His Every Fantasy

by Delilah Devlin

  Since she still held them inside her mouth, she shook her head.

  “Darling, you’ve earned another punishment.”

  The urge was too great to resist. She bit him.

  An indrawn breath was followed by a choked chuckle. His fingers slid free.

  She might be bound, and maybe she was following the rule about keeping quiet, mostly, but she wasn’t afraid. Her mouth curved.

  His hand glided over her again, but this time, it was covered in something, a glove perhaps, and the material was prickly. He scratched her breasts, lingering on her nipples, which tightened, the tips becoming painfully aroused with each stroke of the bristles. And then he stroked her belly, the sensation tickling her, causing her to squirm, an action she fought to control, because she knew she was disobeying again, but she couldn’t help wriggling… until he reached her mound. The glove slid between her legs, combing through the sparse hair, roughing her outer lips, then scratching in between.

  The moment it scraped over her hooded clit, she cried out, her thighs tensing as she held still, while he gave her clit several prickly swipes before pulling away.

  Her body trembled, but she stayed rigid, not breathing, understanding this was the punishment, but the act was unlike anything she might have expected. Now her sex was ultra-sensitive, primed for touch.

  Warmth, moist and lavish, brushed her folds—his tongue—and a moan clawed its way from her throat. The sensation was too delicious, too decadent. Lushly wet. Her hands fisted and pulled on the ropes; her hips pulsed upward.

  But he left her, and his hands pushed downward on her hips, trapping her against the pillow. Now only hot breaths grazed her sex, and the sensation wasn’t enough.

  Kara mewled with frustration.

  “Do you have any idea how sexy you are?” he asked, his voice rasping, breaths gusting there between her legs.

  Her toes dug into the carpet. She didn’t know how to answer, so she thrashed her head.

  “Everything about you, your scent,” he said, inhaling loudly, “your taste,” he rasped, licking her wet seam, “makes me so fucking hard.”

  Her breaths shortened to pants, and her mouth gaped. “Please, Sergei,” she whispered.

  “Do you know what you want?”

  “I want you to fuck me,” she whispered. “Sir,” she added more harshly.

  A kiss landed atop her mound. “That, you have to earn.”

  She gave a groan and fell back, her body limp. The man was a sadist.

  Bare hands, lightly callused, massaged her inner thighs, up and down, then up again, slowing as they approached her pussy. Fingers—thick thumbs, she guessed—fondled her outer lips, then tugged them apart. Something cold twisted into her opening, but didn’t come deep, and there were sides to it that cupped her labia and clitoris. Thin straps were stretched around the tops of her thighs, fitting the thing inside her more snugly.

  As sensitive as her sex was, she couldn’t discern the shape or the material, but there seemed to be some give, so she knew the object wasn’t metal. Perhaps gel, she thought, squeezing around it. And then a hum erupted, gentle and low, which caused a fresh wash of fluid to ooze from inside her. It jumped against her opening, vibrated against her lips and clit.

  “It’s a butterfly. Have you ever used one?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Do you know what one is?”

  “A vibrator?”

  “Yes, but it’s not meant to penetrate deeply. I’ll keep it in place while I play.”

  The quick taps were maddening, and she curled her hips, instinct forcing her to seek deeper penetration, but the thing followed her movement, held in place with the strap.

  Something soft brushed her nipples—a feather—so lightly it felt like another punishment because the stroke didn’t come close to satisfying her need to be touched there. She wanted his mouth, his tongue, his teeth.

  The feather brushed upward, teasing her neck, her chin, then brushing over her moist mouth. It moved away, replaced by his mouth lightly kissing her. “Your nipples are so tight. So pretty. I want to try something. If it makes you uncomfortable…”

  She nodded, knowing he hovered over her face. “Yes, sir, I’ll let you know.” But she doubted she’d take issue with whatever he planned to torture them with, so long as it wasn’t the blasted feather.

  Something encircled the tip of a breast, then squeezed it, pulling on it. Another squeeze increased the suction. Not the bite she’d wanted, but the pull was strong enough to tug at her core, ripening her arousal. He applied another to the other tip, then flicked it.

