she moved away from him. “I think I’ll take a hot bath, Ricco,” she informed him. She needed the respite from his constant presence. He was overwhelming. Intense. There was disappointment on his face, but he didn’t try to argue with her or talk her out of it. Because he left the decision up to her, courage had her lifting her chin. “After, I would very much like to do more Shibari with you.”
She was determined to seduce him. He had stated he was going to seduce her, but it was going to be the other way around. When he put the ropes on her, she was always drowning, totally drenched in desire for him. It wasn’t the ropes, it was the dark lust she saw in his eyes, the deep passion there when he looked at her. She was totally determined that she would have her time with him before she left. She felt very brave telling him she’d like to have a rope session with him.
His eyes lit up. “When you’re ready, Mariko, come into the studio. I’ll set up the lights and find some appropriate music.”
“Do you have a preference for what you’d like me to wear?” She kept her voice low, looking at him through the long sweep of her lashes, hoping he would cooperate.
“How daring are you feeling?”
Before she lost her courage, she answered, “Very.”
It was the right answer. His eyes darkened. He gave her that look she’d come to crave. He was totally focused on her as if she were the only woman in his world. For the time she had with him, she was going to be that woman.
“There’s a black lacy robe hanging in the closet. Wear that. Nothing else. Hair up. Red lipstick. Eyes smoky. Sexy.”
He was pure Ricco, the one she was so familiar with. His voice was a velvet command that made her shiver with need and want to give him every single thing he asked for–and more. She heard the promise of passion and paradise. She’d never known paradise before–never experienced true joy–but before she left him, before she walked away from her one chance at happiness, she was determined to discover that elusive feeling with him.
She’d lived in a stark, ugly environment her entire life. Ricco accepted her just as she was. He had known why she was there–to kill him–and yet he hadn’t judged her. He didn’t care if her blood wasn’t pure one way or the other. She took a deep breath and nodded her head, to let him know she understood what he wanted before she turned and walked down the wide hall to her suite.
She loved her suite. The large bedroom with its dressing and sitting rooms was so beautiful she couldn’t help wandering around each time she entered. She always went to the glass doors leading into the gardens with the views that took her breath and made her feel at peace. Even now, when she should be nervous, she just felt certain. Absolutely certain.
She ran her bath and added the wonderful smelling beads of oil Ricco had left for her there before stepping into the water. So many small touches. She appreciated each of them, but more than anything, she appreciated the confidence he’d given her to be who she was. To make her own decisions. Every step of the way, Ricco had stood back and encouraged her to make choices. He made it clear from the moment she walked into the interview room that she was in control.
Being in his ropes had taught her about the exchange of power. About beauty and the concept of sensuality. Art. Being a woman. Confidence. Above all else, trust. She understood why her mother loved being a rope model. It was freeing. She felt as if she were soaring when she was with Ricco Ferraro and he’d wrapped her up in himself–in his ropes. She also was very aware that she would never allow any other human being to tie her. It was all about her connection to him–and what he needed.
She was careful with her makeup, using a sheer, barely there foundation. She made up her eyes in a smoky, sultry look and added red lipstick to her pouty lips. She stayed naked while she pinned her hair in an elaborate swirl that would come down the moment he pulled out the long, decorative pins.
The robe was sheer stretch lace. Black. Delicate. It flowed down her body as if the material lived and breathed, a sensuous garment that slid over her curves to the floor. There were three pearly buttons at her breasts, but the entire rest of the robe was open so that with every step it opened and closed and slid over her bare skin, making her aware of her femininity and the power she wielded as a woman.
As she made her way to the studio, she knew she wanted this time with Ricco more than anything else in her life. This was her claiming him. Choosing him. She wanted him with every breath she took. Every step toward him. Every step took her closer to what she wanted.
She took a deep breath when she reached the studio doors. There would be no going back from this moment, but she knew she would never be sorry. She was that certain that Ricco Ferraro would always be the man for her–even when she knew she wouldn’t be the woman for him forever. But she would be now.
