"That's exactly what I need from you, Mariko," he said softly, his lips caressing her skin and sending little darts of fire streaking through her body. "I'm moving my hand to your belly."
He did, sliding his arm intimately around her to hold her to him with just his will. His hand didn't press into her hard, or try to force her closer. He simply stood there, breathing with her. She felt her body relaxing into his. He moved then, sliding his arm from around her, releasing her right bicep as he stepped toward the wall holding the coils of rope, and she felt bereft.
"I was in a foul mood when you came out to the garden, and you've already managed to transform that into an inspiration." He stood in front of the ropes but looked at her. "A pentacle harness I think to start. You'll get a feel for the ropes and know whether we can continue."
"I don't understand. Why wouldn't we continue?" What was he looking for in her? Panic rose. He couldn't already be thinking of replacing her. What had she done wrong? She needed to be here. She needed a base. She needed--him.
"Mariko, this is an exchange. You have to get something out of it as well."
He was paying his rope model a great deal of money, that was what she was getting out of it, but she kept her mouth shut, because so far, it was much, much more. She'd never felt so close to another human being. He hadn't even tied her yet and she wanted the feel of the rope. His rope.
"I think green to go with your eyes today." He pulled the bundle from the wall and ran it through his hands like an old friend.
"My eyes are hazel." Not green. Not brown. Hazel. Osamu had pointed out to her many, many times even her eyes weren't special. They were ugly with their combination of green, brown and gold.
He smiled. "Right now, they're very green. They change color. True hazel, like yours, is actually quite rare and very beautiful."
She blinked, astonished that she could hear truth in his tone, mesmerized by the way the rope moved through his palm. Sensual. As if part of him. She watched him breathe in and out as he ran the rope through his hand again and again. She could watch him all day and never get enough. It was shocking how much she wanted him.
Ricco took a moment to just look at her, to breathe her in as he folded the rope in two, resting the center point in his palm. She was unexpectedly gorgeous. A treasure beyond any price. She was nervous, but excited, giving him the greatest offering he could ask for--her trust. She was a shadow rider. A woman meting out justice, always in control. She was giving that control over to him.
Mariko didn't realize the incredible gift she was giving him. He'd watched her. Her reflexes were extremely fast. She was in not just good physical condition but superb condition. A rider needed control always. If she had come there to kill him, as he suspected, allowing him to tie her up was the last thing she should do, yet she was giving him her complete trust. Making herself vulnerable to him. Only to him.
She was a woman any man would be lucky to have, but he knew she belonged to him. He hoped he could get her to feel the same way. He would be asking a lot, to have her accept him as he was--with all the dark places inside of him. Her courage humbled him. The immense trust it took to allow herself to be tied by him, even in the name of art, was astonishing for a woman like her.
It was a true power exchange between them and he loved that. Even craved it. He needed a woman strong enough to accept that he would always need his ropes. They anchored him. Centered him. The moment he touched them, those dark shifting shadows inside him subsided.
He had been careful not to spook her. Right now, with their shadows connected, he could feel her slipping through his fingers. She had fight-or-flight syndrome in full force and he had to make every single moment with her count. He'd risked touching her to get a feel for her breathing. He needed to know in order to minimize the risk to her for potential trouble when he laid the ropes on her skin. He was very careful in his tying, always making certain his model was comfortable and safe, and now, having found Mariko, it was doubly important to him.
He wanted to be further along with her, in a place where he could see her naked body, where she'd give him that as well. Already he could see patterns on her, so many he wanted to try with her, his greatest model, the only one he'd ever have now. He wanted to spend every moment with her.
He used a stalking motion coming to her. Something he couldn't help. This was his world, and she was his woman, his prey. He was going to seduce her into being just that for all time. He would do so with his ropes. His art. With the sheer force of his will. He would court her gently outside this room and teach her about her own body and that desire could be satisfied in many ways.
He had learned to kill and then he had killed. Many times. Fourteen was far too young for his artistic mind to accept the violence and he'd been fortunate that he'd met his teacher, a rope master of more than forty years. The art had saved his sanity and his life. He needed it like others needed air.
Deliberately moving into the light, so that his shadow connected with hers, he watched her body shiver with awareness as heat and need rushed over him and into her. She was drowning in desire. His? Hers? Their combined desire? He watched her skin flush and knew she felt the way he did. She was very sensitive to him. Open to him. With each line of rope, each pattern he created, he would wrap himself around her, adorning her body with--him.
Mariko couldn't take her eyes from Ricco as he approached her, the green rope moving subtly, but powerfully, with his body. She didn't want to panic, but she'd never been so aroused by or aware of a man as she was Ricco. His hands guided her, gently but firmly, in front of a full-length mirror. She didn't want to look at herself. He was so gorgeous and she was just . . . Mariko.
He touched the rope to her face, sliding it along her cheek like a caress so she knew he was once again going to use silk on her. For some reason the silken ropes felt intimate, an extension of him. When he touched her with them, even just to slide the coils over her skin, it felt like sex and sin all wrapped up with his scent and his sheer will.