  She bit her lip and drew in a deep breath.

  “Do you like that?”

  She nodded her head vigorously, trying not to cry out when he squeezed one of them again. A pinch on her mound was her punishment, and she gasped. “Yes, sir.”

  He kept silent, shuffling around her and something brushed over her belly, stroked over the top of her sex. Long soft strands. It lifted then swished sideways, brushing the skin of her belly, again and again. The soft strokes were drugging, like caresses that lulled her into relaxing. They quickened—stroking her belly, the tops of her thighs, her inner thighs.

  Her skin prickled up in goose bumps. Her pussy grew hot and felt engorged. The vibrator continued its sexy shivering hum, and she began squeezing it rhythmically, tiny little movements she hoped he wouldn’t detect, because she knew he wanted her motionless.

  But lying still was becoming impossible, especially when the strokes grew harsher, light stings that heated her skin. A pop landed on her inner thigh, not far from her pussy, and she moved to close her thighs, but his heavy hand prevented her, and now his strokes were sharper, lashing back and forth. The speed of the vibrations from the instrument poised at her entrance kicked up a notch, and she had to move, couldn’t hold back her groan. Her head thrashed on the carpet, and her hips began to pulse.

  The straps at her thighs eased, and the device pulled away. And then the lashes fell against her sex, shocking her into stillness. The strokes stung, not too aggressively, but they caught her attention. Honed on the pulse throbbing at her groin.

  The strokes stopped. Hands bracketed her thighs, and a long lapping lick trailed from the bottom of her folds, across her opening, and upward, lifting as it touched her clit.

  Her skin quivered. Her pussy clenched. A squeeze of the devices on her nipples caused her hips to rise.

  His face burrowed into her sex, rubbing in her opened folds, the prickles of his whiskers scratching her swelling tissue. His touch was too much. Too many stimuli for her to fight the urge to move. She pulled on her ropes and arched her back, grinding against his face.

  And he allowed it, groaning against her, his mouth nibbling on her folds, his tongue entering her, fucking her, not deeply enough, and she couldn’t contain her complaint. “Please, sir. Please, it’s too much.”

  He left her, and her breaths broke apart. But then the tension of the ropes binding her hands eased. Cushions slid away. He helped her sit, then used his hands to turn her and put her on her knees. A hand in the center of her back forced her chest against the floor, the little suction cups remained trapped beneath her body, and then he pulled the ropes, forcing her hands behind her, where he bound them together. “Is this too much?” he asked, his voice tight.

  Because she knew he was every bit as excited, as stretched to his limits as she was, she didn’t want to disappoint him. And she wasn’t afraid. With her hands behind her, her face turned to the side on the carpet, she was completely helpless, but not afraid. It was Sergei behind her. Sergei whose strong hands and hard body were covering her now. He bent over her, blanketing her arms and back, and kissed her shoulder. “Do you want me to release you, baby?”

  “No, sir,” she said, her voice thickening with emotion. She wanted this. Wanted him in charge of her body, her pleasure.

  Another kiss, this one to her cheek, and he slid away, his hands smoothing down her back. Kisses rained on her spine, he
r hip, both buttocks, and then his tongue caressed her folds, sweeping over them then coming to a point as he flicked her clit.

  Kara moaned and widened her stance. Her back sank, lifting her bottom, as clear an invitation as she could issue.

  A finger sank inside her and rimmed her opening. “Is there tenderness?”

  Yes, there was—but the tenderness was in his deep, rumbling voice. And while she felt a little sting as he eased another finger inside her, she wanted this, accepted that there might be some discomfort but craved the connection of his cock entering her body, locking with her. “I’m fine. Please, sir.”

  His fingers slid away. The sound of plastic ripping behind her eased her anxiety that he might stop. And then she felt the blunt tip of his cock, pushing at her entrance.

  She tightened against the increased sting, but forced herself to ease around him, sucking in a breath as he pushed and at last breached her opening.

