by Lia Lee
She paused, trying to stop her chest from heaving, trying to stop the tears from coming, because god, she could not take that. She could not take dealing with that at all right now, not in front of this man.
"All the women?" he asked, and there was a catch in his tone that she would have noticed if she had looked up.
"Yes," she said miserably. "All the women. The blondes, the brunettes..."
"Luna," he said, putting a hand on her elbow, but she pulled it away.
"Ugh, I can't stand to look at you right now," Luna snapped, turning away. "I'm too angry."
"Well, let's fix that then, shall we?" said Tucker, and she turned as she caught the purring, dangerous note in his voice. That tone alone should have sent her running, but instead for some reason, she allowed him to grasp her by the wrist, circling it with his hand. She was caught tight, held not uncomfortably but with absolute firmness. Luna refused to embarrass herself by struggling, instead looking up at him with a defiant tilt to her chin. Instead of realizing that he was acting like a barbarian and releasing her, however, Tucker only chuckled, shaking his head in appreciation.
"Things are never boring around you at all, are they?" he asked with a slight smile.
He didn't wait for her to answer, instead pulling her along behind him to his closet. There was a glimpse of gorgeous suits and clever cupboards for ties, cuff links, and other accessories, but none of those things were what Tucker was after. Instead he reached towards the hangers were his scarves were kept, and the one he pulled out startled her.
Surely it was too thin and filmy to be a man's scarf, and when she glimpsed the rose motif on the edge, she was sure. This was a scarf that had belonged to one of his conquests, and her eyes shot up to his face accusingly.
"So whose scarf is this?"
"The owner left it here, so it's mine now," Tucker said cheerfully. "Now hush or I am going to need to find another for your mouth."
Another? Luna had time to wonder, and then he was looping the scarf over her head, settling it with expertise over her eyes. Before she could do much more than gasp, he was knotting it firmly behind her head. She was blindfolded in dark silk, and when she realized that she could not see at all, she went utterly still.
As an artist, Luna had always known how much she depended on her vision, but this was the first time that it had been taken away like this. Suddenly, the heavy hand that stroked her cheek felt more like an anchor than an invasion, and against her will, she leaned into it.
Tucker chuckled, but there was no mockery in it this time. Instead, there was a kind of affection that she was surely making up and a sweetness she wasn't sure she had ever heard before.
"There now. Venetian gentlemen were renowned falconers. They took birds from the wild and hooded them, covered their eyes, and then introduced them to food from a human hand, comfort from a human voice. They kept them in the dark because it was the best way to keep the bird calm. When a falcon was hooded, it would not hurt itself trying to escape."
"It would make it easier to handle a bird that was so confused that it no longer wanted to claw your eyes out as well," Luna noted, and he chuckled in agreement.
"I have always thought that those falconers would be a very demanding and exacting lot," he went on, as if they were simply engaging in a conversation about medieval falconry, as if she wasn't blindfolded and he wasn't stroking a gentle finger down her cheek. In the absence of her sight, it felt as if her sense of touch had intensified. She could feel his hand and the warmth of it trace the curve of her cheek, the arch of her throat, resting for a moment on her pulse point before coming to rest at the center of her cleavage, tugging her neckline down slightly.
"Do you think you could be so cruel?" she found herself saying through dry lips. "Do you think that you could keep a bird in darkness until you broke its will and it agreed to hunt for you?"
He drew her close, and though there was still a small part of her that wanted to resist him, the rest of her was drawn as if like a magnet to his warmth and his strength. One trembling step and then another, and then she was resting lightly against his chest, her cheek pressed against the smooth fabric of his shirt. She could hear his heart beating under her ear, and when he smoothed her hair down, she shivered.
"I would never break your spirit," he whispered. "Have no fear of that, my beautiful little falcon. It would be far better to simply seduce you to my will, to make sure that you flew where I wished because you simply wanted to please me."
"You think I want to please you?" she asked, trying to put that touch of haughtiness back into her voice, but it was lost when he cupped one hand over her breast, squeezing gently.
"I think you might be convinced." Tucker responded. "At least, you would be if you understood how pleasurable flight under my command could be. This is something that is sometimes easier to see when you are blinded."
She might have laughed at his words, but then he was scooping her up in his arms as if she weighed nothing. Luna knew that she was no lightweight, but when she was in his arms, she felt as if she truly could be the falcon that he spoke about, light and vicious and ready to fly, though perhaps not ready to obey.
Without her volition, her arms had gone around his neck. Intellectually, Luna knew that he was taking her to the great bedroom that they shared. In his arms, without her sight and dependent on his direction, she thought that he could be taking her anywhere, and she pressed her face tighter against his chest.
"Shh, shh, my little fierce one. It will be all right. I will make sure that you understand how very sweet flight can be when I direct you."
He lay her down on the bed, the mattress giving slightly under her weight. Luna's first impulse was to get up and scramble away, but without her sight, she knew that she might simply stumble straight to the floor.
This was what falcons felt, she thought. Without her vision, perhaps the safest thing was to stay right where she was, to endure whatever it was that her master had in store rather than risk the unknown.
