He settles on his knee, his teeth scraping my hipbone. Heat burns low in my belly and I swear I am so aroused that I might come the minute his mouth touches me. Just when I’m certain I will defy his vow to deny me, his fingers are gone. His hands are on my hips. His lips curve as he studies me with those blue, blue eyes, and then he kisses my trembling belly. Slowly, his mouth lowers, not to the spot I crave him to be, but to my stomach again. The soft, seductive flick of his tongue undoes me and sends a shiver through my entire body. The tenderness of this seduction, the slow burn, is a contrast with the promise of his hand on my backside and fills me with anticipation.
It’s all I can do not to reach for him, not to touch him. “Kace,” I whisper, my plea radiating in that one word.
His mouth eases lower and his breath is warm on my clit, his tongue doing a slow, barely-there lick. My hands lower but I catch myself, planting them on the railing. Another lick follows and then he’s suckling my swollen nub, and sensations explode inside me. I am so close to coming that I reach for him, afraid he will stop. And that’s exactly what he does.
The second my fingers tangle in the dark strands of his hair, his mouth and fingers are gone. I pant and his arm is suddenly around me, his fingers I want in the most intimate places now tangled in my hair, his grip a rough erotic tug. “I said no touching.”
My sex clenches painfully. “That’s a difficult order to follow.”
His lips quirk, the dark edge of his command fading into that moment. “And you take others well?” he teases.
“Yes?” I ask, remarkably at ease with Kace in all things, including this. He’s still going to spank me. I feel it in the air.
“No,” he says. “There’s a price for breaking the rules.” His lips linger just above mine, a promise of a kiss he does not give me. He cups my naked backside and lifts me, maneuvering me to the end of a long lounge chair. He lowers me, my front to his front and there is tenderness in his expression now that is as seductive as his commands. “I’m going to spank you now, Aria.”
“I know,” I whisper, my nipples puckering with his promise.
“It’s punishment for not listening to me,” he says, “but it isn’t about pain. It’s about control, about anticipation that becomes pleasure.”
“The anticipation is too much right this minute.”
His lips curve, and he cups my head, leaning in to kiss me, and it’s a drugging, sexy, possessive kiss that I feel in every part of me. And when it ends, I can feel the shift in him, the dominance even before he turns me to face the long end of the chair and orders, “Don’t move.”
For a long few beats, his hands rest on my shoulders, and he seems to just be getting me comfortable with the idea of him behind me. Nerves flutter in my belly and I focus on the window, where the snow is still skating by, zigging and zagging in the wind. And for just a moment I see myself as one of those flakes. All I did for years was skirt and skate in the wind. Control was a façade I clung to desperately and suddenly I know why I am so willing and aroused to allow Kace this kind of adventurous control. I know what Kace has been trying to tell me about myself.
Control is giving and taking. It’s a decision. It’s not an absolute.
He’s taking now.
I’m giving.
Only I think he is, too. Taking and giving.
“I’ll spank you four times, Aria. You’ll know before it happens, and immediately after I’m going to fuck you hard and fast. Understand?”
I like that he asked for my approval. I like that he’s told me what to expect, but I don’t miss the promise to fuck me after he’d sworn that denial and I call him on it. “I thought you weren’t going to fuck me.”
His lips brush my neck. “You’ll need the fuck after the first spanking. Next time, you’ll want it but you won’t need it.”
I’ll need it? I repeat in my mind, not sure what that means but I don’t have time to overthink. He squeezes my backside and then gives me a little smack. I yelp and his hands are on my neck, his cheek by my cheek. “That’s just a tease.”
His hand falls away and he steps back from me. I don’t move. And I don’t move because he’s ordered me not to move. Despite my revelation of liking his control, I’m amazed and confused at how aroused I am by his commands, by the threat of his palm, by this game. But then, this is Kace. He’s a contradiction. A man who is tender, gracious, funny. A man who knows when to give orders and when to ask questions.
