by Peach, Hanna
“I’m sorry, kitten. I wasn’t thinking.” He pulls my arms around his neck. I feel my legs sweep from under me and his strong arms cradle me to his chest. I am floating and it feels like heaven.
“Close your eyes,” he says when we reach a dark, partially-open side door.
I do and I push my face into the crook of his neck. In the darkness behind my lids he is everywhere – in my nose with his smoked wood scent, blanketing my body with his warmth, in my ears with the noise of his breath, and he takes up this space in my heart, space I didn’t think anyone could ever fill.
I hear the arthritic creak of the side door we enter. I feel the difference in temperature inside. It’s warmer and still, the air smelling faintly of turpentine and something sweet… vanilla?
It is vanilla. The scent gets stronger as we move further into this building. He keeps walking and the gentle rocking of his gait and the warmth of his arms lulls me into a haze. Underneath his feet I hear crunching glass.
Finally he stops. “Keep them closed.” And he gently lets me down. I find my balance with my heels on the hard ground. He maneuvers me to face a certain direction by my shoulders, his large hands curling over them like plates of armor. “Okay. Open them.”
In front of me the blackness dissolves into two rows of low candles that light up a corridor. At the end I can see an open door. The small flames shine across every peel and bump of the wallpaper and cause long dark fingers to flick at the ceiling.
“It’s through the door,” he says.
He lets me take the lead and I walk the last few steps. When I step through the doorway my mouth drops open. The room opens up to the left, spanning both stories of the building, high ceilings draped with pale curtains like ghosts. And candles, hundreds of pillar candles covering the side benches and floor and lighting the room with a warm glow. In the middle of the room is a table covered in a white cloth, dressed with a silver candelabra lit with three thin white tapered candles. It is set for dinner for two.
I hear a click. Through the speakers set up across the room a woman starts to hum, breathy and sweet, over a deep undulating note. Something in her voice caresses the little hairs on my skin. The beat kicks in, raw and sensual like a heartbeat.
Caden squeezes my hand. “Do you like it?”
No. I don’t like it. I love it. It is exactly Caden Thaine. Softness, light and beauty set among the rough, dark and broken. I tell him so and he rewards me with a radiant smile that outshines all these candles.
“What is this place?” I ask as I take another step in.
“It used to be an art college before they ran out of funding.”
He leads me to the table and pulls my chair out for me. He moves to the side and I notice a silver bucket of ice on a stand. Within it is a bottle of… sparkling grape juice. This makes me smile. Next to it is a silver serving trolley complete with a small burner underneath to keep the contents warm.
He opens the bottle and pours the liquid into the two champagne flutes. “Madam,” he says as he hands me one.
When he lifts the serving dish lid the smell of roasted chicken and herbed potatoes makes my stomach rumble. He starts to serve the food onto my plate and places it in front of me. I stare at the potatoes when I recognize that smell.
“Rosemary potatoes,” I say. I stab one with my fork. “They’re my favorite. How did you know?”
He smiles. “A lucky guess.”
“Did you cook all this?”
“Maybe.”
“I didn’t know you could cook.”
“I can’t give away all my secrets.” He pauses as if he has realized what he just said. The air grows heavy with the things we are both keeping from each other, the pieces of ourselves we keep locked away. The things that made us who we are but which we never ever talk about.
He clears his throat and continues to plate his food. The fog starts to dissipate and I try to ignore the clamminess it leaves on my skin.
The meal is delicious; the chicken is moist and rich and the roasted vegetables coat my tongue with the flavors of garlic and herbs. As I eat I catch him watching me, a slight crease between his thick dark eyebrows.
“Why are you looking at me like that? You look like… you’re looking for something.”
He wipes his mouth with his serviette and stands. “Perhaps I am.” He takes my hand and leads me to a space on the floor. He drapes one of my hands around his neck and pulls me flush against his body. I have to tilt my head to look into his eyes. His other hand curls around mine as he holds our hands out to the side. The music is still slow, but it has become simple and stripped-back and it glides through the room like a naked creature. As we slide together, my body feels like it is melting against his.
He is looking at me again with that probing look.
“So,” I tease softly, “did you find what you were looking for?”
He leans in. Close. So close it makes my heart skip. My eyes flick down to his lips for just a second. But I know better. I don’t try to kiss him. I don’t lean in. I just look back up at him, watching him, waiting for him.
But he doesn’t lean in to give me our first kiss.
I expect to be angry like I was earlier. I expect to be frustrated. But what he has done for me – turning this dark abandoned place into something wonderful – represents what he is doing for my soul. And I am grateful. Right now, I don’t need to ask for anything more. I am content to just be here.
It is in that moment I see something change in his eyes as he watches me. And he smiles. “I just did.”
Slowly, he lowers his lips to mine.
At first it is just a press, his soft lips, tasting of sweet grapes and rosemary, touching mine. It is butterflies and falling leaves and it makes my skin tingle like those sparkles of sunlight that dance upon a babbling brook.