"See? That's good. You're quiet, and you're trembling a little. That's lovely."
Luna swallowed hard.
"I'm not trembling at all," she declared, but he leaned down and swept his lips over hers. His hand laid over her heart told him she was a liar, and she groaned into the kiss. He represented a kind of grounding influence. She tried to wrap her arms around him, to keep him and to bring him down next to her, but he pulled away, leaving her whimpering a little.
"It's all right, darling," he crooned. "Listen to my voice. I would never let any harm come to you, I promise..."
She let out a soft wordless cry at his soft words. Somehow, there was something about them that spoke to her, that touched at the heart of her that was so soft and fragile. He seemed to understand her cry, because he rested his hand on hers, touching her comfortingly even as she heard him rifling through the elegant nightstand next to the enormous bed. Then he came to kneel on the bed next to her, and that was better.
At least it was until she felt a moving cold prick of absolutely sharpness tracing its way along her neckline, glancing down past her collarbone, traveling towards her cleavage.
"Oh!" Luna cried out, and there was Tucker again, free hand smoothing down her hip and comforting her.
"Don't move, darling," he whispered huskily. "Don't move at all. I am not going to hurt you, and you must trust me. If you want to fly, you must trust me."
Oh, Luna already knew how sweet flight could be in Tucker's arms. There was already a low and urgent heat in the center of her belly at his words. She could remember the pleasure he gave her as easily as breathing, and god, she wanted it again.
Tucker waited for her to nod, and then he laughed again. Somehow, there was nothing mean in it at all. It was a warm and surprisingly loving sound, a strange but natural counterpart to the cold touch that trailed over her bare skin.
Was it a penknife, she wondered, or a pocketknife perhaps? Something he kept to slit open letters by the bed, just a
random gadget?
Whatever it was, it was incredibly sharp. She felt a brief tug at the center of her dress's neckline, and then the fabric parted like butter under a hot knife. The knife point made its way down the dress, slitting it straight down the front and trailing its point down her belly.
"Please, Tucker," she said, and he seemed to know that she certainly did not mean stop, not at all.
"Patience, little falcon," he whispered, and now there was a thickness to his words that told her that he could feel the fire glowing between them too. "Have patience, it will all come out well."
Luna swallowed hard and did her best to believe him. She grasped great handfuls of the covers under her hands, and she tried to stay as still as she could as he ran the knife along her skin, shredding her dress as he went. She resisted the ticklish urge as he slit the fabric along her sleeves, edging them out of the way with his warm hands. Then he seemed to be tracing pictures over her with the point, making swirls and curves over her own hips and breasts. Each pass of the cold, dangerous tip made her whimper, and though she did not move, she did tremble, unable to help herself.
It's not enough, she found herself thinking. Oh please, it's not enough, I need more...
Almost as if he had heard her, Tucker's grasp grew rougher. He had taken some timeless eon to strip her dress from her. For her bra, he simply slid the point under the center of it and flicked upwards. The bra fell away, releasing her breasts, and then with two slashes, her underwear received the same treatment. She could imagine how she looked in the shreds of clothing, her skin almost shocking pale against the scraps of fabric. Didn't he want to touch her? Didn't he crave her as much as she craved him?
She groaned out loud when she felt the tip of the knife roving her upper thighs, pausing every now and then to trail with the utmost delicacy and care over the curly tuft of hair between her legs. At some point, her legs had parted, opening herself to him, and even if it was foolish, she wanted more, more of this dangerous man.
"Oh please... please, Tucker," she murmured brokenly, and he laughed. There was desire there, but more than that, there was a need for control , the need to rule over both of them.
"Don't worry, my dear," he growled. "You'll get to fly."
She winced when there was a strange thump, and then the cold point was gone, replaced by a warm hand that slid up her inner thigh, rising to the soft tuft of hair. She whimpered with embarrassment when he slid an inquisitive finger along her slit, but the sound he made was worth any nerves.
"God, you want me," he growled. "I can feel how much you need me..."
She groaned, all the agreement she could bear to make, but then she felt his skilled hands open her. Before she met him, she would have squeaked with humiliation at the idea of a man touching her so intimately and looking at her while she could not look at him, but now she only spread her legs wider, wanting and needing him more.
"So beautiful," he crooned. "You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?"
She might have responded, but a pressure settled over her clit while two fingers slid deep inside her. She was as wet and warm as he had said that she was, and she arched up against him. The thing she had noticed before, that all of her senses seemed sharpened after she had her vision taken away, was even more true now, and her hips rose up to meet him with an ancient rhythmic need.
"Oh god please, please," she whimpered, and he made a sound that was perilously close to a growl. He must have crouched down next to her because she could feel the warmth of his lips against her shoulder.
"Fly, little falcon. Fly, I promise you that you can..."
She could feel the tremors low in her belly, starting up as if summoned by his command. There was a terrible need in her, a yearning for release, and this was the only man who could give it to her. As if he could sense this yearning inside her, his fingers quickened, and the sensations inside her rose up to an unbearable height. Her heels dug hard into the bed, and her hips rose to meet his fingers with a kind of desperation that made her want to hide while at the same time showing him everything.