I can feel his absence behind me, but the heat of his stare on my naked body is downright feverish. There’s a shuffle of clothing. Thank you, Lord, he’s undressing. I want to turn, I want to see him. I do, but I play the game. I live in the moment with Kace, wanting to know where he will take me. Wanting to know more about him and this is not a part of him that he created for me. It’s a way he copes, he escapes. It’s about his need for control that somehow works for me because I’ve never been as aroused as I am now ever in my life.
Seconds tick by and feel like an eternity.
I listen for his movements.
I await his return.
I can’t take it anymore.
I try to turn and suddenly his hands are on my hips. “I said don’t move.”
“I tried.”
“I know, baby. I know. Hands and knees on the cushion. And remember. Four times. Then we fuck. Now, Aria.”
I have no idea why him saying my name right now jolts me, but it does. Perhaps because it’s me owning me instead of him owning me. Only, I’m pretty sure right now he owns me. He owns me when pain and fear and panic owned me when Gio left. He is taking me to a place where nothing else exists. Where I can just stop thinking.
He leans in close, his lips at my ear, breath a warm fan on my hypersensitive skin. “We don’t have to do this.”
I wet my dry lips. “I want to do this,” I say, and my knees go down on the cushion.
My hands follow, planting in the cushion as well, and adrenaline surges. And Kace lifts my backside, his hand on my belly, caressing my cheek, touching me, warming my skin. I’m a rage of sensation and emotions, jittery with nerves, but his hands on my body seduce, tease. His fingers slide between my legs and I’m hot and wet, a soft moan escaping my lips. But now his hand is back on my backside and my heart is racing, anticipation burning through me. He begins to pat my backside, and I know he’s getting me used to his hand. I’m all but squirming with his touch, ready to beg him to just to do it when he says, “Now.”
His palm comes down on my cheek, a sting radiating through me, sharp enough that I arch my back and gasp, but already the next blow is there, and so is the next. I am reeling when I realize it’s over and Kace is pressing inside me, his thick erection thrusting deep. And then he’s doing just what he promised, fucking me, pumping hard, over and over. I can’t explain it but every sense I have is more alive. This is why he didn’t want me to come before the spanking. I feel each thrust with an explosion of sensations and I push into him, against him, wanting more, needing more. I lose all sense of anything but the wild need for more and more until I’m moaning and I pant with the release, my sex spasming around him. Sensation after sensation spirals through me and with low guttural sounds, Kace is shuddering. I don’t even know how much time passes before the room returns to me, snow before my eyes, the man who just owned me at my rear.
He rolls with me, taking us to our sides, my back to his front, our bodies intimately tucked together, his cock still buried inside me. He nuzzles my neck, his scent earthy and male, his touch possessive and yet tender and protective. I feel safe—vulnerable yet still safe. I feel the intensity of our intimacy, our trust, our bond, but unbidden, there is a weird pinch in my chest and then my eyes prickle. My hand goes to my face and I will them away. “Oh God, I’m about to cry and it’s not the spanking. I swear it’s not the spanking. I liked it, I did, I just—” Appalled, I burst into tears, horrible, gut-wrenching tears.
Kace curls tighter around me, str
oking my hair. “It’s the adrenaline baby. Ride it out.”
And I do because it’s not like I can stop the emotion that all but bleeds from me. It’s intense, quaking, but it’s fast and hard and gone. Somehow Kace has tissue, and he hands it to me, helping me clean up. I sit up and he wraps a blanket around me. “Better?” he asks going down on a knee in front of me, still naked and so beautifully male. He spanked me. I liked it. There is an intimacy to such a thing that I can’t explain.
“I can’t believe that just happened. It wasn’t the spanking,” I repeat, needing him to know. “I was, I—it was—”
He strokes a thumb under my eye, wiping away a wayward tear. “Yes,” he says softly. “It was. The whole idea of the spanking is to center you. The pleasure is intense. The release is intense.”
“And then I cried,” I say, still unnerved by how completely out of my control I was when those tears overtook me, and they did overtake me.
