He touched her softly, where the first drops had landed. He traced a circle around her navel, moving up, slowly—very slowly—over her body, up between her breasts, to the notch at the base of her throat. He made a lazy circle, then traced the lines of her collarbones.
There was a pause in the music and she caught a few words, Elijah talking to himself. "Like wings… perfect… beautiful" The music started again and his words were gone. The beat was stronger, louder, the melody gaining in intensity.
But his voice had been very close, his breath very warm. She raised her head, drawing in a deep breath. She smelled the oil, and Elijah's aftershave, and beneath that the very masculine scent of the man himself. That smell, that wonderful primal scent, triggered a wave of passion, of love, so deep and powerful she gave in to it, arching up, pulling against the ropes. It passed and she sank back onto the sheet, breathing deeply.
Elijah moved one finger down over her breast, circling her nipple. At the first touch, it drew up hard and tight, a counterpoint of sharp electricity racing through her. She bit her lip as he moved to the other breast.
He lifted his hand for a moment, then palmed her breast, caressing her, slowly and gently at first, then harder, until he was kneading her flesh, his hand sliding in a delicious way through the oil. He touched her other breast, not gently at all, squeezing her hard, rolling and pinching her hard nipples, his touches matching the music She gasped and he pinched harder, and she cried out.
The music slowed, grew quiet, and then he was gone. She lay back, letting the fading sensations wash through her. The music was still quiet, just audible, and she thought she could hear Elijah breathing, but she wasn't sure. She could hear her own heart thudding in her ears, the rasp of her breath, waiting, anticipating.
Her heart beat rapidly, and every sense came alive, straining to learn what he was doing—what he was going to do. The bed dipped again, this time on the other side. There was more movement, and then the music started again, much louder, stronger, something primal.
The music crashed as heat exploded on her stomach and she cried out, body writhing, pulling away but then rising toward whatever it was. Whatever it was—then it dawned on her; it was wax. He was using a candle on her, dripping hot wax onto her oiled skin.
The heat was briefly intense, bordering on painful, then mellowing, spreading, sinking into her. She drew a breath, waiting for the next drop.
She tried to gauge by the music when it would happen again, but the beat became syncopated, erratic, rising and falling and, when the heat hit her, it took her by surprise. But her body reacted, took on a life of its own, hips rising, legs falling open against the ropes.
The drops came faster, closer together. The pain didn't mellow quite as quickly; he wouldn't let it. She wanted it to stop, tossed her head from side to side, but arousal and heat swelled inside her, ready to burst. But just as the word 'red' rose to her lips, the pain changed, spread out, softened. She bit back the word, waiting for the next splash of heat, rising up on the bed, her orgasm building, heading toward some amazing peak.
Tiny pinpoint drops landed on her breasts, exquisite drops of pain that made her gasp, her body reacting instantly. The music rose, and so did her body, both reaching a crescendo and then the music ended, abruptly. And so did the heat on her skin. She lay gasping, the silence in her ears deafening, her body seeking release. He'd left her on the edge, teetering, aching.
Elijah moved on the bed and she instinctively turned her head toward the movement, tugging on her restraints, aching for the next. The music rose suddenly, drowning out any sounds, growing louder. She wanted the heat, wanted the intense pain, the rush. She was sweating from the heat on her skin, from the heat that was building inside.
Cymbals crashed and she smiled, knowing the heat was coming, wanting it, craving it.
But it was cold instead, icy cold and wet, pressed against her nipple. She screamed, her body pulling the ropes taut, goose bumps rising along her arms and legs. The fire that had built inside her rose up fierce and hot, and her hips rose off the bed, seeking release.
The slap against her thigh was sharp and bright, stinging, breaking through her arousal, but doing nothing to diminish it. She gasped, her body thudding onto the bed.
He hadn't said… hadn't told her she couldn't come. But that must be what he wanted—what she didn't understand.
