by Lilli Feisty
She found herself moving toward the wall, much as she’d done with the painting last night in the museum. She reached out and stroked a length of red cord, the material soft yet sturdy-feeling beneath her fingertips.
It reminded her of his sculptures, and her body responded; between her legs a small pulse began to beat as she thought of the photograph, of the sculptures in the museum, the one in her desk. Of Ash and his hands, what they were capable of, both artistically and physically.
She felt him behind her, felt his fingers as they moved her hair off her neck, and then his lips softly brushed the top of her spine. Her eyes fluttered shut as the heat from his mouth seemed to spread all over her skin.
“I can’t keep my hands off you,” he whispered, nipping at her earlobe.
Her knees weak, she turned to face him and met his gaze. I don’t want you to. She shook the thought out of her head. It was wrong, so very wrong to want him so badly. She had to resist. She had to remember what was at stake. Her job, her honor, and she was way too attached to her home to trade it in for a jail cell.
But he was making it so very hard to focus on anything but him, touching her, looking at her with those deep green eyes. Cupping her cheeks in his palms, he brought his face toward hers, and then he was kissing her, his mouth slanting over hers as he slid his tongue inside her mouth. She kissed him back, thinking for a second that she’d never had a kiss quite like this, like she was losing herself completely as everything around her faded. Like she was losing herself.
She pulled back. “Does every girl you meet end up tied up on the first date?”
“Pretty much.”
“I’m not every girl.”
“I see that.” He looked her over in a quick, hot glance. “I like that.”
“I want to talk about the gallery, about your art.”
He backed her against the wall, and she felt a length of rope pressing against her upper back. A shudder ripped through her, landing right in her sex.
“Are you sure?” He pressed his mouth to hers, nipped at her bottom lip.
“Yes…” And then she pushed her tongue into his mouth.
But soon he took over the kiss, and when he pulled back, her body felt slack.
“You know you want to be tied, sweetheart. Admit it.”
“Yes, but—”
“That’s all I needed to hear.”
He kissed her as he pressed his hard form against her body. His hands, more roughly now, roamed over the fabric of her knit dress. Her waist, her hips, her arms; he seemed to be touching her ubiquitously.
“Let go, Joy. Don’t think.”
“Was I thinking?”
“Trust me.”
“God…”
He continued to kiss her; she continued to melt. She felt him take her hands and press her wrists together to bring her arms above her head. He was stretching her, and she arched against him, wanting to feel him against her breasts. Wanting to feel him everywhere.
How could she want this? It was too much, too fast.
“Tell me what you want, Joy.”
And yet there was no hesitation in her answer. “Whatever you want, Ash. I want you to do whatever you want. To me.”
Chapter Four
She saw the corded muscles of his arms loosen, the only sign that he’d been anxious she might say no.
It took only a couple of minutes, and just the process of him binding her, the feeling of the corded material wrapping around her skin, made her pussy go wet, made her entire body hum with lust. When she felt him tie her off, she tested the rope, and while it wasn’t uncomfortable, it was secure. Her wrists were bound, like she was his prisoner.
“You all right?”
“Yes.” She was more than all right. The act of submission made her pussy ache in a way she’d never experienced and, surprisingly, calmed her.
Smiling, he pulled her arms tight above her, his body stretched against hers, something she was quite sure he did on purpose. Against her hips, she felt his erection through his jeans and her dress; goose bumps erupted over her arms.
He stepped back, and when she tugged her arms, she realized she couldn’t move; he’d secured her to the wall.
“Ash?” She was hovering on the edge of being anxious and thrilled, the two emotions mingling until she couldn’t tell them apart.
He took her face between his palms again and kissed her, gently, for the longest time, until she was calm, until the ropes around her wrists felt almost comforting, like they were part of her. Submitting to him, she stopped fighting, and then he got on his knees before her, moving slowly to kiss her body as he made his way down. When he nuzzled his face against her hip, kissed her hip bone through the fabric of her dress, she lost it, lost all control.
“Ash… I need you.” Between her legs there was a want; she was pounding with need—for him. She’d never felt a need like this. Ever. The bonds heightened every sensation coursing through her, and she welcomed, claimed, each one.
He lifted the hem of her dress until it was pushed up around her waist. For a second, she thought she must be out of her head, because normally she felt very selfconscious when she was exposed. And she’d never been so vulnerable with someone she barely knew.
