He pulled a chair into the center of the room. “Sit.”
“Stop. You hardly know this man,” Angel shouted.
Doubt momentarily shattered the fantasy as the reality of what she was about to do slammed into Isabella’s mind.
“You need this,” Devil demanded. “Jacques understands. He doesn’t judge or condemn. You need what only a man like Jacques can offer. Trust him and let go!”
Could she trust Jacques? Ah, sí. She could. Trust him to grant every sinful wish, satisfy every decadent fantasy and probably introduce a few she hadn’t even thought of. All she had to do was surrender to the tantalizing idea of being his to command, but she couldn’t move.
Powerful arms locked around her, bending her body into his and practically lifting her feet off the ground. Jacques kissed her again. Everything about the kiss demanded. Demanded her trust. Demanded her obedience. Demanded her total surrender. It was as if Jacques cast some kind of a spell. All she could think about was trusting him, obeying him, surrendering to him. The doubt, the guilt, all of the reservation vanished, replaced by the warm ache of anticipation and a delicious vulnerability.
“What are you going to do?” Her voice shook as she spoke.
“No questions, Isabella. Sit.” He rested his hand on the chair back, waiting. Challenge lit his eyes.
No questions, no demands allowed. She had to put her trust in him and accept his control. Total control. It was now or never. She kicked the Angel Isabella aside, brushed the Devil Isabella off her shoulder and sat.
Jacques smiled the most chilling, sexiest damn smile she had ever seen and laid firm hands over her shoulders. “Thank you, Isabella,” he said with a soft kiss to the cheek and stepped back.
The genteel man fell away, replaced by a predator and his exacting scrutiny. He began to circle the chair. Just looking. The absence of his touch was almost too much to bear, but she didn’t move. She craved everything Jacques represented in this moment and this was how to get it.
Her body flushed hot under the weight of his stare as he stalked her in the silence. So close, but so removed. Only his eyes touching her skin. Every nerve in her body converged into a warm hum that seemed to end between her thighs as she sat perfectly still.
Letting him look.
Wanting him to look.
The ocean crashed in the distance and the sound of her own breath echoed in her ears. She became hyperaware of her posture. The set of her shoulders. The arch of her back. The spread of her knees. Felt the fall of her hair on her skin, the hard chair beneath her and the cool tile under her feet. Her nipples pearled, catching the thin silk of her nightgown. Waves of tension and release washed though her core with each pass to build a grinding need. A compelling desperation.
When will he touch me? What will he do?
Jacques did nothing. Nothing, but walk and stare. Time became her enemy.
Doesn't he want to touch me? With each rotation, the anxiety grew. Maybe I'm not beautiful enough for him. The apprehension mounted as the seconds ticked by. Maybe I'm making a fool of myself.
Her eyes grew wide and wet. When she began to struggle for air, a firm hand grabbed hers and laid it over his erection. Jacques stared into her eyes, holding her fingers tight around him for a moment to silently communicate his pleasure before stepping back. Knowing all that she needed to know, Isabella let herself fall into the eroticism of the moment. The fear, lust and vulnerability, all blended into a head-spinning seduction.
She was seventeen again.
Jacques stopped in front of her and peeled his T-shirt over his chest, inch by tantalizing inch, slowly revealing the hard lines of his long torso. He stood, silent, shirt in hand, and watched her, watching him.
She didn’t move, could barely breathe. Every muscle was tight. The soft fabric of her nightdress irritating against her hypersensitive flesh. The secret clench inside her drawing the aching need deeper into her body. She felt the orgasm building and he hadn’t laid a single finger on her.
“Do you trust me, Isabella?”
“Yes, sir.” She felt uncomfortable calling him "sir." The title removed the intimacy between them and made her shudder, but she said it anyway.
“Yes, who?” he asked abruptly.
“Aren’t I supposed to call you ‘sir’ when we’re, um, doing this stuff?”