Then his lips move, achingly slow. They part around my bottom lip drawing it slightly into his mouth. I can barely breathe. He is kissing me. He’s really kissing me. I am afraid to move in case he pulls away. He draws the tip of his tongue slowly back and forth across my lip trapped between his. I feel that small wet line all the way in my belly. Then he sucks, starting an energy in me like the distant rumble of earth under hooves.
My bottom lip pops free of his mouth and I whimper at the loss of contact. He rubs the tip of his nose along mine like he is reassuring me. Then he licks a line across my lips from one corner to the other. He is tasting me. He groans. Then he licks me again.
His tongue teases my mouth and at my heart, coaxing it to open for him like a flower. I part my lips for him and he enters me with his tongue. Like a jolt of electricity, I awake. My body lights with fire, aching, consuming fire. I begin to move with him, searching for his taste, exploring his lips and his mouth, tilting my head so our breaths can fuse even more.
More. I need more. My right hand clutches the back of his neck, still terrified that he might take this away. I pull my other hand from his. Like a desperate animal, it skitters across the thickness of his arm towards his chest. But he grabs my wrist and wraps it around his neck to join my other hand.
He pulls away for one moment, and I catch a glimpse of his eyes. They are now dark grey-green like a sea in a storm. That dangerous scowl is back on his face as he glares at me with the hunger of someone who needs to consume. “I told you that I wouldn’t be able to taste you without taking more.” His voice is low and threatening, but I’m not scared.
His lips crush back onto mine and he squeezes me against him with so much pressure so that I can barely breathe. There is so much glorious heated pressure from inside out and outside in. I feel his wide hands spread across the small of my back. God they are so big they almost fit around me completely. I am so small and vulnerable under his hands, but somehow I feel strong and powerful.
The music becomes deeper, rougher, and it shudders through the air as if it is making love to it.
I pull away. I need to know, “How much more?” My voice is breathy and shaky, b
ut I stare at him, a challenge in my eyes. How much more will he give me? How much of him will he let me have?
He draws in a deep breath as if to calm himself. His hands come up to hold my face. He holds my gaze and it feels like he is making a promise, “I will only take whatever you are prepared to give me.”
“Everything.” You can have it all. My body, my heart, my soul. It’s yours, Caden. It is already yours. But I don’t say this.
I try to grab for him, but he holds me out by my shoulders. I whimper and reach for him again, but he won’t let me touch him. So I run my fingers along his thick forearms, the only part of him my shorter limbs can reach. Oh my God. I have never felt anything so masculine and brutal and it just makes me feel so much more desperate to touch the rest of him.
His eyes flutter closed and he sighs – a sigh that I can feel through the limited contact we have. I wait for him to move, but he doesn’t. He opens his eyes again and I see… fear. Oh God, what’s wrong? My heart skips a beat when I see a frown start to play on his face. “Kitten, I want to make love to you.”
“Yes,” I cry. The aching need under my skin crackles like electricity.
But the pain doesn’t leave his face. I hold my breath. Something isn’t right. My heart sinks when I realize that it isn’t going to happen. He made me wait three months to kiss him, he is going to keep making me wait to have sex. He keeps me close yet so far away. From both his body and his heart.
I should stop this whole nonsense now. I should walk away from this man who I am already falling for, who I know will eventually hurt me with how he keeps me at a distance. Who hurts me now by literally holding me away from him.
But… I can’t. I am already his. I have already given in to him. I am already bound. I accept whatever is coming.
He speaks, “I want to make love to you, but…”
“But?” At once I am struck by fear. But what? Did I admit too much? Was that the wrong thing to say? Is he horrified that I would so willingly give up my body to him? “Say something, Cade. What’s wrong?”
He shakes his head like he is trying to shake off this demon who torments him.
“Tell me.” I want to know. I need to know.
“Kitten, please don’t think this is about you…” On his face I see an inner tragedy play out. “I just… there is something… I have waited for this, for you... and I’m not sure you’ll really want me.”
He isn’t sure that I want him? My head spins with the absurdity of this statement. How can he say that? He can’t really mean it. He can’t.
But here he is, standing before me, chewing on his lip and watching me with forlorn eyes.
“How could you ever think that?” I whisper and I reach out to stroke his face. He lets me. “I want you so badly. I need you. I need you like I need to breathe.” I press myself back up against him like I am trying to merge us together. “Maybe it’s you who doesn’t want me.”
“No,” he hisses through his teeth as I push my hips against his. He is already hard. “Kitten, I haven’t wanted any woman as much as I want you in a long, long time.”
“Then, please, why are we waiting?”
“There is something I have to tell you but… I am not sure whether you will still want to afterwards. I’m not sure you will want… me anymore.”
“There is nothing you can say that will make me want you less.” I can see in his eyes that he is still unsure. “Caden, it’s your turn to trust me.”
A softness comes over his face. Then he nods. “Okay. We’ll take it slow, okay? Bit by bit to get you used to it,” he says as his hands explore my thighs over the silk of my dress.
I pull back far enough to frown at him. “Used to what?”
“My needs are… unorthodox. But I would never hurt you,” he adds quickly. “You know that, don’t you?”
I nod.
“Do you trust me? Will you try… for me?”
A small trickle of uncertainty runs down my spine. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
I nod and push a smile to my face. “Okay.”