But now, that sense of anonymity seemed to entice her, and she stretched her body, arched, let his hands move under her dress to feel her skin. She saw desire in his eyes, and it made her feel sexy, feminine. Maybe it was the ropes, being bound and helpless, giving herself to him; she felt a bit as if she were floating. She felt her own smile on her face as she waited for him, watching Ash’s gaze, which was now focused on her panties, her swollen clit.
He glanced up. “Do you like being tied, Joy?”
She nodded.
“Tell me you like it.” He placed a soft, warm kiss in that spot he’d been staring at, his breath muffled through the lace of her panties.
“I like it, Ash. I like being tied by you.”
“I don’t know what it is about you, baby. You make me so fucking turned on.” With one hand, he yanked her panties down her legs, still holding her dress up with his other hand. “You always look so…”
“What?” she whispered. How did he see her?
“Ready for me. Like you want me to take you.”
“I do. Take me.” She couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth. She’d never talked like this, never been so demanding. But with Ash she felt safe. Maybe too safe, a little voice whispered in the back of her head, and she ignored it.
“Spread your legs.”
She stepped her legs farther apart, as wide as she could go. With both his hands, he kept her dress up around her hips and pushed her ass back against the wall. Rope hung to her left and to her right, above her. Binding her. Surrounding her. She shuddered.
“Taste me, Ash. Fuck me.”
“How did you know dirty talk turns me on?” he asked with a wicked grin.
“I want to feel your mouth on my pussy.”
“That’s my girl,” he said, and then he was licking her, spreading her with his thumbs, spreading her wide so he could use his mouth to sweetly torment her, and she heard herself moaning, pleading.
“Oh, God,” she said, pressing hard against him, pulling at her bindings. “Yes, oh my God. I’m going to come, Ash….”
He looked up. “Do it. Come for me, right here against my face. And then I’m going to fuck you, and you’re going to come again.”
“Yes,” was all she managed. “I want that….”
Slowly, tortuously, he licked her, from as deep as he could reach to her throbbing clit: licking, sucking, tugging. She threw her head back against the wall, feeling her hair tangle as she thrashed her head from side to side. When she came against his face, it was like lightning shooting through her, and she screamed his name, crying out over and over as he sucked every last tremble out of her body.
Finally, when she stilled, he stood. His gaze raked over her, and she imagined what she must look like. Arms
tied overhead, her dress wrinkled and hanging around her waist. Her hair a rat’s nest. In total disarray, the exact opposite of everything she’d come to know about Ash.
But he smiled at her and brushed a strand of hair off her face. “You’re a mess.”
She felt the blush starting at her neck.
“I like it. I don’t know why, but I do. You’re so different, Joy. Different from any woman I’ve been with.”
She lifted her chin. “Is that good or bad?”
“Good.” He kissed her, and she tasted herself on his lips, acidic and erotic. “Right now it feels really good.”
“You know what would feel even better?” she asked against his mouth, licking at his lips and tasting herself and him, while a fresh wave of lust washed over her.
“What’s that, baby?”
“If you did as you promised and fucked me.”
Reaching into the neckline of her dress, he slid his hand beneath her bra and took her nipple between his fingertips. She gasped as pleasure bolted through her. “I intend to,” he said, kissing her again. He beaded her nipple and pinched, the sharp sting heightening the powerful sensations already pulsing through her, and her sex clenched with need.
“You like that, baby?”
“I think so.” He pinched again, harder, and pure bliss rushed through her. “Yes.”
“Good. Now tell me what you want. Exactly what you want.”
“I want to feel you inside me. I want you to fuck me right here, against this wall.”
“Goddamn, Joy.” He kicked off his boots and pulled his shirt over his head. Her gaze landed on his exposed upper body with appreciation. She’d thought him thin, but he was all muscle. Sinewy elegance, almost feline. So unlike her own curvaceous body.
Don’t think about it. In any other circumstance, she would have probably run away, her insecurities taking over as she looked at a man so hard, lean, and powerful. But she was too turned on; her body needed him, and as he pulled off his jeans and boxers, she could see he needed her, too.
He glanced down at the erection standing straight up, long and hard and male. “You do this to me, Joy.” He took his hard penis in his hand, starting at the base, and stroked up to the head and back again. She licked her lips as a drop of come leaked from the engorged head.
“Is this what you want? It will be, sweetheart. Hard and rough. I bet that’s how you like it.”
She swallowed. “Yes.” She could feel her body secreting her arousal, knew she’d be so wet and slick for him. “Hurry.”
He had a condom in his hand, and he tore open the packaging and rolled the rubber onto his cock. Wide-eyed and panting, she watched him as he came for her. This time when he kissed her, it was rough, forceful. She moaned deep in her throat as she met him full-on, pulling on the rope binding her, encouraging him to take her as he wanted.