The music still played, but the volume dropped considerably. There was movement again, and then Elijah's breath was warm on her face. She could hear words, tried to focus on what he was saying.
"You do not come until I tell you to. As long as the music plays, you do not come. Nod if you understand."
She nodded, a tiny movement of her head.
When he touched her again, it was with his hand, caressing her cheek. She leaned into him, loving the softness of his touch over the stinging sensation on her skin. The volume of the music rose again, and she was surrounded by percussion, sharp and quick.
He took his hand away, and she waited. Was this the end? It couldn't be—the music was still playing. Maybe this was her punishment? To be left here until the music…
The ice came back and it seemed colder this time. It raised goose bumps on her arms as Elijah circled her nipple. He held it against her and the cold changed, grew painful, and she gasped. The cold on her breast, the heat inside her, it all came together as the music crashed in her ears. For a moment she forgot Elijah's slap, his words. His command.
Fire and ice—and the desire to come was so intense, so overpowering that she gave in—but then it all came back. She wasn't supposed to come. She was under obedience.
Every muscle in her body tensed, fighting against nature, against what was happening. But it wasn't what she wanted; she didn't want to come. Elijah had said not to.
Eyes squeezed tightly shut behind the red silk, she pulled away from the physical sensations in her body, tried to disconnect her mind from the pain he'd sent racing through her. Tried to focus on the music, counting the beats, listening, hearing the melody, the individual instruments.
Her body slowly relaxed, coming back from the brink, coming down from the almost high she'd been on the edge of. She took a ragged breath, blew it out, and waited for the tremors in her body to slow down. Not stop—never stop. Just pull back from the edge.
After a few moments, there was movement again and she tensed, waiting for the cold. It came—on the same nipple, on the same chilled, puckered nipple. The cold slid through her, followed by pain, a spike through her breast.
She arched up, crying out, the pain spiraling through her. Instantly the music cut off, and Elijah was there, his tongue laving her, washing over her. The pain rose to a crescendo as he sucked hard, pulling her into his mouth, teeth rasping over her abused skin.
Her scream rose, but Elijah's hand was there, tugging at the silk and the headphones. His fingers slipped into her mouth as he pulled on her breast. She bit down, trying to hold back the tidal wave inside her.
Elijah lifted his head, eyes meeting hers. "Come for me, Skye. Let go."
She blinked in surprise, her mind still trying to control her body, not understanding what he meant. But her body registered the words instantly, and as she stared at him, tasting blood, her body arched up hard, arms and legs pulling against the ropes, head snapping back. There was no stopping now, even if she wanted to.
Elijah watched her, eyes never leaving her as she climaxed hard, the bed shaking with her movements. He wasn't touching her, didn't have to. Now, just having him beside her, his scent around her, his blood on her lips—it was enough.
She threw her head back and the world slipped away, spinning out of her grasp. She cried out once more, maybe Elijah's name, maybe not. Then something not quite like darkness claimed her, and she rode the waves, the only thing she was conscious of was how her body felt.
Chapter 14
She knelt on the rug, waiting, anticipation flooding through her, making her shiver with excitement. He was ta
king his time tonight, either testing her in some way, or testing himself. She never knew. He never confided that in her.
Finally, she heard his step behind her and it took all her willpower to keep from letting him see how excited she was. He was a sadist; sometimes he'd play off whatever he saw in her as she waited, how she acted when he came down the hall. Even though she thought she remained perfectly still, he could read her so easily.
"Enter, Skye."
She rose, stepping into the room. Even though her eyes were lowered, she scanned the room. Nothing waited for her, no obvious toys or ropes or any sign. But there never was. Elijah never tipped his hand.
"Stand here, Skye."
Without thinking, she looked up at Elijah. He pointed to a different spot on the rug, not her usual place by the burgundy rose. She hesitated only slightly, then moved to where he pointed, immediately dropping her eyes, expecting punishment for looking at Elijah.
"Tonight is different, for both of us. Something special. You may talk."
