“No.”
“Oh. Because if you had a girlfriend I wouldn’t—”
“I don’t have a girlfriend.” He knelt on the bed beside her. “Lift your arms.”
She obeyed him, relieved. “Well. That’s good then.”
He pushed her bracelets up her arm and then the softness of silk wrapped around her wrists. As it tightened so did the nervousness, bringing with it a whole host of doubts.
Here she was in a stranger’s hotel room, flat on her back, naked, being tied up. Had she gone completely insane?
She turned her head and looked at him. The expression on his face was absorbed, focused intently on what he was doing. Like he’d focused on the chessboard up on the rooftop. As if what he was doing right now was the most important thing in the universe. His hands were quick, deft, tying the scarves tight enough to hold her but not so tight as to cause pain.
Izzy swallowed, her throat dry. “If I wanted to get out, could I?” Yes, it had been her decision to stay, to submit to him. Her gut instinct told her she could trust him and she believed it. But though she’d always been a bit reckless, she wasn’t completely stupid. Being able to leave if she wanted to was kind of important.
Aleks finished tying the knot. He sat back and looked down at her, the expression in his eyes completely opaque. “Of course.” As if this was self-evident. “Here, I’ll show you.” And he showed her how to twist her hands so the scarves fell off without having to be untied.
Izzy’s doubt faded. Because he looked at her as if she was the centre of his existence. It was so erotic. It made her shiver with longing.
“I want to blindfold you.” He paused, asking permission.
“Okay.” If she was going to do this, she was going to do all of it. No half measures. No holding back. Wasn’t that why she was here?
Aleks got off the bed and went over to his bag again.
“So what brings you to Bangkok? Business or pleasure?” Izzy asked inanely as he rummaged around in it. Okay, so perhaps the nerves hadn’t gone away entirely.
“Business.” Aleks pulled something out of the bag. A T-shirt. “A chess tournament.”
“A chess tournament?”
He began to fold the cotton carefully into a long strip. “Yes. I play chess professionally.”
Weird. “You can be a professional chess player?”
“Yes.” Aleks came back over to the bed. “There aren’t many of us.”
“But how do you make a living?”
“Prize money. Articles in chess magazines. Tutoring and teaching people how to play.”
“You do all that?”
Aleks’s gaze settled on her. “No. I just play games. And win.”
“You must win a lot then.”
“I do.”
There was no false modesty in his words. No pride. It was a simple statement of fact.
She stared at him, fascinated. Forgetting she lay naked on his bed with her hands bound and about to be blindfolded, she asked, “Why? Why chess? Aren’t there easier ways to make a living?”
“I do find it easy. And the prize money can be very good.” Aleks lifted the makeshift blindfold. “Stop talking now, Izzy.”
And then the soft cotton covered her eyes.
She shivered a little as he tied it. The T-shirt smelled of him though, and she found that oddly reassuring. And erotic.
The bed moved, him sliding off it. She could hear nothing, just the hum of the air conditioning.
Izzy waited, her heart thudding in her chest. She didn’t know what to expect and somehow the not knowing felt unbearably exciting. But she knew he watched her. That he stared at her. Could feel the pressure of his gaze like a touch.
She had become the object of his focus, holding his complete and utter attention. Like the chessboard.
Goose bumps rose on her skin, her mouth dry. He hadn’t even touched her yet and already she trembled.
Then, at last, his fingers moved down the underside of her arm in a gentle caress, and she couldn’t stop the gasp that broke from her, the touch sending shivers like little earthquakes through her body.
Another touch, this time a stroke down her hip.
Then another on her other arm.
He touched her lightly, a collection of soft, undemanding strokes that were more tender than sexual and yet began to build into something that she knew would be intense. More intense than anything she’d ever experienced in her entire life.
Izzy trembled then groaned as a gentle finger traced the curve of one breast. By now she felt so sensitised it was like he’d touched her somewhere far more intimate. The finger moved away, touching her somewhere else, the inside of her wrist, her knee. A soft brush against the arch of her foot.