He nods, but he still looks grim. He pulls away and unwraps my arms from around his neck. “Will you do something for me? Will you hold out your index fingers for me like this?” He holds his fingers chest-level, pointing to each other. I mimic him.
He pulls out a small weaved tube from his pocket. “Do you know what this is?”
I shake my head, still holding my fingers out.
“It’s a Chinese finger trap. Here, let me show you.”
He places one of my index fingers deep into an open end, then pushes my other finger into the other end so that my fingers are almost touching inside the tube. “Now try to pull your fingers apart.”
I do, but the weaving of the trap tightens around my fingers, holding them together. A shiver runs through me and my eyes widen.
“All you have to do to release it is push your fingers together.”
I do, and the trap loosens its grip on me. Before I can take the trap off, he pulls my arms up and over his head. I have to reach up to get them around his neck so my fingers pull the trap tight again. He leans into me filling up my senses with his presence.
“Tell me, is that so bad to have your fingers trapped like that?” he asks, concern marring his face as he studies me.
I shake my head. “Not when they are trapped around you.”
He leans down into me. This time his kisses almost hurt. His lips pressing against mine are insistent. Demanding. Taking. He is no longer asking. His tongue forces its way between my lips, searching for mine, and they fight one another in a provocative war. I ache to touch him. But as I tug, the grip around my fingers tightens so my hands are trapped out of reach.
His hands are free to roam my body. They close over my breasts through the satin, alternating between tender cupping and caresses which make my skin awaken to an aching sensitivity, and hard pinches of my nipples which send throbs to my core. Each one heightening the sensation of the other. I buck against him.
His hands run down my side and round my ass. He lifts one of my legs and hooks it around his waist so that my most tender spot presses up against his hardness making me gasp. My skirt is forced to skim up my thighs revealing where my stockings hook into my garters. With one arm he holds me against him. His other hand runs up and down my lifted leg, pulling and flicking the garter straps against my thigh, causing small exquisite snaps of pain. I moan. I’m sure he can feel I am soaking through my lace panties.
Holding my hip still, he rocks his hips gently and slowly against me, telling me that he is controlling the pace. My lace rubs along the length of his hardness and my insides spasm with pleasure. I moan into his mouth. God, please, more.
And we rock. He moves faster. And I swear my underwear is just going to burn away from all this heat and friction. My head and my body are almost hurting from all this pressure inside. God, I just need him.
But he stops, letting out a grunt. “Wait,” he growls, lowering my leg and pulling my hands from around his neck. “Stay here.”
What. The. Hell.
“You’re leaving me?” I can feel myself shaking with an immediate cold rage.
“Kitten, I’m just going over there.” He points across the room.
“What the hell for?”
He doesn’t answer this. “I’m coming back. Promise. And then we’re getting naked. Very. Very. Naked.”
Fuck. I shiver. “Okay. Hurry up.”
As he walks across the room I notice a metal contraption attached to the far wall that I haven’t noticed before. It looks like a fire hose wrapped around a wheel, except this isn’t a fire hose. It has a thick chain and some sort of pulley up in the roof that the chain extends up to. He starts to wind something and I hear the rattling of metal and clinking from above. I look up. It is the other end of the chain hanging from the ceiling. On the end is a pair of leather straps with rigid grips. Oh. My God.
I yank against my wrists which are held together in
chains, bleeding from the rough cold iron. The blackout curtains shut out the world, the only light coming from the dimmed wall lamps of Jacob’s bedroom.
In this dark abandoned building, I stare, frozen to the spot while Caden lowers the chain towards me. The clinking stops and the loose chain end thrashes a little before falling into a soft sway. I look over to see him walking back towards me.
“Rule number two: I can touch you but you can’t touch me.”
“You want to restrain me.” I choke out as he stops before me.
“Jacob, please,” I croak. My mouth is dry. I need water. My stomach is tight from not having eaten. “I can’t take anymore.”
“No.” I can hear the scowl in his voice. “I will tell you when you’ve had enough.”
I shrink back from Caden, feeling a tremble taking me over. I can’t. No. I can’t. I start to back away. “No. You can’t force me−”
“No, kitten.” He shakes his head. “I’m not forcing you. I would never force you. This will always be your choice. But this rule is very important to me. Very important to me. We can take it slowly. I won’t close the straps around your wrist. You can just be restrained by the finger trap. You can push your fingers together and release yourself at any time. And if you do so, I will stop.”
He can touch me but I can’t touch him. I look between the chain and him, my head whipping back and forth in a shake. “No. No restraints.”
“Kitten, I can’t make love to you unless your hands are bound.”
“What? Why?”
A flare of darkness behind his eyes makes them look black. A cold chill blows across the heated desire still running through my body.
“Kitten, I would never hurt you, you know that. I have my reasons for needing this, but I can’t explain them to you. You just have to trust me. You do trust me, don’t you?”
Manipulative bastard. I already said I trusted him before we entered the abandoned building and now I feel like I can’t go back on my word. Slowly, slowly, he is pushing out the edge of my trust. Slowly, slowly, he is walking me towards something in the dark that I cannot see.