There was a long pause. A whisper of something crossed his face, but it was gone too quickly for her to decipher it. Firm fingers lifted her chin, not firm enough to damage her, but firm enough to make her pay attention. Jacques leaned over to look directly into her eyes.
“No. Call me Jacques. I want to hear my name on your lips. Always say my name.”
“Yes, Jacques.” The words floated easily over the air and a small, satisfied smile skimmed over those sexy lips.
He moved behind the chair and brought the cotton shirt over her face, holding it there with both hands. The soft fabric was warm and smelled delicious. Smelled of Jacques. She inhaled deeply.
“That’s it, Isabella. Breathe. Breathe me in.”
She took another deep breath.
As he held the shirt loosely over her face, his control sparked through her. Everything she believed about her sexuality confirmed by the undeniable force of the pure euphoria that came with his dominance. Her body and mind focused completely on him. The sound of his breath. His smell. The feel of his hands on her face. Everything else disappeared, leaving only awareness of the man standing behind her and the fiercest desire to please him. The fall into Jacques's possession was frightening, truly frightening, but the intensity of the arousal that came with the surrender was everything she had dreamed about since she was a teenager.
When he moved the shirt away, he held it in front of her face and folded it over, once and again, into a long strip. “Close your eyes.” He wrapped the band around her eyes and secured it at the back of her head, blinding her. “Do not move.”
She didn’t. Not one muscle. She wasn’t bound. She could move, get up, remove the blindfold, but the command held her fast to that kitchen chair. She listened to him moving around the room. Opening the refrigerator, the cabinets.
God, what's he doing?
“Open.”
Something brushed across her mouth. Isabella parted her lips and the end of a strawberry slid past them. She bit down. Flavor burst onto her tongue, juicy and sweet. She went liquid with pleasure, inhaling through her nose, and licked her lips. Light fingertips brushed over one breast and her head rolled back. The nipple was so tight even the gentle touch felt intense.
“Will you taste as sweet, my morning Isabella?” he asked, swirling circles around the hard nub.
She could barely swallow.
Jacques offered another berry and again, gently fondled her through the thin fabric of her nightdress while she chewed. Being fed made her feel so vulnerable. Being touched made her feel so sexual.
What will he offer next? A tingle of excitement coursed through her.
One hand pressed under her jaw, tilting her face up and holding her head back. “You have the most beautiful mouth, Isabella.”
A finger coated in honey slipped between her lips. She kept her mouth open and swirled her tongue around it before sucking the sweetness off his skin. He pushed his hand farther into her mouth.
“I’m going to fuck this beautiful mouth.” His fingers pumped in and out while he spoke, mimicking his words. It didn’t hurt, but the vulnerability spiked. So did the arousal. Then he traced them over her lips, outlining the contours. “Would you like that, my sexy Isabella?”
“Yes, Jacques.” She felt her lips move against his fingers.
“Say it all, Isabella. Say, ‘I want you to fuck my beautiful mouth, Jacques.”
The command stole away the seduction and her mind seized with panic. She was in way over her head. Sex was one thing. This was something totally different. Her entire body tensed with nervousness.
Jacques moved behind the chair, crouching to bring his arms aroun
d her waist. Both hands slipped over her thighs, up her belly and every muscle locked tight. She stopped breathing.
“Are you ticklish?”
When she didn’t answer, fluttering fingertips danced over her belly button. “I asked a question, Isabella.”
The words sprang free as she sucked the air back into her lungs. “Yes, Jacques. I’m ticklish.” There was no humor in her frightened voice.
“I like the sound of your laughter. Laugh for me, Isabella.”
He tickled her a little more and she did, stunned by the rush of giggles that exploded out of her. A perfect release to the tension he’d built up inside of her. Her hands gripped the seat to keep her bottom from bouncing off the chair, and she laughed and squirmed until her sides ached.
When Jacques finally stopped tickling her, he pressed a kiss behind her ear.