Then nothing. The bed moved beneath her as she felt his body shift away.
Silence.
“Aleks?” Her voice sounded shaky. All she could hear was her own ragged breathing.
But the feeling of being watched, of being studied didn’t lift and she liked it. Liked it so much.
Izzy stretched in subtle invitation. He tormented her, no reason not to return the favour.
Warm breath near her ear. “Stop it.”
She froze. “Why?”
“Because I told you to.”
Ah yes, he was supposed to be in charge, wasn’t he? Izzy opened her eyes under the blindfold, stared into the blackness of the cotton around her head. “What if I said no?”
“Then you will be punished.” He whispered the words in his sexy accent, full of sensual threat.
She trembled, unable to help herself. “I like the sound of that.” And arched again.
The bed moved once more and warm breath chased along her neck, the only warning she got. Teeth against the exquisitely sensitive skin between shoulder and neck, a soft bite that sent a shockwave through her. Her back bowed and as it did, a hand cupped her breast, fingers pinching her nipple not hard but enough to wrench a cry from her. The cry became a moan and then the hand and the fingers and the teeth against her neck were gone.
Izzy took a shuddering breath, shivers moving across her skin, a pulsing ache between her thighs. She could still smell him and it made the ache worse. “Don’t stop. Please.”
“This is your punishment, Izzy.” His voice came from the other side of the bed. Away from it. Too far away. “You’re not allowed to come until I say you can.”
She could pull away. At any time. She could loosen her wrists, get up off the bed, get dressed and walk out.
But she wouldn’t. Because for the first time in months, she wasn’t thinking of Angie. Wasn’t wrestling with her grief, her guilt or her anger. Or drowning in a toxic mix of all three.
She wasn’t feeling ignored or invisible or unimportant.
For the first time in months she was the sole object of someone else’s focus.
For the first time in months it was all about her.
For the first time in months she was free.
And she wasn’t giving that up for anything.
Chapter Five
Aleks took a long, slow breath and uncurled his fingers. He’d thought—stupidly as it turned out—that having her restrained like this would help. That her not being able to touch him and her bright, vivid face covered by his T-shirt, would make him feel more in control.
But somehow it didn’t.
Viktor’s death seemed to have unlocked something inside him, something that he didn’t want to let out. Something that seemed to respond to Izzy. She made him feel out of control in a way that just wasn’t acceptable. Even tied up, the uncontained emotions on her face hidden, she burned like a candle flame. And he was a moth, drawn helplessly to it.
He prowled silently up one end of the bed, then back again, unable to take his eyes off her.
You should have sent her away.
Yes, he should have. But he hadn’t.
The bright silk of the scarves was a sharp contrast against her bare skin. Scarves he’d said he’d bought f
or a friend. A lie. He didn’t have a friend. He’d bought them because their bright colours had reminded him of his American mom and the house in Santa Monica, and a piece of him had wanted to remember the home he’d once had. Until she’d sent him back. Disturbed she’d said. Had attachment difficulties she’d said.
Aleks found his hands had curled into fists yet again, his body coiled and tight against the memories that bubbled up inside him like a pot about to boil over on a stove.
No. Not thinking about that. He’d gone back to the States. Bought his Santa Monica house. Reclaimed what should have been his all those years ago. And now he was black ice. He was cold. Those memories had no power anymore.
His concentration fell back to Izzy on the white sheets of the bed, her pale skin flushed with desire. Her silver-white hair had dried into thick curls on the pillows, her mouth red and full. She trembled, the sound of her breathing loud in the room. Full of wild heat and colour and life.
The tight thing in his chest gripped hard as he stared at her, fighting the need to tear away her blindfold, tear away her restraints and lose himself in her.
“So, dude…” Izzy’s voice sounded breathless. “You often tie women up for pleasure?”
She seemed to want to talk a hell of a lot. Was it nerves? Insecurity?