  Sergei worked himself inside her in gentle strokes that stretched her inner walls, but she was wet, her channel heating with the friction he built with his firm strokes. When he was fully seated inside her, he paused and released the ropes binding her wrists. “Come up on your arms,” he rasped.

  She shook her head; her arms were tingling and weak. “I can’t.”

  “You will,” he said, fingers sinking in her hair and tugging, forcing back her head.

  And she rose. With her back bowing, her head upright, he began to move again. A broad hand on her hip, holding her in place while he increased the depth and harshness of his thrusts.

  Kara moaned, her breaths gusting at each inward stroke. He pounded her bottom with the hard flesh of his belly, rocked her body with the strength of his flexing hips. This was what she’d wanted, this sensual plundering of her body. Every move was measured, his strength tempered with control.

  His movements quickened, and her pussy clenched around his cock. He hissed, let go of her hip, and slid his free hand beneath her, his fingers sliding into the top of her folds to rub her clit.

  The first touch was electric, caused a spark, and she pushed back against him, remembering his most important rule. “I can’t stop, Sergei. I can’t.”

  He grunted and his fingers pressed harder against her clit, circling faster. “Come with me, darling. Come now.”

  Despite his grip on her hair, she pulled against it, her body growing rigid. Tension exploded inside her, rocketing through her sex, radiating outward to shudder through her back and thighs. She cried out, the pleasure so expansive, she keened loudly, again and again, as his hips thundered against her.

  His fingers tightened then released her hair. His hands slapped her hips, fingers digging into her skin as he pushed her forward and back, in contradiction to his powerful thrusts. She was a doll, a receptacle, riding the storm as he moved her on his cock. His shout echoed in the room.

  When at last he slowed his movements, she rested her head on her folded arms. He came down, leaning his large body against hers. Both of them straightened, crumpling toward the floor, still connected. His breaths were harsh and shook against her. Sweat melted between them.

  Kara let out a breath that sounded like a sob and quieted instantly.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, his arms coming beneath her to hug her against his body.

  “Never better,” she said, hoping he didn’t hear the tears in her voice.

  But perhaps he did, because he sighed and pulled away, rolling to his back and dragging her across him, so that they lay chest to chest.

  His hands pushed away the blindfold and brushed back her hair. Then he gently framed her face. “Tell me. The truth.”

  Opening her eyes, she wished she could duck her head to hide her expression, but that was why he held her face, wasn’t it? “It was scary.”

  “The blindfold? The ropes?”

  She shook her head. “The pleasure of it all.”

  His mouth eased into a gentle smile. “There’s more.”

  She gave a broken laugh. “And that scares me most of all.”

  “Why, Kara?”

  “Because I’m changing.” She bit her lower lip, knowing she was holding back, but she had to. To protect her heart.

  Sergei’s eyes narrowed, but then his expression eased. He released her face and pulled her down, at last letting her snuggle her face against his hot skin. “We’ll figure this out, sweetheart. We just need time.”

  She traced the circumference of his small, flat nipple. “Am I a good student?”

  His chest shook beneath her as he chuckled. “Baby, you nearly killed me. You were perfect. Sweet. Sexy. Everything I could have hoped for.”

  And she smiled, even though something was in his voice, a note of sadness or nostalgia, and she suspected he was thinking of that poor dead girl. “We have time,” she whispered. “And I don’t appear to be going anywhere any time soon.”

  His arms encircled her and he held her tight.

  She sighed, happy for now. Happy in the knowledge she was falling in love. And that the man responsible was just as confused as she was.

  Chapter Thirteen

  They returned to the house, Kara’s hand held inside Sergei’s. He’d been loath to leave the cabin, to close the door on what they’d shared. Back in the harsh daylight, he was forced to reexamine his motives. Was he attracted because her desires so closely matched his own, or was he desperate to protect her, even to the point of drawing her as close as he could to his world, his bed, so that she’d never be out of reach for him to save her?