“Trust me, Isabella. I will always take care of you,” he reassured and released his arms. “Open your beautiful mouth for me. Keep your lips parted. Always open to me.”
A blueberry slipped into her mouth. Then more berries, a few pieces of cheese and some sweet bread. When they weren’t feeding her, those decadent hands brushed gentle touches over her breasts, caressing her through the silk until she ached, but Jacques didn’t ask her to speak.
“I think you’ve had enough to eat, my angel. Hmm. What else shall I give you?”
Isabella quaked at the shockingly wanton images that popped into her head with his question.
“And I see you would like something else, my greedy angel.”
Warm hands cupped her breasts from behind. She eased back against the chair, letting her head rest on his shoulder as he squeezed her gently. His breath fell over her nape and she could feel his eyes on her even with the blindfold.
“You have the most beautiful body, Isabella.” Admiration coated the words. “The most beautiful, sensual body. It calls to me in ways that only people like you and I can understand.”
He pinched one pearl through the silk, then the other, holding them in a tight press between finger and thumb. She gasped, startled by the quick pain, and then moaned as a deep, steady throb pulsed along the invisible line that connected her breasts to her clitoris. It twitched.
“It’s never about truly hurting you,” Jacques promised. “It’s about trust, Isabella.”
I trust you, Jacques. She curved her back, offering the taut points without hesitation to his skilled fingers, desperate to see what he would do next.
“That’s it, Isabella. Give yourself to me. Let me take you where you have waited so long to go.”
Pressure. Release. Pressure. Release. The sensations spiraled though her as the stimulation swept to her sex. His touch wasn’t really painful, but even if it was, she would never deny him. Her head lolled to the side as she gave herself over to it.
Jacques began to play with her more aggressively. To pinch her more sharply. Part of her couldn’t believe her reaction; the other part ached for more. She burrowed her face into his neck, straining to get nearer to him even as he tormented her.
“Perfect, Isabella. Absolutely perfect.”
Despite the painful touch, Jacques’s praise brought undeniable pleasure. The tight ache inside of her grew into something monstrous, a beast of need that threatened to consume her entirely. When his hands fell away, a low throb in her breasts continued to beat in time with her pounding heart.
Jacques moved around the chair and eased into a crouch between her knees. A single finger skimmed under the strap of her nightdress to gently guide it off her shoulder and expose one breast.
“So lovely, my morning Isabella. So full and lush.” He traced lazy circles around the exposed nipple, coating it with sticky wetness. “And so sweet.”
Cupping her, he kissed the soft skin before gently licking the honey off the tip. She put her hands on the back of his head.
“No, Isabella. No touching without permission. Keep your hands on your thighs.” The voice was sharp, sharper than it had ever been with her, and a frisson of fear ran through her.
She replaced her hands on her thighs and Jacques resumed licking her skin. She wanted to touch him, so badly, and struggled to keep her hands at rest. The mental game was an exquisite challenge.
“Your safe word is blue. If you use it, make sure you mean it, Isabella. I never give second chances. Say that word and everything ends. Everything. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Jacques.”
He bit down on the exposed nipple and she jerked away.
His reply was quick. “No. Never pull away from me. Try again.”
She eased forward and he bit the other nipple. Right through the nightgown. This time, harder than the last. She tensed and made a plaintive sound, but managed to stay still. Disappointing Jacques was not an option. She was rewarded with a growl and his lips suckling her gently, wetting the silk.
“I like this, Isabella. I could nibble on you all day.”
Opening his mouth, he began to suck, softly at first and then hard and harder until it was hard enough to force a moan.
A gentle kiss. A soft caress of his mouth. Then a sharp pull.
Pleasure. Pain. Pleasure again.
Jacques was blurring the line. The alternating sensations concentrated a ferocious need between her legs as if he was touching her there, but more than anything else, he was touching that secret, untouched place in her soul that lusted for the taboo of being mastered.