She pushed open the door and stepped through, surprised by the moody music and the dim lighting. Ricco was shirtless, wearing only a pair of soft, drawstring pants. They molded to his butt and hung lovingly on the powerful columns of his thighs. He had his back to her and was looking over the coils of rope. They were all different textures and colors.
He turned to look at her as she came up behind him. She saw his eyes widen, then go dark with sensual hunger and need. She loved that she could put that look in his eyes. He had a rope in his hand, one with several knots already tied on it. She raised an eyebrow and indicated the rope. It was gleaming, midnight black. Made of cotton.
His smile was wicked. “You’ll see. You look . . . beautiful. Sexy. Beyond my imagination. Thank you, Mariko, for knowing I needed this even before I did. Already, the ropes are grounding me.”
She wasn’t certain what the sight of the rope sliding through his hands was doing to her–or the knots . . . She’d felt the vibration of the rope in their earlier sessions and the sensation had been almost more than she could bear. She couldn’t imagine what it would feel like with knots . . .
She glanced over to the table where he’d set up the camera. He was going to capture her needs. She knew she would never be able to hide them, especially as he was already preparing to use the rope to stimulate her. She wanted him to see, wanted him to know she was aroused. For him.
She knew no other way to seduce him. Each time he’d had her in his ropes, he’d been aroused. He hadn’t tried to hide it . . . but neither had she. Her skin had flushed a soft rose, her eyes gone wide with excitement and need. If she was honest with herself, Ricco seemed aroused every time he was with her, which meant he was that way around women. It was Mariko who was made different in the ropes. Because they were his. An extension of him. He wrapped her up with himself. With his power. He gave her a confidence she’d never had before. She knew she was beautiful to him when he created his art with her body as the canvas.
Ricco watched Mariko as she moved around the studio. He loved the way she walked, flowing feminine power she was unaware she had. Her hips swayed, calling attention to her beautiful form. She stretched, completely focusing on warming her muscles, getting her body ready for the vigorous workout of being in the ropes. It gave him the ability to watch her unnoticed. Everything she did, every move she made only served to heighten his hunger for her.
She was very symmetrical, something he found fascinating. He worked with symmetrical patterns because they were so pleasing to the eye. She was already aroused, her body in a heightened state, every nerve ending receptive to the rope–receptive to him.
The rope slid seductively through his fingers, an automatic motion now to ensure there were no kinks. He could tell the burn speed of a rope with that one movement. He felt for splinters, anything that might make her uncomfortable when he laid the rope against her bare skin. For him, her safety and comfort were paramount.
He found the center of the rope easily, his gaze still on Mariko. She moved him in ways he hadn’t expected. It wasn’t just the way their shadows connected; it was everything about her. He liked her silence. Her flashes of temper. He’d see it in her eyes just before her lashes covered the raw emotion. He loved that. Loved that beneath the serene, peaceful exterior, there was a wealth of passion and emotion. It came out the moment he put the ropes around her.
Watching her, the vision began to take shape, the way it always did. He could see the ropes laid against its beautiful canvas of curves. The halter. The corset. The colors. More, he intended to seduce her. To claim her. To make her believe his marriage proposal was real and he meant every word of it. He knew more secrets with ropes than most and they were all for his woman. He would take her to the very edge of ecstasy, hold her there and then take her to his bed.
He had tied other women, even women he had sex with–the Lacey twins more than once–but it had always been one or the other: sex or art. Never had he wanted to do both at the same time–until now. He’d contemplated it, but he hadn’t wanted to taint his art with something he considered casual. His art wasn’t casual. By the time he’d considered using Shibari for an erotic time with the twins, he was already so jaded he’d dismissed the idea.
Shibari had been the only thing left to ground him. He’d viewed sex separately. Now, there was no separating anything from Mariko and the way he felt about her. The way he needed her. He had to find ways to tie her to him before she decided to bolt–and she would. Any sane woman of intelligence would take one look at his reputation and run for the hills.
Mariko was intelligent and sane. She was going to come out from under the embrace of the ropes and then she’d want to leave him. He wanted her to look at him and see him. The man. Not just the rigger. That was part of him, but it wasn’t all of him. He had to find a way to make her see–and love–all of him.
“Mariko.”
