by Lilli Feisty
As if in a trance, she stared at the patterns the wax made on his skin; his ribs and then his stomach were like Jackson Pollock paintings, splattered works of art.
Elation flooded her as she emptied the candle onto him, watching the way his breath caught the instant the molten wax hit his flesh. The way his strong thighs tensed, the way he jerked beneath her. The way he hissed out a groan.
She controlled all those things.
“Tell me how it feels.”
“Hot.”
“Do you like it, Mark?”
“Yeah, baby. You’re doing a damn fine job.”
“Thank you.” When the small tea light was drained she placed the empty silver holder on the nightstand and picked up a second candle. Again she popped a piece of ice into her mouth. She scooted down the bed until she was over his knees. Her gaze fell on his cock, which was so hard it looked painful.
“You’re mine tonight.”
“Yes,” he moaned. But the word was strained through his clenched teeth.
“I can do whatever I want.”
“I said yes.”
“Don’t forget. Say Chihuahua if it’s too much.”
“Just fucking do it, Ruby.”
“Say please.”
“Pretty fucking please.”
“Always the bad boy.”
With the ice on her tongue, she sucked his cock into her mouth, sucked him as deep as she could, until he hit the barrier of her throat. She continued to suck him until he was pumping his hips beneath her, until his skin was like fire beneath the icy water in her mouth.
Only when the ice had disappeared, leaving her mouth slightly numb and cold, did she release him.
Glancing at the tea light in her hand, and then at him, she said, “Did you like the candle wax?”
“Yes,” he said.
“I want to see what happens when I drip it on your cock. Do you want me to do that?”
He groaned, but didn’t answer.
Smiling, she drew his thighs open. She had the candle in her hand, hovering about two feet over his body. She tipped the votive, watching the wax splash onto the skin of his strong thigh. The muscles there clenched, but she gave him no time to recuperate. Instead she kept pouring: his other thigh, his hips, and then, when his breathing was deep and audible, she stopped.
His skin gleamed, his chest rose and fell. He made her entire body tremble with desire.
She asked again, “Well, do you? Do you want me to pour hot wax on your cock?”
“Yes.” His voice was husky, rough. “Do it.” His jaw clenched. “Please.”
“Good boy.” She tilted the candle and watched the wax fall onto his erection.
He cried out. “That hurts.” But the small, euphoric smile on his face told her it hurt in a good way.
She continued pouring and wax splattered on his cock, his stomach, his hips. She watched every muscle in his body twitch and flex, but his smile grew bigger. “I always knew you were a switch, baby,” he said. “Didn’t I tell you that?”
“Yes, you did.” When the votive was empty, she watched the wax as it dried on his strained erection. “I’m jealous, really. Will you do this to me one day?”
“Payback is a bitch, and I can’t wait. But when I do it, you’ll be spread wide for me. I’ll pour it on your breasts while I make love to you. I’ll fill your pussy with my cock while I pour hot wax on your nipples. Would you like that, baby?”
Her pussy was aching at the thought, and her entire body was alive with desire for him.
Grinning, she retrieved another piece of ice, and, running it across his erection, she let the ice harden the wax on his skin. His breathing was heavy as she continued, from the head of his cock to the base and then over his balls, until the sac contracted in her hand.
She set the candle aside and emptied a dollop of the jasmine oil into her palm. Mark’s hands wrapped around the scarves and he pulled, but he didn’t free himself.
With his cock in her hand, she began to rub the jasmine oil into his skin. She wrapped her fingers around his shaft and stroked until the muscles in his stomach began to twitch, until his breathing was choppy. Until the wax came off in little pieces in her hand.
Now he was smooth again; silky and hard. She continued to pump him, increasing her speed as he ground against her hand. Soon he was meeting her rhythm, faster and faster until she heard his breath stop, felt his body go motionless. Her eyes were locked on his erection. Through his warm skin she felt his essence pulsing through him, and she watched as it spurted out of his body in powerful, warm jets.
When he’d stilled she climbed off, untied the scarves from his wrists and removed his blindfold. Her heart in her throat, she looked down at him, felt her chest swell. He’d done it. He’d trusted her enough to let her do this.
“Are you okay? Can I get you anything?” She used the scarf to clean his stomach, kissing the muscles just under his ribs when he jerked, as if it tickled.
“Just you, Ruby,” he said as he reached for her.
But she dodged him, setting aside the oil and scarves. “It means so much, Mark, that you let me do this.”
“It’s your turn now.”
She paused and raised a brow. “Is it, now?”
“Hell yeah.”
Giggling, she let him pull her into the bed on top of him, and she kissed him gently, slowly, with love. After a minute she pushed him back and looked down into his deep brown eyes.
“There will be rules,” she said.
In a flash, he had her on her back. “I’m in charge now, doll.”
“Not now; I mean rules in general.”
He narrowed his gaze. “Like?”
“No other women, obviously.”
He nipped her ear. “No problem there, baby. All I want is you.”
“When you’re on tour we need to see each other at least once a month.”
“Or more.” His hand was spanning her hip, and she shivered.
“When I ask you how your day went, I want a real answer. None of this ‘I’m too tired to talk’ crap.”
“Fine.”
His fingers were inching closer to her aching center, and she spread her thighs. “No matter what I say during our fantasies, you don’t own me,” she whispered. But when she felt his fingers spreading her labia so he could slip a finger into her pussy, she knew her words were false. She belonged to him, heart and soul.
“E-mail,” she said, trying to concentrate. “You have to e-mail me every day.”
“E-mail, text messages, phone calls. Postcards. Whatever you want.” He slipped a second finger inside her and her eyes fluttered shut. “Hell,” he said. “If I thought you’d agree, I’d tell you to quit your job and just come with me. But I know you’d never go for it.”