  When they approached the porch, Eric eased off a chair, Max in his arms. His cool gaze scanned Kara and likely he came to the correct conclusion about what they’d been up to, but he didn’t say a word. When his glance hit Sergei, his gaze narrowed, and Sergei knew immediately that something was up. “What’s happened?”

  “We’ve got company. Sheriff Fournier and some suit from the FBI. Had to get Max out of there because he thinks Leon’s a fire hydrant.” He scratched behind the pug’s ear. “Good boy.”

  Sergei grimaced. “Guess we were lucky they kept out of our hair this long.”

  “Boone’s with them. Sent me to get you. They want to talk to Kara.”

  “I see you follow orders well,” he said, eyeing the chair.

  “I knew you were on the way,” he said with a waggle of his eyebrows.

  Sergei cursed the fact his business wasn’t his own, not with surveillance tight around the estate. He ushered Kara inside, closing the door on Eric’s amused face.

  “Wish I had time for a bath,” she whispered.

  “You smell like a dream.”

  Her mouth crooked upward but she shook her head. “You left out a word.”

  Sergei grinned.

  She wrinkled her nose. “From both of your expressions, you don’t like the sheriff very much.”

  “Leon’s all right, I guess,” he said, then grunted. “He gave Boone a hard time when we first arrived in Bayou Vert.”

  “Because he thought Boone murdered Tilly’s cousin.”

  “That’s right,” Sergei said, then arched a brow. “And the fact he was sweet on Tilly too didn’t help.”

  Kara’s dark eyebrows shot up.

  “Are you ready for this?”

  Kara nodded. “As I’ll ever be.”

  Sergei studied her. Kara’s eyes were wide, her face a little pale. “Do you want me there with you?”

  “Do you want to be there?” Her teeth pulled on her lower lip.

  He shook his head. “Not what I asked.”

  She blew out a breath, and her head dipped. “I’d like you there,” she said in a small voice.

  He stared at her downturned head. “You have no reason to be afraid.”

  Kara swallowed, and then shrugged. “What if they want me to leave with them?”

  So that was it. He chucked up her chin with a curled forefinger. “That’s not gonna happen. I promise you.”

  Her chest rose around a deep exhale, and color ret
urned to her cheeks. “Then I guess we better get this over quick. I still need that shower.”

  Sergei smiled, and then bent and gave her mouth a quick kiss.

  “What was that for?” she asked, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, a pretty blush brightening her pale cheeks.

  “Because I wanted to.”

  “Do you always take what you want?” she drawled.

  He supposed she was feeling steadier if she was back to bantering. And the playful glint in her eyes said she was thinking about the same thing he was—everything that had passed between them not half an hour ago.

  He reached for her hand, wanting it snug inside his, and led her through the house to the Victorian salon. Boone’s direct gaze met his with only a slight raise of an eyebrow. Leon stood, his hat in his hands, talking to another tall man, dressed in a dark suit. So typical of an agent, Sergei thought. The man’s features were a blend of Anglo and Hispanic, and his short hair was pitch-black. His eyes were so dark the pupils were indiscernible as he stared at Kara.

  When he spotted the FBI agent’s gaze drop to their hands, Sergei tightened his grip on Kara and pulled her into his side. “Leon,” Sergei said, giving the man a nod, but standing back far enough he didn’t have to offer his hand. He preferred holding Kara’s.

  “Mr. Gun,” the sheriff said with a nod then he glanced at the man with him. “This is Agent Julio Menchaca, out of the bureau’s San Antonio office. He’s here to talk to Miss Nichols.” Leon nodded to Kara. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

  Kara tugged on his hand, but Sergei squeezed tighter, not looking her way.

  “We should sit,” Boone said, waving a hand toward chairs and a small love seat.

  Sergei strode for the love seat and drew Kara down beside him. Only when he saw the others took seats around them did he let go of her hand, and that was only to extend his arm over the back of the seat they shared, a move none of the men in the room could misinterpret as anything but his claim over the woman.

  Kara didn’t seem to mind. She sat so close the sides of their thighs were pressed together. Her hands were clasped, fingers intertwined on her lap.