Deliberately he said her name low, an order, getting her attention. She froze and then turned toward him. He was already close, moving swiftly, using a panther-like fluid motion, deliberately mesmerizing her, forcing her to focus wholly on him. She blinked as he reached for her shoulders, pulled her slightly but very firmly toward him so she was a bit off-balance and had to lean her body into his. Her gaze never left his. She was drowning there. Swallowed whole by him–just the way he wanted.
Her skin was warm to his touch–warm from her bath. She smelled heavenly, a combination of citrus and vanilla. He found that a little ironic because what he was about to do to her was considered anything but vanilla. He inhaled, taking her into his lungs. She was already there, wrapped around his heart. He looked down at her, his heart jerking hard in his chest as she looked back up at him.
Her face was beautiful to him. Classic bone structure, exotic eyes with sweeping, feathery black lashes, and that mouth . . . that fantasy mouth. He couldn’t resist bending his head to capture it. Her lips were perfect. Soft. Yielding. One hand went to her throat, his fingers seeking her pulse as he kissed her.
He didn’t kiss women while he had them tied. He didn’t make love to them or want to make love to them. They were part of his living art, something he needed to balance the rage with the poet in him. Then there was Mariko with her mouth and her smile and the way she moved up behind prey when she made a kill. Sheer poetry.
She tasted like she smelled, like orange blossoms and some exotic spice that blended so well with the vanilla, he was instantly addicted. He couldn’t stop kissing her, his arm snaking around her, yanking her into him possessively. He felt possessive. A bit like a caveman. He now understood the urge to carry a woman off and claim her for his own. His need was primitive. Savage.
She kissed him back, and that was his undoing. If she hadn’t, he would have found the strength to step back, to change his artwork from seductive to a quick image that would satisfy her, and he’d let her go back to her room alone. But she kissed him back. With her kiss, she took his heart and every bit of good he had in him. He was better with her. He knew he was. More. He was simply more.
He had the rope in his hand, it was always there, an extension of him, and this time, when he grasped her wrists, he was decisive. In charge. He felt her pulse jump and her heart accelerate. Good. He wanted her entire focus on him. He lifted his head just enough to break their kiss, to look into her eyes as he pulled the robe from her body and allowed it to pool at her feet.
He loved the way the black lace looked on the floor around her bare feet. He would photograph her that way, but he knew he wouldn’t share that particular picture with anyone else. This was the night he was going to make Mariko irrevocably his. He wanted to read every thought, her body language, the things she said to him without speaking.
When he pulled her arms so decisively behind her back and bound her, he heard–and felt–the air leaving her lungs softly. Her lashes fluttered but not before he caught the flare of desire in her eyes. Her gift to him was precious. Something to cherish. He knew a woman like Mariko would never submit her body this way to a man she didn’t trust implicitly. Never.
He was humbled by her generosity. His body was as hard as a rock. He’d never had a problem wanting women. He liked them, and he’d loved sex until a few months before the accident when it seemed everything was the same. He was going through the motions. Jaded. He hated that word, but he knew he’d embodied it.
“You’re not getting a bargain, Mariko,” he whispered in her ear as he tightened the ropes, declaring his intention to keep her. She might not recognize it yet, but he was talking with the one thing that was always constant in his life. Always grounding. His ropes.
Her lashes fluttered again and then she was looking into his eyes. He didn’t know if he was drowning or if she was, but he moved the rope along her back, the sweet curve of her shoulders, fastening the pentacle harness he loved against her skin. This time her breasts were bare and he could worship them as he quickly built the frame of his vision around them, along the tender undersides, laying the ropes carefully on her skin so there was no discomfort.
He worked quickly and decisively, but kept his hands on her bare skin, stroking and caressing, letting the rope subtly help him with licks and bites of flaring heat. He paid attention to the way she sucked in her breath, her eyes widening, the dark of desire creeping into the beautiful hazel, making them pure amber.
He stepped very close again, seeing the haze in her eyes as he kissed her gently. Tenderly. His mouth wandered down her throat over the curve of her left breast. He flicked her nipple with his tongue, teasing, watching her reaction closely. The lift of her breasts as she inhaled sharply. The way she moved into him, not away. Satisfied that she was giving herself to him, he suckled her right breast, bringing every nerve ending to life.