"Yes, Master."
"And you may look at me."
She raised her eyes. She loved looking at Elijah, here or outside this room. But here he was in his element, in control. In control of her. That power made him the sexiest man she'd ever known.
Tonight he wore no shirt, and the faded jeans that drove her crazy. Sometimes he wore them around the house, and it was all she could do not to push him against the couch or the kitchen counter and tear them off of him.
But here—she could only look. The jeans hung from his narrow hips, and her eyes widened slightly. The top buttons were undone, the fabric folded back enough for her to catch a glimpse of dark hair.
Her breath caught in her throat and she lowered her eyes out of habit.
"Look at me, Skye."
She raised her eyes again. Elijah's lips were curved into a smile. That alone sent her heart racing.
"Tonight is your choice."
"Choice?" The last choice Elijah had given her was to pick which cane he was to use on her as punishment. Her throat went dry, and she had to swallow twice before she could speak.
"What choice?"
"You can choose what you want to play with tonight. Anything in the cabinet." He took a step toward the cabinet that held everything; whips, flogs, ropes, cuffs—the canes.
"You."
He stopped, turned, surprise flickering across his face. "Me?"
"Yes. You. I want you to spank me."
Elijah held her gaze a moment longer, then tucked the cabinet key into his pocket. "Then a spanking it is. Old school, but I like it."
She allowed herself a small smile. But her heart thumped like she'd run a mile uphill, and her body was already thrumming with desire.
"Then let me get set up." He moved around the room, pulling out the padded bench from the corner. "Anything else?"
She shook her head, confused. "I… no-no, Master. Whatever you desire, Master."
"Fine. Leave that to me then."
Elijah opened a drawer and pulled out a length of red silk, talking to her over his shoulder. "Safe word?"
"Flowers, Master."
"Good. Use it if you need to." He came toward her, running the silk through his hands. She let her eyes drift down his body, the broad chest, flat stomach—to the opening at the front of his jeans. It was clear by the clearly visible bulge he was already hard. Knowing it was because of her, of them together, sent a deep and powerful thud through her. She tried to remain silent, but a small whimper escaped her lips.
Elijah glanced at her, one eyebrow raised. "Do you have anything else to say, or ask for?"
"No, Master."
"Then you are back under obedience."
It was almost a relief to have Elijah in control, to let him take care of everything—to take care of her.
But she was giddy inside. It had been a long time since he'd spanked her, other than the occasional slap. And he'd never spanked her as punishment, only caned her. Another thud shook her and she closed her eyes, muscles in her stomach tightening briefly, her body going loose and shivery for a moment.
There was a thump across the room, and she opened her eyes. Elijah was pulling the bench away from the wall into the center of the room. It was a beautiful piece of furniture, dark wood with a deeply padded surface. On the day he'd brought it home, he'd laid her down on her stomach, taken her so hard and fast she'd sunk her fingernails into the leather. The marks were still there and she loved running her fingers over them.
Elijah sat on the bench, the silk tie in his hands. "Come here, Skye. Stand in front of me."
She did as she was commanded, stopping a few paces away from Elijah. He tilted his head, then motioned with one hand.
"Closer. Here." He pointed to the carpet. She moved forward until she was almost touching his knees with her legs. Through lowered lashes she watched as he slowly moved his feet apart, spreading his legs. Her breath caught in her throat; from here she could see the head of his cock sticking out of the opening of his jeans. She bit her lip, the pain of her teeth sinking into her tender flesh mixing with the hot passion swirling through her.
"Turn around."
She did as commanded, turning gracefully as Elijah has taught her, reluctantly pulling her eyes away from the teasing view of his cock. She made certain to stand straight; Elijah loved her shoulder blades, and hated rounded shoulders.
He took her hands and she felt the silk winding around her wrists. She could almost imagine the knot he was tying. Knots were Elijah's passion and she'd watched him tie so many. This knot was tied quickly, and quite tightly. They both knew the silk would rub against her skin, and she loved the subtle burning sensation it caused. For days after, she could touch the marks, remember what he'd done to her, replay the scene in her mind.