“No, I wouldn’t. But I can make my own schedule. Travel.” She could barely think, not when he was kissing her, toying with her nipples, her clit. She let him bring her arms together over her head. He had her so out of her mind, she barely noticed him tying her wrists together with the silk scarves that had been restraining him only minutes ago.
Or maybe she didn’t care that he was taking charge. She stretched her body, arched her back so her breasts peaked for him. He tied her to the headboard and she smiled, loving it.
Fingering the silver lock on the necklace around her throat, he gazed down at her. “But you’re mine right now, aren’t you, Ruby?”
She nodded. “Yes, Mark.”
“And I’m yours.” He kissed her softly before breaking away to get a candle and some matches. “But, as I said earlier, payback is a bitch.” He struck the match, lit the candle, and blew out the match flame. The scent of sulfur drifted up in a puff of smoke.
She caught the gleam in his eye, and a delicious wave of desire washed over her; she wrapped her hands around the silk scarves, pulling tight.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
She smiled, giving him her sassiest look. “Bring it, Mark Rufus St. Crow.”
THE DISH
Where authors give you the inside scoop!
From the desk of Elizabeth Hoyt
Gentle Reader,
Whilst researching my latest novel, TO BEGUILE A BEAST (on sale now), I came across the following document which was written in a Suspiciously Familiar hand. I append it here for Your Amusement.
THE GENTEEL LADY’S GUIDE TO CLEANING CASTLES
Written for the Express Purpose of Guiding the Lady of Quality who may, through no fault of her own, be hiding under an Assumed Name in a Very Dirty Castle Indeed.
1. If at all possible, the Genteel Lady should choose a very dirty castle not inhabited by a Male (one cannot use the word Gentleman!) of a foul and disagreeable disposition.
2. Even if the Male in question is rather attractive otherwise.
3. An apron, preferably in a becoming shade of light blue or rose, is important.
4. The Genteel Lady should immediately hire a large and competent staff—even if it is against the express wishes of the Disagreeable Male. Remember: if the Disagreeable Male knew anything about cleaning, his castle wouldn’t be in such a deplorable state in the first place.
5. Tea is harder to make than one might imagine.
6. Beware birds’ nests hiding in the chimney!
7. The Genteel Lady should never deliver the Disagreeable Male’s luncheon to him in his tower study by herself. This may result in the Lady and the Male being closeted together—alone!
8. Should the Genteel Lady dismiss the Above Advice, she should not under any circumstances participate in a Passionate Embrace with the Disagreeable Male.
9. Even if he is no longer Quite So Disagreeable.
10. Finally, the Genteel Lady should never, ever engage in an Affaire d’Coeur with the Master of the Castle. In doing so she puts not only her virtue in peril, but also her heart.
Yours Most Sincerely,
www.elizabethhoyt.com
From the desk of Annie Solomon
Dear Reader,
Everyone always asks me where I get my ideas. Sometimes I get them straight from the newspaper. Or a song lyric might start an idea rolling. Places often give me ideas, especially if they’re new to me. But in the case of my latest, ONE DEADLY SIN (on sale now), the idea for the book came from a tour guide to Iowa.
My brother was moving, which was sad because we live next door to each other, and also happy, because it meant he was taking a job that was exciting and challenging and something he always wanted to do. As a parting gift, someone had given him a guide to interesting places in Iowa, and while flipping through it one day—trying to ignore the boxes that were piling up in his living room—I happened across a famous midwestern legend about a monument in an Iowa cemetery. A monument that supposedly turned black overnight because the man buried beneath it was guilty of crimes of the heart.
That got me thinking. What if the person buried beneath the angel was innocent? What if someone wanted to prove it? What if proving it cost that someone his or her life?
That’s the nugget that got me started on Edie Swann, the tattooed, Harley-riding heroine of ONE DEADLY SIN.
They say you can’t go home again. For Edie, going home is murder. Out to revenge her father’s long-ago death, she’s caught in her own trap by a maniac who wants to see the sins of the past paid in full. With Edie’s blood.
You can check out an excerpt on my Web site, www.anniesolomon.net. You’ll also find more on the legend that started the story circling in my head. And while you’re there, don’t forget to check out my blog for behind-the-scenes stories in the life of a writer.
Happy Reading!
From the desk of Lilli Feisty
Dear Reader,
Have you ever had a crush on a rock star? Have you ever watched American Idol and your heart began to pitter-patter as you saw a performer belt out a song, straight from his gut? Have you ever stared at a musician’s fingers as he strummed his guitar and thought, “Wouldn’t it be fabulous to be tied up by that rock star as he did wicked things to me?”
Or maybe that’s just me.
It all started when I heard Robert Plant. I’d never even seen him, but when I listened to him sing I fell in love with his voice. He sounded so soulful, so sexy. I wondered why he wanted someone to squeeze his lemon, but my mom assured me it was because he liked a citrusy tea. Being thirteen, I believed her. It didn’t stop my crush, though. I’d just lie on my bed, listening to Led Zeppelin, in bliss. And when I caught sight of Plant onstage, swinging his hips in those low-slung jeans, I was toast. I never got over my fascination with musicians, and I suspect few of us do.
Enter Mark St. Crow, the hero in my May release, BOUND TO PLEASE. Mark’s a hot, tattooed musician with a tendency to, well, tie women up and do wicked things to them. Of course, I couldn’t make his life easy so I made Mark fall for Ruby Scott, an event planner who longs for stability and all the things Mark’s lifestyle could never allow. Oh, I admit it was fun torturing them both (even though they sometimes liked it) and while I did so I got to live out my not-so-secret rock-star crush, with a heavy dose of spicy romance thrown in.
I hope you enjoy BOUND TO PLEASE! You can find out more information about me and my writing at www.lillianfeisty.com.