"Oh, oh, oh," she repeated, and perhaps it did sound a little like a bird's cry, because all at once her body tightened. Her thighs clamped down hard on his hand, and she was shuddering as if someone had run a hard shock though her. The pleasure was hard and hot, rolling over her with absolutely no mercy at all, and she groaned, crying out Tucker's name with every breath. It felt that she was drawn so tight that she would surely shatter, she would surely break, but she wouldn't because Tucker was there, one arm pillowing her head, his powerful body pressed to her, his lips against her ear, whispering words that she couldn't make out. She could hear her name and praise that it would make her blush to understand, but right now, that was fine. It all felt so good that she was certain that she could never feel better.
She had barely stopped trembling when Tucker pulled away from her for a moment. She mewled in distress, but she could hear him shucking off his clothes, throwing them off with haste. In just another moment, he was naked and on top of her, his mouth conquering hers with a need that she had never even guessed at.
"You drive me completely wild," he growled, and there was a desperation there that made her shiver. "Look at what you do to me..."
She groaned as he nudged his cock against her belly, and then with a motion that was as powerful as thunder, he sank deep in inside her. She cried out again at the sensation, but he gave her no time to get used to it. He was drinking her cries from her lips as he bucked into her, and her body started tightening again even as she cried out. It was too much, far too much, it would cut her in half, she couldn't take it, but then of course she did.
The power of the second climax was weaker, and she dug her nails hard into the bed, crying out. Almost simultaneously, she could feel Tucker press into her one last time, making her shudder again. He roared his climax, and somehow she could feel the way he felt it, as if she were in his skin.
The sensations and the emotions were all too much, and in the midst of the frenzy, she burst into tears, saltwater running down her face, her entire body convulsing as if she was climaxing again.
Tucker was still for a moment, and then with a muttered curse, he pulled away from her. He was gentle, but the sudden loss of warmth and contact as he rolled to one side only made her sob harder.
"Oh god, Luna... What do you need, should I?"
If she had been asked, and she was thinking sensibly, she would have wanted to run. She had never felt this vulnerable in front of someone before. She had never been this laid open, this bare. No matter what they had just done, Tucker wasn't her lover. She was his surrogate, and this power that ran between them, this vivid and exacting sensation, it would all go away. She should have run.
Her body and her heart, however, saw things differently, and when it heard the concern in his voice, there was only one thing she wanted. Mutely, she spread her arms reaching for him, and with another muttered curse, he pulled her close to him.
It was exactly what she wanted, to be gathered close to his broad chest, to bury her face in his shoulder and to feel the knot that had been tightening by increments in the center of her start to relax.
After what seemed to take hours but was likely merely minutes, the tears slowed and finally stopped. Her head ached slightly, her body was slightly tender, but when Tucker made to move, her grip on him tightened. He chuckled, but it struck her that there was something sad about the sound.
"Don't move? All right, little one. I'll stay right here."
Why did her eyelids feel so swollen and heavy? Why did she feel as if she could barely move her limbs?
"I should get up," she slurred, an inescapable drowsiness furring her perception. "I need to go back to... to the studio."
"To the studio?" Tucker asked in shock. "Dear god, do you think you're going to work now?"
"Nah," she said, shaking her head. "Been sleeping there. There's the chaise."
"You have a room-"
&n
bsp; "It's too big. Too empty," she said. It cost her what felt like a herculean effort to explain, but she did her best. "I can't sleep there. It's too... lonely."
She pressed her forehead against his chest, feeling an obscure relief when she was touching him. Any minute now, he would say that he had an early morning tomorrow or that they should get to sleep. Then she would make the lonely walk back to her room, and that would be that.
However, when he spoke up, his words surprised her.
"I'm sorry you were lonely," he said, so softly she was barely sure that he had spoken at all. "I am sorry that I made you lonely. Just... just stay here with me. I want you here."
By now her eyes were more shut than they were open, and her body was relaxing into a deep sleep. The day felt as if it had gone on for a thousand years, and now it felt as if she was being allowed to rest exactly where she wanted, where she had always wanted to be.
"All right, g'night," she muttered, and she barely heard Tucker's soft, oddly sad laugh.
"Good night, darling."
Chapter Fourteen
Luna dropped off to sleep as trustingly as a child that had cried herself out, but Tucker found that he could not sleep as easily. What the hell was he doing?
He ran his free hand through his hair in frustration. The girl in his arms looked as if she were heartbroken, and he knew exactly where the blame for all of this lay.
He had entered the contract knowing about the emotion pitfalls of it all, and somehow, he had expected an untried girl in her early twenties to know the same. He had let Luna's sweetness and spirit seduce him, and now look at where they were.
Luna was just so different from the other women he had known. Everyone else knew how to play the game, and they knew how to play it well. When it ended, there might be crocodile tears, but more often than not, there was a shrug and a smile as both parties moved on.