Very gently he pulled both arms behind her, and she felt the ties. Her heart hammered in her chest at the swiftness of his movement, the casualness, as if he'd done it a million times and there was no effort on his part. Just that quick he deprived her of two of her weapons.
She gave that gift to him, her submission to his will. To his art. But she knew now that it was so much more. Maybe he wasn't aware of the enormity of her ceding power to him--she didn't know him well enough to know what he thought with other models--but she was certain she had little time left on earth and she wanted her surrender to be to him. To a man she not only found attractive, but worthy.
Keeping his hand around her wrists, he nuzzled her hair aside from her neck so that he could press his lips against her ear. "You're doing great, Mariko."
He had to feel her tremble, but his hand smoothed back her hair and his voice held nothing but admiration, respect and praise.
"Are you afraid?"
He waited and she knew he'd wait forever for her answer. He wouldn't continue. She knew he was giving her the opportunity to stop. She moistened her lips and nodded. "A little, but only of the unknown." That was the truth, and yet it wasn't. She was afraid of how he made her feel. Not just vulnerable, but so in need. She was damp with desire. Floating. She'd never felt that before. Almost euphoria.
"That's my woman." He whispered the words against the pulse pounding in her neck. His lips touched her ear and then her temple.
She dared then to raise her eyes to look into the mirror directly in front of her. He stood behind her, his head against hers, dark hair falling like sin across his forehead. His gaze met hers in the glass and she knew she would always remember that moment. His expressionless mask had slipped and she saw him, his fierce demons and turbulent needs mixed with dark, ferocious passion. He would never be like other men. He would always be dominant, scary to enemies and yet gentle with those he loved.
He reached around her and wrapped the double line around he
r torso beneath her pectoral muscles, all the while looking into her eyes in the mirror. His movements seemed effortless, casual, yet she was drowning in his focus, in his complete attention. She was used to disappearing no matter how large the crowd, but it was impossible to do that with Ricco. She was hot under the spotlight of his complete concentration.
She felt dizzy with need. Already her breathing had changed again, from slow and steady to ragged pants of desire. It was impossible to hide it from him. Her needs and desires were completely exposed for him to see, naked on her face, bare and visible on her body. It should have humiliated her. She should have felt embarrassment at the loss of control, but instead she felt a curious freedom.
He reached around her again and did something with the ropes, pulling them snug under her breasts. Her breath caught in her throat as he wrapped her breasts and continued creating the harness.
His mouth moved against the nape of her neck. "Breathe for me, farfallina mia."
She tried. His hands were smooth and sure as the ropes slid over her body, wrapping her up in him. The rope was clearly an extension of him. She felt him in every wrap, every tension. The rope seemed, like her, to be completely under his spell, flying out of his hands to surrender to his will, a sensuous snake dancing to his tune.
She could see a pattern taking shape. A star. He worked fast, efficiently, smoothly, but his concentration wasn't on the artwork so much as on her and the artwork together. Making her one with both Ricco and the rope, binding all three of them together.
Her mind slipped away as she gave herself over to his care. The ropes licked at her flesh, kissed her just as his lips moved occasionally on her nape as he worked. She lived for those moments. The rope seemed such an extension of him, giving her small sweet licks, gentle strokes, a scorching-hot bite and then back to the kisses. A tendril of fire curled through her body, spreading like a slow burn. Her clit pulsed in tune to her drumming heart. A shudder of pleasure slid up her spine.
She was wrapped in a rope embrace now, firm on her skin. Wrapped in him. There was no separating the two of them, rope and master. With every breath she took, she breathed in his power. Every sure movement of his fingers on the rope, on her, was a revelation. She had never thought there was beauty in such a thing as being helpless. She had seen art in ropes on a human body but she'd never felt that beauty until this moment. She had never, not once, considered that for her, there would be something sensual about the feel of being surrounded and embraced by rope--but there was that, too.
Her body came alive, humming, vibrating, even purring. All the while her mind floated, drifted on sensual pleasure she hadn't known existed--or that she was capable of feeling. A bright, hot flare exploded in the vicinity of her chest and spread like flames through her body, radiating outward from the ropes as he cinched her breasts tighter. The bite was scalding hot, so sensual her sex pulsed and clenched by turns. Close. So close. Her breathing changed again. Ragged. Panting. Her face was flushed. She could see herself in the mirror and she looked--sexy. There was no other word for it.
"Beautiful." He breathed the word. "You are so beautiful, Mariko. I would like to photograph you now, if you're comfortable."
For the first time, she believed him. She saw it. She saw herself through his eyes, the way he had the first time she'd walked into the conference room. She saw what the camera would see. What the world would see if he shared this moment, but instinctively, she knew he wouldn't. It was too intimate and just between them. Just for them.
She saw green against black, a harness that shaped her breasts and formed a beautiful star. Like the flower arrangements and paintings in Japan, his art had balance and perfect symmetry. The tension was even. There wasn't a single twist in the rope. There was no pressure on her body and she knew instinctively she wouldn't have a single bruise. There would be no abrasions.
She nodded her head, although she wasn't certain she wanted the camera to capture her wanton need, the lust she saw in the mirror. The invitation to him. It was only for him.
"Mariko, I need your consent."
