As the doctor handed him electrodes, he slipped the pins, equally spaced, under the skin at each side of one laceration. “Doctor. Turn it on, please.”
Green current sizzled for a minute across the first wound. He shifted the electrode tips, treated the second, then the third cut. Apart from gnawing her pretty lip and a few sharp intakes of breath, Claire didn’t move.
She rose in his estimation yet again. None of the ladies, or likely even the lords he knew, would have borne this so stoically. Before he released her hands, he brushed the lock of hair from her brow. “Well done.”
The startled, bemused look she shot him pierced his heart as surely as an arrow. His blood thumped fiercely. Here was a puzzle he wished to solve. A man’s touch unsettled her? He’d thought her a sexual companion. The more he saw of her, the less likely that seemed. Who and what was she?
* * *
The next day he returned to administer the galvanic treatment. The doctor, irked by all the goings on, begged off attending, though June stayed as a chaperone, sunken in her chair, observing without interfering.
Claire lay on the bed wearing a blue dress this time—one a little shorter than the red, with fabric as sheer as his housemaids could discover among the archive of clothes. A small trick—he wasn’t completely deaf to Dankyo’s arguments. Claire might be a woman, but her casual application of a fingerlock on the doctor spoke of some training. Escaping would be a damned sight more difficult in a flimsy dress. As an added bonus, this way he could admire her form without being too obvious.
During this treatment he left his hand on her thigh while he studied the wound. Her breasts rose a little quicker when she breathed, her lips parted, and the tiny hairs on her legs stirred in goose bumps.
Why this delightful reaction? Ah. Of course.
His fingertips had strayed a half inch under the dress and were only three, four inches from the apex of her legs. He slowly withdrew his hand, then casually laid it on her ankle, watching her as he traced circles with his thumb on her warm skin. Though she shifted her leg an inch away, when he put his hand back, she did nothing, as if hypnotized by the stroking.
The faint aroma of arousal came to him. She was wet. Desire had caught her up the same as him. His nostrils flared. She felt their connection. Manners said that he shouldn’t take this further unless she assented, yet even so he let his fingers drift around her ankle and loosely hold her there—the first step of possession.
She would give that assent to him, and once he gained her permission, he didn’t plan to do anything less than give her the most thorough ravishing any woman could experience.
Chapter Three
On the third day, he knew the pain would be light enough that he didn’t need to fasten Claire’s hands out of the way. When he strode toward the bed, she put her uncuffed hand above her head, joining the one already fastened there.
Her shoulder muscles slid, sculpted by light. Such a simple movement—yet the shift of curve on curve slew him. The widening of her pupils, the visible beat of her carotid pulse, the willingness, it all spoke to him of submissiveness. He caught his breath as his foot swung to touch floor. Need trickled, then poured into him. He wanted this woman at his feet, held by his will, wanted to wind his hand into her hair so tight she couldn’t move, to tilt her head to one side and sink his teeth into her glorious long neck. It called to his blood. God.
The moment broke a second later. She stirred and took down her hand, her face flushed.
* * *
Why do I have my hands above my head? Confusion swallowed her as Theo arrived at the side of the bed, all towering and male, those adorable black curls that begged her to twist them round a finger. She lowered her unsecured hand, speaking to cover up how lost she felt. “Good morning.”
What would it be like to wrap her arms around him, to smell his hair, run her fingers through those curls?
“Yes. It is.” He smiled. “This will hurt very little, and I don’t need to cuff both your hands.”
He sat, then efficiently inserted the first of the electrodes. After a minute or two of watching him work on her leg, Claire found calmness settling over her. The way he focused on her treatment and nothing else left her free to watch his every move without fear of being watched in turn.
The treatment over, Theo packed away the machine and its parts.
He took her hand in his, and kissed the palm—a simple possession of her hand. She wanted to pull away, and not, wanted that kiss again. The room vanished, and there remained only his hold on her hand, his gray eyes, the drumming of her heart.