The erotic breast play continued, stoking her arousal, raising her anticipation, hotter and higher. When Jacques bit her again, she felt herself slide into the place where what should have hurt like hell became pure heaven. The walls of her sex clenched tight and a shuddering flash of tortured pleasure flared through her entire body.
Then Jacques kissed the place where he’d bitten her. So much love and care, despite the harsh actions. Isabella thought of the passion she’d seen between Nicolai Stavros and Julianne Giroux on the night she met Jacques and knew exactly what she’d give to have a passion like that. I would give myself.
“Welcome to my world, Isabella.”
A feral moan rumbled up from her throat. Jacques had taken her right to the place where she’d yearned to go. The place where she could give herself over to a man. Without guilt. Without shame. The place where she could bask in the sublime completion of being understood, cared for and after a decade of waiting, satisfied.
His hands travelled slowly up her thighs at a speed that could only be described as prolonged torture and spread her legs wider. “Your desire and your sexual satisfaction belong to me now and you may never take something I am not ready to give.”
Fingers rested over her hips as his thumbs trailed light pressure along the line of her hip bones, intensifying the low ache inside of her. She fought the urge to shift her body and lure those decadent thumbs toward the begging ache they were creating.
As if he sensed her struggle, Jacques complimented the restraint. “Very nice, Isabella.”
When his knuckles rolled over the mound of her sex, her very wet sex, her body jerked as if he’d hit her.
“We’re getting this pretty dress all wet.”
Jacques's voice held the deep edge of masculine laughter, the kind that announced his confidence at having a woman within his power. She whimpered and couldn’t prevent her hips from pressing forward.
“No. No taking, my demanding angel.” She eased back and he added, “And no coming without permission.”
Jacques began working little circles right over her swollen nub, gently rubbing her through the silk. Round and round and round until she was straining not to squirm in the chair. The dampened fabric slipped beneath his fingertips and tickled over her thighs, spreading the sensation beyond his direct touch.
“Not ever. Not even in private.” He began fingering her mercilessly. “If you come without my permission, I will punish you, Isabella, and you will not like it if I do.”
Her body was on fire. Sweat trickled over her temples, down
her cleavage, as her wicked lover kept her on the verge of orgasm like a maestro, expertly taking her to the precipice, then backing her away to leave her wanting, only to return and enflame her anew. She bit her lip, dug her fingernails into her legs and tapped her heel against the tile floor desperately torn between the desire for release and the need to obey.
“Do you want something from me, Isabella?” he finally asked and a flare of anger coursed through her.
Of course, I want something! “Yes,” she answered simply.
“Yes, who?”
“Yes, Jacques. Ahh.”
“Then ask me for what you want.”
So that was his game. He wanted to hear her beg.
She couldn’t. She might curse like her brothers, but saying what she wanted out loud when it came to sex. No. Nunca. Imposible.
Jacques used his finger to bring her close, then denied her once more, making her want to beg, but her Catholic lips were pressed tight.
“You wanted to negotiate, Isabella. So tell me what you want,” he prodded.
She could hear the amusement in his voice as he continued his wicked game.
More light pressure.
More swirling circles.
More denial.
Unbearable sensations raced through her as she teetered between heaven and hell. Her whole body tense, flushed, struggling. A flicker of guilt sparked then fizzled beneath the crushing need.
“Please, Jacques. I want to come, please let me come.” She was practically panting.
He didn’t. He commanded her instead.
“Stand up.”
“What? I thought you were going to…I mean, I was going to...”
A hand gripped her chin pulling her up in a harsh motion. “Who owns this body?”
The sharp tone was like a dart piercing through her aroused haze, making her desperate to hear the sound of his approval again.
“It belongs to you, Jacques,” she stuttered.
“Yes, it does,” he said with complete confidence, “and that means I can do whatever I want with it. If I want to hear you beg, you will. If I want you to come, you will. If I do not, you won’t. Total control. Do you understand now, Isabella?”
Paradise: The Masters of The Order Novel Two Page 13