It was the voice she had grown used to. Waited for. Found safety and pleasure in. It was always velvet over steel. Soft. Low. Commanding. His voice sent shivers down her spine and kept her nipples as hard as rocks. His hands went to her shoulders, steadying her, and she realized she was swaying. Her knees felt weak but she knew she wouldn't fall because he was right there.
"Do you need a few minutes?"
He was holding her. She wanted to keep him there, but this was what she had agreed to. He'd more than kept his side of the bargain. She had no idea she could feel so protected. So beautiful. So cherished. He made her feel all those things. She could give him his art--and it was beautiful. She knew whatever she had to learn for future artwork would be far more strenuous, but now that she had a taste of it, she wanted to know it all.
"I'm good now. Just for a moment I was somewhere else."
He smiled. "That's good. That's what I'd hoped. You're supposed to feel that, Mariko. If you didn't, this wouldn't work for us."
She felt his caution when he slowly removed his hands and allowed her to stand on her own. She smiled to let him know she was okay. "If you want photographs, then go ahead."
"Are you comfortable enough to last in the ties? You're in superb physical condition, something important for the longer and more strenuous ties."
He was already getting his camera, adjusting the light so that she felt its white-hot glare. Even that made her feel sensual. Every movement of her body in the ropes sent those little subtle licks and bites over her skin. Unexpected pleasure.
Over the next twenty minutes he moved around her, getting pictures from every angle in the same meticulous and decisive way he'd tied her. He checked each shot before he put the camera down and was back, standing in front of her, his fingers on the ropes. She felt each tug and vibration traveling through her body, once again, the ropes an extension of him. Her skin, beneath the thin, tight suit, was so aroused as he slid each rope off that every nerve ending flared brightly with a shocking flame of sheer desire.
He took his time. His hands slipping the bindings, fingers whispering along with the rope over her nipples, under her breasts, between them. Caresses that sent heat sliding from breasts to her feminine sheath so that her sex clenched and stayed damp in need. He murmured to her softly in Italian as the ropes slid away, leaving her feeling more exposed than if she'd been naked, praising her, telling her how pleased he was with their session, how beautiful she was. How courageous.
She found herself exhausted, as if she'd run a long race, and she didn't understand why. She worked out every single day. She trained hard. Still, she wanted to just collapse on the floor, but Ricco lifted her into his arms, and cradled her against his chest as if she were precious to him. He made her feel cherished beyond anything else.
He carried her to the single chair in the room, sank into it with her on his lap and reached for a bottle of water. "Drink this, Mariko. All of it." He kept his arms around her, holding her when she thought she might fly apart.
That had been the problem. She'd been soaring too high, unfamiliar territory for her, and now that she was back on the ground, a little disoriented and exhausted, she wasn't certain what to do.
"It was only a harness," she whispered against his throat.
He kneaded her wrists, first one and then the other. "It was your first experience. I'm sure it was unexpected." He inspected her wrists, hands and arms before beginning a slow massage on her shoulders and the nape of her neck. "I am so proud of you. I couldn't have asked for more for your first time." He nuzzled the top of her head with his chin. Strands of her hair caught in the shadow along his jaw and even that felt sensual to her. "Tell me how you're feeling."
"Scared. Excited. Exhausted." She hesitated. It seemed silly to not admit what he already knew. "Turned on. Very." She confessed it in a small voice.
"I was surprisingly turned on myself. As a rule I am quite c
ontrolled."
He gave her that back and it made her feel better. She let herself relax totally into him, enjoying the feeling his strength gave her. She'd been alone so long, she hadn't expected to want his touch, to need it, but she was fast realizing she craved it.
"Are you willing to take the next step with me?"
She turned her head to look at him. That beautiful, scarred face. "Next step?"
"Are you comfortable enough with me to wear more revealing clothes, or none at all, depending on what I'm looking for?"
Her heart thudded, the rhythm a little erratic. She started to turn her head away, afraid he would see that was exactly what she wanted, but she was afraid. Shadow riders didn't show fear.
He caught her chin before she could hide from him. At once she read satisfaction there. "Say it for me."
She moistened her lips and nodded. "Yes." A commitment then. To him. To them. Maybe before she died, she'd leave behind a book of beautiful Japanese art for Ricco. Someone would know she'd lived, and maybe he would think of her occasionally.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ricco stood outside the door of Mariko's room. That rage in him he never quite managed to keep suppressed had risen to the surface as he'd carried her from his studio to her room. He'd placed her carefully on her bed, told her to drink lots of water and get some sleep. He'd thanked her and had to leave abruptly because she looked so beautiful and delicious lying on her bed he'd wanted to kiss her senseless. Kiss her until she gave herself entirely to him.
Every step back to her room, she protested she was too heavy for him to carry. At first, he'd been insulted. He might not be the tallest of his brothers, but he was in the best shape. No one trained harder or worked out more. He ran. He lifted. He did both heavy and speed-bag work. He took down his brothers and any other rider asking to train with them. Just because he'd been in an accident didn't mean he was unable to carry a woman weighing less than a hundred and twenty pounds around. It was a blow to his pride--at first.
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