“Claire?”
“Yes?” she asked huskily.
“May I have your permission to court you?”
A lightning strike might have had less effect. She stopped breathing and stared at him, knowing a complete dunce could see her reaction.
He ran a finger lightly from palm to wrist to arm. “If you don’t speak, I’ll take that as a yes.”
She swallowed past the dryness in her throat. “Why? I’m your prisoner, not your—”
“Lover?” He raised an eyebrow, and her cheeks heated. “I can’t free you yet, Claire. I don’t know enough about you. Let me into your world so I can decide what to do with you.”
She laughed bitterly. “You wouldn’t like my world at all. You’re mocking me. I’m a frankenstruct. You don’t court a frankenstruct!”
“I do what I like. You’re putting yourself down. I won’t have that. You are human, Claire, and I can see I have a job to do here in convincing you of this. Answer my question, please. May I court you?”
She stared. He has a job to do… For some reason that scared her more than anything else he’d said. She gathered her thoughts, acutely aware of how he still hung on to her hand.
“I can tell you about myself without you courting me.” She shivered, though no breeze touched the room.
“True.”
He agreed. The fluttering in her stomach subsided. Courting? She vaguely remembered notes about it. Do I dare ask?
“Um. What exactly do you mean by courting?” She had a hunch it wouldn’t be simple or innocent or confined to merely kissing and exchanging compliments. Where he’d drawn the line on her palm, she couldn’t stop feeling frissons of warmth—as if he’d dipped his finger in some unknown magic.
“Courting is a social ritual, where two people find out about each other. The boundaries vary.” Though his words were oh so factual, with his fingertip he traced delicious looping curves on her wrist. “In some countries it stops at talking and kissing. In others…the couple may go further.” He raised an eyebrow.
He was daring her—daring her to ask how far courting went here. In the face of his amused stare, her courage fled.
“Have you ever been kissed, Claire?”
She clenched her hands. All she could think was Inkline. Inkline making her stand there, slapping her, the pain. Slowly she pulled everything back into place, shoved away the memory of humiliation, and focused on the quiet man who sat by her bed, stroking her hand and uncurling her fingers.
“Yes. I have.”
A line creased between his eyes. “But it’s not something you liked. I can see that.”
She looked to where June sat, except the machine blocked her view.
“June is discreet. Forget she’s there. Kissing should be pleasurable.” He slowly lowered his head and pressed his lips to her palm again, then to her wrist.
“Would you like me to show you?”
What a question! But he wasn’t making her do it. She had a choice. With Inkline and the other trainers, it had been degrading and almost rape. Kissing for pleasure was something lovers did, and for a flustering moment she imagined herself in Theo’s bed, their limbs entwined. Oh my.
Where had that come from? She’d seen two pleasure slaves demonstrate the sexual act, but she’d not actually done it, and…
She blinked. Moisture beaded on her brow. He hadn’t moved since he’d asked her his excruciating
question. Serenity radiated from him, like he had all the time in the world to wait for her answer.
“Yes,” she whispered. Her heart fluttered like a lantern flame caught in a wild wind.
“Tell me if you want me to stop, Claire, and I will.”
He rose from the chair so he could reach her, and then he pressed those firm lips on her wrist again. He looked up at her in between each kiss as he advanced, inch by inch, up her arm. Tingles washed up and through her body like a slow, inevitable tide. They rose up her arm to her lips, lingering and swirling like the last shallow wave on the beach, over her nipples, her stomach… She could refuse him—she held tight on to that thought—then the tingling reached her groin. She closed her eyes at that, reveling in the awakening sensation.
He kissed her shoulder and came to her neck. She sighed, tilting her head on the pillow, letting those warm lips close in on her and move along the line of her jaw.
“Claire?” he murmured. “Do you still want this?”
She opened her eyes to find his inches away. Was he doing this to please her, because he liked her, or did he aim to seduce her for his own ends and nothing else?
She shuddered and, half-dazed, studied him.