He shouldn’t be curious. He should be planning his moves, figuring out what would give her the most pleasure. Concentrating on her so he didn’t have to concentrate on the memories lurking just beneath the surface of his skin.
He paused at the head of the bed. “No. Never.” Of course by speaking he’d given away his position.
Her head turned toward him. “So why now? Why me?”
“Why do you want to know?” He moved noiselessly around the bed, studying her.
She’d turned over on her side, still facing where he’d been, though now he was on the other side of the bed and she faced away from him. He reached for her, tracing the long curve of her back with his fingers. Her skin felt smooth, like satin. And her body shook when he touched her, her breath escaping in a hiss.
“Oh no reason,” she said, panting. “Just in case I’ve got ‘tie me up, I’m gagging for it’ tattooed on my forehead.”
Aleks put a knee on the edge of the bed, trailed his fingers back up her spine. “You talk too much.”
“Hey, asking questions isn’t a crime, is it? Besides, every girl likes to think she’s a little bit special.”
He placed a hand on her hip, pressing lightly, holding her in place. “You are…different.” The word special had other connotations. Connotations he didn’t want to admit to. But he could admit to different.
She didn’t say anything, trying to roll onto her back. He pressed harder, preventing her.
“I’ll take different.” Her breathing became faster. “So what’s with all the control stuff?”
“You have to control the game in order to win it.”
“Does winning matter so much?”
Aleks let his hand slide down over her stomach. “Winning always matters.” He spread his fingers over her abdomen, feeling the rise and fall of her breathing.
Izzy shifted her body, clearly trying to move his hand lower. “But if you never lose, you never learn.”
He moved his hand a little lower, letting her think he was giving her what she wanted, tantalising her by grazing just the top of the curls between her thighs. “You’re assuming I’ve never lost.” He’d lost many times. Enough to know that he never, ever wanted to lose again.
She made a soft noise as his fingers brushed her skin, her hips lifting, urging him farther down. But he wouldn’t let her have what she wanted. Not yet anyway.
He let his hand fall away and got off the bed again.
“Fuck,” Izzy panted, falling over onto her back. She’d gone even pinker beneath her blindfold, her jaw tight with what was probably frustration. “You’re a sadist. I’ve decided I don’t like this punishment.”
“You can go any time you like.” He’d moved to the opposite side of the bed again, watching her. Figuring out his next move. With a strange lurch, he realized he didn’t want her to go.
If she wanted to, would you stop her?
Would he? Perhaps he would.
She said nothing for a long moment. Her breasts rose and fell in time with her breathing, her little nipples hard with arousal. Then she flexed her arms against the brightly coloured scarves and gave a slow undulation of her hips, a sensual cat-stretch.
No. She wasn’t leaving. Need coiled low and deep inside him, making him even harder.
“I would leave,” she said huskily. “But it looks like some sadistic bastard has tied me up.” Her head turned on the pillow as if trying to gauge his position, one corner of her mouth turning up. “I don’t suppose you want to help me out, would you?”
Aleks stared at her, at the curve of her lower lip. Wanting to trace the shape of it with his finger. Her smile fascinated him. How was it possible that just a smile could make him harder than he was already? Flirtation, teasing had never done anything for him. Sex wasn’t about fun. It was a bodily function that one satisfied when appropriate and ignored when it wasn’t.
And yet some part of him wanted to respond to her. Tease her. Make her smile more.
“No.” He came silently around the bed to the other side again. “Why would I want to help you?”
Izzy turned her head in his direction. “Uh, well, I’d be extremely appreciative. Extremely.”
He knelt on the bed, put one hand on her thigh, feeling it quiver beneath his palm. “I don’t think so.”
She bit her lip, shifted her leg so his fingers slid inward over her skin, thighs falling open. “Dude, you are so bloody frustrating.”
“And you don’t do as you’re told.”