Ricco took his time, a slow dance of seduction, lavishing attention on her breasts even while his hands moved with new rope, the one with the measured knots. One between her breasts, hooking onto the harness there. One just below her ribs and one pressed tight into her clit, almost like before, but this time, right over it where every movement would send a streak of fire racing through her body. He passed the rope under her and back up between her sweet cheeks to attach it to the halter.
When she was drifting in the haze of desire, he caught the harness rope and cinched down, sending streaks of lightning through her breasts as well as rubbing sensuously over her sex. He saw the ripple on her flesh as her body came alive, crying out for release.
Mariko gasped, her eyes flying open, centering on him immediately. Exactly what he wanted–and needed. Her complete focus. He smiled wickedly at her and teased the rope so that it vibrated over her sweet spot, sending more ripples of pleasure through her body. He could give her so much more. So much. He wanted her to look at him and feel aroused. He wanted her to see or smell the ropes and feel that same way. Every time she saw a rope, he wanted her to see only him, to want only Ricco.
He’d never used his art for seduction–or for erotic play. He knew his brothers thought he did, but for some odd reason, he had separated the two things in his mind so completely that having a woman in the ropes wasn’t a turn-on to him. Women were, not the ropes. He had no interest in bondage other than as an art form. He’d learned because he studied everything about the art. He loved the old prints from Japan and he liked to study the masters’ works.
The art of bondage was beautiful to him, but he’d never found it particularly seductive. Now he understood why. For him, there was Mariko. Only Mariko. He wanted to give her everything he was. The ropes were a part of him and he had extensive knowledge on how to keep her on the very edge of ecstasy for a long time. He wanted that for her. For them.
He had kept himself separate from the women he fucked. He gave them pleasure, but he didn’t give them him. The ropes were part of him. A big part. No matter how sensual other women found Shibari, something in him had always refused to follow through and have sex while they were in the ropes. With Mariko, he wanted sex with or without. Any way he could have her. He wanted ultimate pleasure for her always.
He began to wrap the corset, making certain that each time he moved her body, directing her with his hands, he vibrated the rope. She rewarded him with her gasp of pleasure. He felt her body melting with each wrap of the rope. Each time he tied her, he had the sensation of wrapping her up in him. His arms. His body. His lust and love.
He laid each line with a firm command, but it was his love he was laying on her body so exposed for anyone to see. He knew she thought she was exposed to him–her secret desires, her needs, even her hunger for him. He saw all that. It was there in her body’s response. The peaked nipples, hard as rocks. The damp collecting between her legs–he desperately wanted a taste of that.
She thought it was her exposure, but if she was watching, if she looked with more than her eyes, if she let the shadows tell her, it was Ricco Ferraro laying himself at her feet. She thought she’d given control over to him when she gave him the gift of her body for his canvas. In reality, she had all the control.
He knew with every line, he was exposing his love, his lust, his very need of her. His absolute commitment to her. He’d never felt so raw before or so vulnerable. Every time he’d worked with ropes, he now knew it had been a practice for this moment–with her. The ropes were wrapping her flesh and he knew that each wrap was him sinking into her, deeper and deeper.
He felt his hand tremble, when he was always confident, always the dominant. She did that to him, with the corset of red and black, the deep blue decorative triangle he’d added to the front and the herringbone spine down the back. It was more than decoration. Each pull of the rope sent vibrations teasing her body with the knotted rope wrapped around her, front to back, a part of him seducing her with every touch.
He stepped back to view his creation and it left his heart hammering, his cock hard and pounding with need. He caught the ropes between her breasts and pulled her to him, so that her body melted against his. He took her weight easily.
“Next time, I’m going to tie you on your knees, the ropes in your hair, holding it up off your neck.” His teeth teased her vulnerable nape. “I keep seeing the image of you like that. I know exactly how I’m going to tie it.” He had to distract himself, but there was no distraction, not even trying to think ahead. The moment he thought about tying her on her knees, her head pulled back by the rope in her hair, he couldn’t stop the image of her sucking his extremely painful cock into sweet oblivion.