He tilted her chin, regarding her calmly, his irises a sea of ashen gray. How was that so? He was calm, when her heart beat so swiftly. She ached for those lips to touch hers.
“Yes,” she breathed. His mouth descended on hers, his lips soft and sure, taking her whole mouth gently at first, then nibbling each part of her lip. Teeth and tongue played their part, goading her until she parted her lips and let his tongue inside. When she felt his hand cup her breast, then lightly caress her nipple, she moaned. His mouth plundered hers, and she fell away beneath him, laid out for him to take what he wished.
Her free hand clutched at his back just as his hand slid under her head and tangled in her hair, holding her still, keeping her exactly where he wanted her. And that was glorious, freeing her to enjoy the kiss, absorbed in the sensations. Her pussy dampened. The kiss became their universe, a unique creation, stretching on for so long that when he pulled away, their lips separating, his breath no longer hers…she knew a deep surprise and loss.
He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “There. Was that not worth it?”
She caught her breath, wondering at what he’d brought her, this gift of pleasure, then counted to ten. A smidgen of indignation crept back in. Wait. She was letting him play her like some toy, like a frankenstruct.
So she ducked her head away from his hand and adopted a frown, just enough to show she wasn’t overwhelmed, or a fool. “That was…different.”
“Just different?”
She searched his face for clues, but he remained unreadable. Deliberately so, she decided. His hand still rested over her breast. Her nipple throbbed, as if anticipating the pressure of his finger.
Two could play at that game. She gave back the same steady expression for several seconds, making her breathing slow, though most of the breaths were ragged. She should have said no, but…
I’m falling over my feet to please him. Lord. What irony.
Theo was rich, powerful, and seemingly infatuated with her. The sexual games between men and women had been hinted at in training. Was he playing her for a fool? She couldn’t tell and held back a shiver. She had a suspicion his expertise extended into deep and dangerous waters.
Yet, would it hurt to go further, to see where this led? She’d be gone soon anyway, and she couldn’t deny how much he appealed to her. The sexual attraction was there, between them, saturating the air. If she could taste him in her mouth, smell him, if her nipple and mouth ached in memory of where his skin had been, would the same be true for him?
“Claire?” A twitch at the corner of his mouth told her she’d been contemplating too long. His thumb moved on her nipple, and she jumped. He smiled. “How was this kiss different?”
“The last man who kissed me”—she slid her gaze to look over his shoulder—“forced me. He was…” No, hell, no, don’t say a superior officer. He’ll know I’m military. “He was in charge of me, and I wasn’t allowed to say no.” Anger, sadness, humiliation—all vied for a place in her head, and she tensed. Why in hell did I tell him that?
“Look at me, Claire.”
That familiar lightning connection surged in her blood.
“I will court you, but remember this. If you say kokino, I will know you want me to stop kissing you.”
“Kokino?” She quirked an eyebrow. The Greek word for red?
Amusement and something darker glinted in his eyes. “Of course, that will also work on other activities we undertake together. Though I should point out that ‘stop’ and ‘don’t’ and other sundry words are likely to only encourage me.”
Despite lying there with one hand fastened to the headboard, she summoned up a little imperiousness. “Other activities?”
“I assumed, having gained your permission to court you, I will be instructing you in the nuances of lovemaking.”
Her mouth dried. Lovemaking? Ah. That definitely sounds like far more than kissing. His words conjured indecent images. Breathe. One. Two. Three. Slow and calm. Don’t let him take over. I must keep my head and think.
Already, he was taking liberties. Like Inkline, only…different.
“Lesson one.” He pinned her free hand to the pillow beside her ear. She froze. With such a simple move, he’d knocked her into the dark, unfathomable depths. He wove his other hand in her hair, then eased himself onto the bed and leaned his weight on her. To free herself she’d have to do something extraordinary, and both of them would get hurt.
“Don’t move,” he rumbled.