“Well, no. That’s true.” Her mouth curved in another naughty, sexy grin. “I suppose you’ll have to punish me some more then.”
Oh yes, he wanted to. In fact he’d begun to want to do that more than was strictly good for him.
Slowly he let his fingers slide farther up the smooth, soft skin of her inner thigh, watching the progress of his hand as he went. She’d become flushed all over now, her pale skin a dusky pink, the gleam of moisture on her thighs. The scent of her skin, roses and musk and feminine arousal made his head spin.
He gritted his teeth.
Patience. Patience was everything. In the game. In life. Patience and control, and Izzy tested both. She was a good lesson to him. A test.
Aleks stroked her inner thigh, feeling the wetness of her against his fingers. Her whole body tensed, little tremors racking her.
He glanced up at her face. She’d caught her lower lip between her teeth, but the dark blue cotton of his T-shirt obscured the rest of her expression.
All of a sudden he needed to see her. Needed to look into her eyes as he made her come. See that look of ecstasy light her up the way it had lit her up out in the lounge. See what it was he did to her.
The urge puzzled him because he’d never wanted to do that with a woman before. It was far too intimate. Gave away too much of himself. He didn’t need to see what he did to her, it wasn’t about him anyway. This was about her. Concentrating on her. About forgetting the memories of that house in Santa Monica and the hard stone in his chest he refused to call grief.
Aleks frowned. Perhaps she’d been right when she’d told him they were both escaping something. Perhaps escape was what he wanted after all.
Gentle fingers slid over her intimate flesh, stroking so lightly she wanted to scream. Instead she moaned helplessly, her body shifting and arching as a thumb brushed over her clit, another finger tracing the wet folds of her sex. It wasn’t enough. Goddammit.
Then the hand was gone, and so was he.
“Shit,” she said thickly. “This is getting ridiculous. I don’t—”
The rest of her protest died in her throat as a hot mouth covered her nipple. Izzy cried out, her body lifting from the bed. The pressur
e of his mouth suckling on her made light flash behind her closed lids, electricity in her blood.
His hand moved between her thighs again, a finger circling her clit then stroking in a firm, hard motion as he drew on her nipple.
“Oh…Aleks. Please…” Izzy pushed her hips against his hand. The intensity of the pleasure blinded her. This was what she wanted. Exactly what she’d been craving.
Escape. Release.
Then it stopped and he was gone again.
She swore helplessly, her whole body screaming. The deep pulsing ache inside her refused to let go. Panting, she lay still, trying not to move because maybe that’s why he’d stopped. Because she’d moved.
Closing her eyes behind the blindfold, she tried to keep control of her breathing and failed miserably. Of course she didn’t need to stay here. Easy enough to take off the scarves, untie the blindfold. Get up and walk away.
But she wouldn’t. Right now she felt more alive than she had for months. Alive and awake, part of the world again. Not denied and ignored and invisible.
With every touch he’d rebuilt her. Remade her. In this bed she wasn’t the sister of a suicide victim or the sole surviving daughter. She wasn’t grieving or in mourning or bereaved. In this bed she was a woman who was wanted and desired and pleasured.
It was glorious and she didn’t ever want it to stop.
Trying to calm her breathing, quiet the pound of blood in her ears, Izzy strained to hear him. Figure out where he was. But he remained silent.
Yes, she could see why he always won. He had a core of ice cold steel in him. A purpose. If he wanted to win, then he would and he wouldn’t let anything get in his way.
Just like if he wanted to make her come only when he said, then he would.
She didn’t know why the thought thrilled her so much. Perhaps because no one had made it their sole purpose to give her pleasure before. Oh, she’d had boyfriends in the past who’d counted it a failure if they hadn’t given her at least two orgasms every night.
But that had all been about them and their prowess. Aleks did this for her pleasure alone.
Electricity whispered over her skin, and she didn’t know how she knew but she became aware he was close. The sound of glass clinking. Liquid being poured.
Black Knight, White Queen Page 4