“Would you like that, Mariko? How do you see yourself tied?” He whispered the temptation against her neck, suckling gently but persistently until he knew there would be a small strawberry there.
Her breath came in ragged little pants. Her eyes were glazed and she fought coming back from the floating euphoria where he’d sent her. He fucking loved that.
“I love any way you tie me,” she said. Her voice was soft. Her body squirmed in the ropes. Needed. Was hungry.
“I want to photograph you. For us. No one else. Are you okay with that? Can you stand where I put you?”
She touched her tongue to her lips. He groaned and
traced her mouth. “I love your lips. I’m feeling a little desperate to have them under mine–or wrapped around my cock.” He said it deliberately, watching her reaction closely. He wanted to seduce her, that was true, and he was willing to use any means at his disposal, but he would never want her to feel so vulnerable in the ropes that she thought he might force her to do anything she didn’t want to do.
She licked her lips again, causing his cock to jerk hard. “I’ve thought about those very same things,” she confessed. Her voice was soft, but it was confident. “And yes, I can stand while you photograph me, but my body is burning up.”
He flashed another wicked grin. “Good. I love how you look right now. So hungry, farfallina mia. I hope all that hunger is for me.” He hoped it was for Ricco, the man, not only Ricco, the rigger.
She lifted her chin. “It is.” Her eyes met his.
His heart jerked as hard in his chest as his cock did in his pants. He had to move before he did something stupid like take her like a madman right there on the floor. It wasn’t what he wanted with her.
He’d been so focused on creating certain images that somehow the person was just a canvas, no matter how sexual the pose. With Mariko, he was so focused on her that every tie was personal, sexual and erotic. He realized, with her, he could easily be into bondage. He fucking loved how she looked in ropes and it was a complete turn-on to use his erotic secrets on her body.
He steadied her, brushed her neck with another kiss, and then checked her hands to make certain they were still warm. “Wiggle your fingers for me. Are you numb anywhere?” As a rider she was in superb physical condition, and he knew that helped.
“No. I’m fine. Just . . .” She shivered. “Needy.”
His wicked smile flashed again. He liked her needy. He gave the rope another tug, wanting to keep her right on that edge. He pooled the black lace robe around her bare feet and adjusted the lighting. The camera loved her. He took several pictures with various lenses, from every angle. The longer he looked at her through the lens, the more he wanted her.
Abruptly he put down the camera. He had to know. It was too important to him. His hands automatically went to the ropes. Now they would forever have her scent on them. Her ropes. No one else would ever see or feel them. Slowly he unwrapped her, removing the coils, unknotting each decorative rope, sliding them through his hands to feel her warmth and to make certain there were no splinters.
“Don’t slouch, farfallina mia. I know you’re tired but I don’t want any ropes to pull or move on you while I’m untying. I can cut you out if you’re too tired.”
She shook her head. “I’m not.” There was a hint of desperation in her voice.
Standing behind her, his fingers on the knots, removing the coils from around her body, he put his mouth against her ear. “I want you with every breath I take.”
“I want you the same way.” There was no hesitation.
“Me? Or the rigger? The rope master?”
“It’s the same thing.”
“No, baby, it isn’t.” With the corset off, he tugged on the knotted rope so that she cried out softly, her skin flushing a soft rose. “I will agree it’s part of me, but I don’t want or need ropes to make love to my woman. I need to know if you need the ropes to want to be with me.”
Her long, feathery lashes fluttered. Lifted. He found himself falling into those beautiful amber eyes. Flecks of green had intrigued him when he’d first met her, there in the conference room of the Ferraro Hotel. Now her eyes were all amber, exotic, a cat’s eyes.
“I came here tonight not to be your rope model,” she admitted, looking him straight in the eye. Her voice rang with truth. With absolute certainty. “I wanted to seduce you, and I noticed when you tied me you were aroused. I thought if I came to you the way you asked, dressed in the robe and nothing else, I’d have a chance.”
His eyebrow shot up. His hands were moving faster, sliding beneath the rope to ensure she didn’t get burned or pinched as it coiled in his hands. “I get aroused because it’s you I’m tying. I don’t see other women when I tie. Their bodies are canvases I work with or practice on. I don’t fuck them after I tie them.”