“Sometimes when you have a lot of emotion pent up, and you experience an adrenaline rush, it triggers an emotional release as well. That’s not a bad thing. It’s a release you needed.” He strokes hair behind my ear. “It might not ever happen again.”
“And if it does?”
His lips curve. “We have tissues.”
“How do you know this, Kace? How is this so familiar to you?”
“When I was eighteen, I had a fling with an older woman who had a taste for the BDSM world. It wasn’t for me and neither was she, but like everyone that crosses our paths, I believe there is a reason. She taught me a lot about control.”
“How old was she?”
“Thirty-five.”
I’m stunned about this new revelation. “How long did you see her?”
“A year in which I became a man.” He leans in and kisses my hands. “We’d better get dressed before Blake gets here.” He stands up, offering me a delicious view of his backside, and I’m struck by how raw and real he has become with me. Except for one thing: he won’t tell me how he’s dealing with Alexander. He doesn’t believe I can handle it, and therefore, he doesn’t believe I can handle every part of him.
He still thinks I’ll run.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
My conversation with Kace post-spanking lingers in my mind as I change into jeans, a pink sweater, and knee-high boots. I’m presently standing at the bathroom sink, repairing my make-up, when a particular statement he’d made punches at my mind: She taught me a lot about control. He’d said it so nonchalantly, but this not an insignificant relationship. I want to know more about this woman who has obviously done much to shape the boy who became a man. But then so did his ex, Maggie, in life and death. It’s a chilling thought, and I realize now that I really haven’t asked much about Kace’s love life outside of Maggie. Mine is simple outside of him. There wasn’t one. Ever. Who was this woman who pulled him into the world of BDSM? And just how into it was he? Surely not too intensely as he’s a public figure.
The doorbell rings and I powder my nose and inspect my puffy eyes. I still look like I’ve been crying, but the truth is that I’m actually remarkably calmer than I was before. A spanking, whiskey, and tears seem to have worked some magic on me. I’ve come down ten notches, and when I head for the stairs to join Kace and Blake, I feel as if my intellect, not my emotions, are in control. As far as Gio goes, I don’t know where his head is, but he’s always been a wild card, bucking convention. Mom was the only reason he restrained himself in the first place and I truly wonder how long he’s been at his hunt. Perhaps far longer than I think.
Hoping for insight on many things, I follow Kace’s and Blake’s voices to the kitchen. Sure enough, they’re at the island, which has become the meeting spot, both at the endcaps facing each other. Almost instantly, both men are looking at me and I don’t miss the keen inspection by either, and when my eyes meet Kace’s, there is an instant whip of heated intimacy, newly deepened between us. Feeling as if Blake will somehow know that I was just naked and bent over a chair, getting spanked by Kace, I hurry to Kace’s side, as if that alone shelters me. Kace immediately twines the fingers of his nearest hand to mine, a question in the touch that I recognize instantly. I glance up at him and kiss his cheek. “I’m remarkably better,” I assure him.
“Good to hear,” he says, a hint of mischief and conquest in his voice as he adds, “That was the plan.” I find I don’t mind the conquest or the mischief, not with the gentle mix of tenderness in his stare.
“What did I miss?” I ask, looking from him to Blake.
Kace releases my hand and presses his to the island. “Blake was just telling me about the journal.”
My heart jackhammers and I glance at Kace and then back at Blake, solidly back into my new reality, the one where my past, present, and future seem to be colliding. “Were you able to blow up the journal pages, Blake?”
“I was,” Blake confirms, “and with some cross-referencing to your father’s public records I confirmed his handwriting. This is the real deal.” He stops on the other side of the island with Kace and sets the pages on the counter.
I grab them and scan, my heart squeezing at the sight of my father’s writing, and the references to his beloved daughter. It’s all here. The one true daisy, Kace, and his daughter. The legacy is in you and in him, Aria. I’ve taught you the lessons you need to know. I’ve shown Kace the secrets inside the violin. You, daughter, decide if that secret lives or dies. All good things come to an end. Sometimes there is value to that end. My eyes pinch all over again, Lord help me, and I set aside the note. Thank God I’m in a better place right now, or who knows how this would be affecting me.