She saw herself reflected in those eyes—caught trembling in a delicious cage. He slowly nestled his heavy thigh deep between her legs. She gasped at the wetness flooding her down there.
The command, the easy way he held her, both went straight to her center, paralyzing her, scaring her, but in a strangely exciting way. She could do something but chose not to. When a word meant freedom, she didn’t need martial skills. She had the power to stop him. Yet, all she wanted to do was to wait, quivering, for his next move.
He kissed her, only this time his lips pressed harder, rougher, until she sank under the assault. She gasped at the thrust of his tongue and the nip of teeth. Writhing, finding herself trapped by his arms and body, sent her arousal soaring to new heights. Her nipples scrunched into tight pebbles. When his leg pushed rhythmically onto her mound, blood pumped into her clit until it stood up hard against his harder muscles. Moaning, panting softly, she melted into him.
Lord. What is happening to me?
He lifted his head, eyes regarding her this time with a hint of triumph. “Sometimes force can make things more enjoyable. Or so it seems in your case.” He smiled. “True?”
She licked her swollen lips, feeling as if every part of her had been ravaged by the electricity from the galvanic machine. Is it true? And if it is, does it matter? He looked at her as a human. He kissed like some god come down from the heavens. Right then and there, she needed him so much. She held his gaze, feeling small and conquered and wanted.
He released her hand, rolled off her to the side, and waited. His arm draped heavily across her chest; his thumb idly traced the underside of one breast, making her aware of the power he had to hold her again.
He wanted an answer.
“I guess, it might be true,” she said softly. She reached up and ran a finger across the stubble on his chin to the corner of his mouth. That she could touch this man, like this, stirred her and left her awash with wonder.
His eyes darkened. “You guess. I never like to leave a woman unsure about her answer.”
With a directness that made argument seem wrong, he grasped her wrist and pulled her hand away from his face.
“What are you doing?” She tugged, though not enough to be a serious attempt.
He ignored her, shifted onto his knees, straddl
ed her body. The circle of his fingers around her wrist, the way his knees clamped in on her body, and the weight of this solid man above her stole the air from her lungs. If she leaned up, she could press her mouth to his trousers and let her lips feel the muscle beneath. A sudden desire to do more than kiss stormed through her. She wanted to bite him.
Enough. That thought… She slumped back onto the pillow, shutting her eyes to comprehend the way he handled her, to smell his closeness. Countermoves raced through her mind and vanished. Within seconds he’d fastened her hands together above her head and flipped her onto her stomach. She turned her head to one side, breathing fast and shallow into the pillow and the side of her arm; then his hand came down on the back of her neck and held her there.
Pinned. His other hand flattened onto her lower back, weighing her down, sending heavy currents coiling between her legs. One of his fingers settled into the top of the divide of her ass, like an arrow pointing straight to her moist slit, to where she pressed into the bed. She groaned, tried to squirm. Her clitoris thrummed with excruciating need.
“Stay. Still.”
The words stopped her. She wanted to obey, wanted his touch, and moaned her frustration into the softness of the pillow. How did this happen? How could he make her lust so fiercely with so little?
Silence throbbed past, slick and hot and wet, until the world was only him and her and what lay between her legs.
His hand slid a little lower. A soft noise escaped her lips.
“Have you a better answer now, Claire?” Then he clasped her neck tighter and wriggled that delicious finger he’d wedged in the split of her bottom.
Ohh. Either she gave in and told him the truth, or soon she’d be begging him to touch her, and she wasn’t going to do that.
“Say you like it. Repeat my words.”
Somehow, that made it simple. “I…liked it.” She breathed once. “Yes.”
“Good.” He let her go, lifted both his hands, and undid one of the cuffs. “I look forward to lesson two.” The way his voice dropped an octave made her lower body clench. But she didn’t move as the bed dipped, or even as she heard him walk away, open the door, and leave. The door clicked shut. She lay there, trembling, stunned, and wishing she’d had the courage to ask him for more.
Iron Dominance Page 3