The first touch on her skin wasn't a slap, but she jumped anyway. He trailed a line of kisses down over her skin, soft and gentle. He moved her hands, and then she felt his tongue slip along the cleft of her ass. Her muscles clenched and a shiver ran through her.
When he hit her, she cried out, both from sharp pain, and from the release of the tension anticipation had built inside her. He'd started, and now it was only going to escalate.
The next slap hit the other side of her ass, the pain more intense this time. Elijah had a way of spanking her, of snapping his hand against her flesh that felt more like a bite than just his flesh against hers. But it was his skin touching hers, and that's what she loved, beyond the pain.
"Bend over." Elijah's voice was rough, his breathing fast. She wanted to turn around, to see his face, the lust she knew she'd see. But that was against the rules. So she bent from the waist, moving her feet apart to keep her balance.
"Feet together."
She hesitated, then pulled her left foot against her right. With her hands behind her and her feet together, it was hard to keep her balance. For a moment she wavered, the muscles in her legs tightening as she fought for control. Finally, she found her center, found her balance.
Elijah touched her briefly on her leg, running a finger along the crease at the top of her thighs, beneath her buttocks, then moving his fingers between her legs, rubbing against her wetness. She closed her eyes, concentrating on keeping her balance as he slipped one finger into her. For a moment, he wiggled his finger, the fluttering feeling inside her making her gasp. Then he slid his finger out, moving it forward, slowly circling her clit.
Out of reflex, her hips jerked forward, knees buckling slightly as something clenched deep inside her. But the effort to keep her balance forced her to hold still, even as Elijah rubbed her clit harder, fingers moving faster, and despite herself, her legs tensed again, but she managed to hold her stance.
"Good girl." His voice was very close to her ear, and she realized with a start he was no longer sitting, but standing behind her. "Very good girl."
Her heart swelled with love. Elijah rarely complimented her during a scene, and it reinforced how special this was, for both of the
m.
He struck her right cheek, much harder this time. She swayed to the left under the impact, her weight thrown to the side. With a strangled sound she dug her toes into the carpet, willing herself not to move her feet even one inch apart.
Elijah caressed her, rubbing his hand gently over her stinging skin, his other hand still buried between her legs, one finger gently thrusting into her slick wetness. The sharp pain sank into her, heating the fire that he'd lit inside her. The tension in her legs lessened under Elijah's gentle touch, both from his hand on her ass, and from his finger slowly circling her clit. She breathed deeply, trying to gain control, not to let herself let go too soon, to prolong this amazing pleasure Elijah was giving her.
But the next slap sent her reeling, her body leaning far to the right, her left foot coming off the floor. She cried out, the pain more intense than she'd ever felt, the counterpoint of Elijah's finger thrusting inside her bringing her to the edge. Her cry was almost desperate, the desire to straighten almost overwhelming. She bit her lip, tasted blood, tears springing to her eyes as she fought to bring her foot to the floor.
She'd just regained her balance, her body shaking, sweat gathering between her breasts, when he slapped her again. She rocked forward, and then he struck the other side.
The blows came quickly then, one side then the other, for what seemed like a small eternity. The rapid blows somehow made it easier to keep her balance. But the pain was so intense, so deep… so rich… that she couldn't hold back, could no longer contain the rising desire to let go, to come. She wasn't under any rule not to; she could do as she wanted, to feel everything, to take her pleasure when she wanted, as she wanted.
But the strain of holding her balance, the tension in her muscles kept her from finding that release, of being able to let go. She couldn't relax, couldn't find the place, physically or mentally, to come.
Elijah's fingers—two or three, she couldn't tell—were moving inside her, thrusting, caressing, seeking something, moving deeper. Everything he did only heightened her arousal, brought her closer to release.
Holding Skye Page 9