“I know Kace told you about Angelena,” I say, prodding for information.
“He did,” Blake confirms. “Angelena hasn’t been seen in nearly two decades and if that was her who called—”
“It was,” I insist. “I know her voice. Can you tell me anything about the call? Did it come from Italy?”
“Try someone around Grand Central Station here in the city,” Blake says. “That call was not international.”
Kace doesn’t move, but his energy jackhammers about as hard as my heart did a few minutes earlier, tension radiating from him. “Two questions.” His voice is low, tight. “Can we trace the call to a person and what the hell does that tell us about the intent behind that call?”
“The number is unregistered, which likely means a prepaid phone,” Blake says. “As for intent, I don’t know enough about Angelena to state an opinion. That said, my people on the ground in Italy confirm she’s been missing for years. She could have been hiding out here.”
“If she’s here, then she’s likely with Sofia,” I say. “Because Gio followed Sofia back to the States. Or so he said. All of this feels like a plan to make sure Kace and I have what we need to decode the formula. I don’t even care about the formula. I want this to end.” I look to Kace. “They can have it.”
“No,” he says. “No, they can’t.” He eyes Blake. “We need a plan that doesn’t include Aria giving up her family legacy.”
“Actually,” Blake says, “I’m with Aria. They want the formula, let’s give it to them so you can both move on and live your lives.”
“That’s not a plan,” Kace says, and while his voice is low, it’s also tight, a snap of displeasure beneath its surface.
“Hear me out,” Blake says, moving to the end of the island now. “We go to Europe and do an interview announcing the discovery of the formula at the Louvre.”
I blink. “As in the Louvre in Paris? Where the Mona Lisa is kept?”
“Exactly,” Blake confirms. “You come out as Aria Stradivari and you announce the formula is being vaulted at the Louvre. Tell the world you’ve decided it will not be released to the public.” He eyes Kace. “If you’ll donate a Stradivarius, then it can be the display.”
I blink and then gape. “Donate a Stradivarius? That’s millions of dollars. No. He’s not donating a Stradi
varius.”
“I’ll do it, baby,” Kace says, all nonchalant like it’s no big deal. “It’s a good tax write-off.”
“No,” I say, ignoring the stubbornness etched in his face, and returning my attention to Blake. “No.”
“Chris sits on the board,” Blake says. “If he can make it happen without the violin, we’ll try, but I have to talk to Chris and tell him what we’re doing.”
Kace is now focused on me. “You okay with Chris and Sara knowing?”
“Yes,” I say, surprised at how easily I offered that confirmation. Gio doesn’t trust my instincts, but I do. I trust Chris and Sara and just to be sure Kace knows I’m certain, I add, “Yes, of course.”
“The idea behind this plan,” Blake says, “is that to the outsiders looking in, the formula has been discovered, but it’s untouchable.”
“One small problem,” I point out. “We don’t have the formula.”
“That’s where Chris comes into play,” Blake assures me. “We’ll get the Louvre to play along until you do have it, at which time, we’ll commit to it remaining there.”
Kace rejects the plan. “That’s not going to work. We’re forgetting that they, whoever the hell they are, will still believe Aria and I know the formula. They’ll keep coming after us.”
“Then give them a formula,” Blake says without missing a beat, “have it on display, with copyrights in place. But give them the wrong formula. Get close, but not exact. Tell the world you found your father’s journal. You think you’ve cracked the code. When they figure out it’s wrong, you simply say that you tried.”
“We’re back to the original problem,” I say. “We don’t have the formula.”
“Well, convince the museum to say they have it with plans to reveal it months from now,” Blake says. “And if you don’t figure it out, we’ll regroup.”
He eyes Kace, but Kace is focused on me, waiting for my response. In that moment, I can almost feel the universe sewing the threads of our existence together with my father’s help. Kace and I are connected in ways we could never have understood the day we met. This is no longer a decision that affects only me and my brother. It affects Kace. “What do you think?”
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