He removed the knotted rope carefully. It was her rope now. He cleaned all his ropes with care, but this one would always be special.
Her eyes didn’t leave his. She didn’t blink. She looked at him as if he’d grown two heads–or she didn’t believe him.
“Mariko, I don’t bring women to this house. Ever. I’ve never had a woman in my bed. I don’t sleep with them. Or want to hold them all night. I don’t tie them here; I just created this space after my accident in hopes of finding you. When I’m working, it’s all about how the creation looks and the right lighting. The poses are sexual, even blatantly erotic bondage, but for me, working with the rope, the art I create centers me. My mind calms and I see only the creation in my mind.”
The harness was gone and she stood very still, hands still tied behind her back. She was naked, her body very flushed and aroused, every nerve ending on fire. She was totally aware of him, just as he was of her. His hands went to the last tie to free her. He hesitated. He loved the Japanese artwork depicting beautiful, intricate ties, men and women in bondage, posing in various positions. He never had considered what it would be like to have his woman completely vulnerable to him–so trusting she would give her body completely into his keeping.
“Any numbness in your arms or hands?” He asked the question as his hands moved over her arms, checking her body temperature.
She shook her head. “None.”
He stepped back and looked at her from behind. She was gorgeous. His. He made a slow circle around her, taking in her body with his heated gaze. Devouring her. When he was directly in front of her he tipped her face up with two fingers, forcing her to meet his eyes.
“Tell me no if you don’t want this, Mariko. Once I have you, there isn’t any going back.”
He watched her take a deep breath and let it out, her breasts rising and falling, drawing his attention, her thighs rubbing together as if she could alleviate the ache between them.
“You always look so serene,” he observed, running the pads of his fingers over her breasts. “Even with your body on fire. It is on fire, isn’t it?”
She touched her tongue to her lips and he groaned. She swallowed and nodded slowly. “I need you more than I need to breathe right now. I want you in the ropes or out of them, Ricco. Either way. I’ll always welcome you.”
He took a breath. Lust and love combined in a fiery need rushing through him like a turbulent storm. He had to stay centered, make certain she was all right before he made his demands. In or out of the ropes. He had everything with her.
“Touch me, Ricco.”
He smiled. Wicked. Sinful. He felt both. He wanted to be both. He wanted to be her obsession. Her addiction. The love of her life. He took his time, kissing her throat, trailing kisses down to the curves of her breasts. Making her wait while he just blew warm air on her nipples. She swayed toward him, her breath hitching.
“Are you going to untie me?”
He was. He wanted to feel her hands on him. “I’m beginning to understand the appeal of a woman in bondage. When you get out of hand and go all wildcat on me, I’m going to resort to this.”
She laughed softly. “You know I’ll like it. It excites me to see what you’re going to do next.”
He obliged and she yelped when his mouth closed over her breast.
She leaned into him. “I don’t know about going wildcat.”
He did. She had more pent-up passion than he could imagine–and he could imagine a lot. It was in her bold, direct gaze and the smoldering there in the amber of her eyes. She was definitely going to make her own demands, and the thought of that had him wanting to quit teasing her and untie her so he could feel her hands on him.
“You’ll go wildcat on me.” He said it with absolute conviction and a hint of excitement. “But since you want to touch me so much, I’m going to untie you.”
“You’re projecting.”
He raised his head from where he was nuzzling her breast to look at her, letting her see how wicked he could really be. “You’
re probably right. The thought of your hands on my cock has been on my mind for a while now. But . . . since you’re not ready to be untied . . .”
He dropped down to his knees, taking his time, his hands moving over the curves of her body, his mouth following the same path. Inserting one hand between her thighs, he pressed. “Apart, farfallina mia. Spread them apart and give me room.”
She made a little sound that vibrated right through his entire body. Playing was fun, but he wanted to get down to the real thing–making her his. Still, he looked up at her, at the desperation on her face. The hunger. The need. There was demand there as well. His woman was no shrinking violet, tied or not, and he fucking loved that.