His hands on her thighs were also rough as he lifted her and pushed her body against the wall. He picked her up as if she weighed only as much as a feather, and a wonderful sense of femininity settled inside her. She wrapped her legs around him as he drove into her, filled her.
“Yes, Ash. Like that.” Talking like this, telling him what she wanted, felt so right.
“Like this?”
He pulled out and fucked her again, his hands on her body rough and bruising. He kissed her once more, trailing his fingers up her arm until he was touching the rope around her wrists.
“God, yes.”
“You like giving yourself to me, don’t you, baby?”
“Yes,” she admitted, and the word was raspy, dry. Her mouth felt like a desert.
Every time he drove into her, it seemed harder and deeper than the last time, and that was exactly what she wanted; she wanted to be taken like this, by him. Hard, reckless, wild.
“You’re so hot and wet for me,” he said, driving into her with such force she felt the wall scratching at her back. “I want you to come now, Joy.”
She was already on the edge, and those words were all it took as he buried himself into her one more time, and she exploded, screaming, shaking, mindless.
“Fuck, yes, that’s my girl.” Every muscle in his body seemed to go even tighter as he stiffened, pressing his entire lean form against her, and she felt him ejaculate, pulsing hotly inside her.
She wasn’t sure how much time passed, but as the endorphins of sex with Ash began to fade, Joy became hyperaware of everything else: a car whizzing by outside, the orderliness of his loft, their bodies sticky against each other. She squirmed against him as a flush began to creep up her neck.
What had made her feel sexy only minutes before now caused her to burn with shame. Her makeup was probably smeared; her hair was a mess. Her skirt was hiked up nearly to her breasts, and the curve of her stomach felt soft against Ash’s rigid, solid abdomen.
Beyond Ash’s shoulder, she took in the photograph of the model with the perfect body, and Joy’s skin began to crawl. Had Ash ever been with a woman as curvy as Joy?
What must he be thinking of her now? That he’d made a big mistake?
She tugged on the ropes. “Let me down. Please. Ash.”
Within seconds she was free, and he was carrying her in his arms.
“You can put me down. Seriously, I’m way too heavy for this.”
He looked at her as if she were crazy. “What are you talking about? You weigh nothing.”
“I mean it, Ash. You don’t have to do this.”
But he was already climbing the stairs, at an impressive clip, she had to note. He must be freakishly strong to carry her so effortlessly.
When they reached the top floor, he walked straight to his bedroom. Like the rest of the house, it was spotless with nary a stray sock in sight. He rested her on a bed made so tight she could have bounced a quarter off it.
She went to pull her dress down, but he prevented her from doing so with a firm touch. “Stop. How do you feel?” He massaged the places on her skin where the rope had been tied.
Embarrassed, awkward, anxious. She tried to smile. “Fine.”
He continued to massage her flesh, and she felt her pulse relax a little. Then he kissed her wrists, softly, and smiled at her. “I want you to stay here tonight.”
She tried to push herself up onto her elbows, but he urged her back down until she was flat on the bed, flat on her back. He slid one long leg between her thighs and leaned his chest against hers. He kissed her.
She resisted for a second, but then she was reaching up to hold his head to her, to run her fingers along the muscles of his neck. She wasn’t sure how much time passed with the easy way they kissed and touched, but by the time he pulled back, she knew he’d done it again. Made her his. What she wasn’t sure of was why.
And at the moment, it didn’t matter.
She thought of all the reasons she’d come here, to lure him to the gallery, to tell him about the sculpture. But this was too good to mess up with that kind of talk. It felt too good when he pulled her to his body and tucked her under his arm. She sank into him, into the bed, and eventually into sleep.
Chapter Five
Still no answer?”
Shaking her head, Erica flipped her cell phone shut with a frustrated click. “No, and now I’m really getting worried. It’s 1:00 a.m.” It was, in fact, so late that Erica and Blaine were the only people in the building using the student kitchen.
Fellow culinary student Blaine Prescott looked up from the pan of onions he was sautéing. “Do you always look out for Joy like this?” he asked in his annoyingly precise voice. It reminded her of those overeducated students she used to serve, and she clenched her teeth. She’d heard a rumor that he was on a break from his überlawyer job because he wanted to learn how to cook. Must be nice.
She gave him her dirtiest look. “I can’t help it if I have friends I care about.” For the millionth time, Erica cursed her instructor for pairing her with the stuck-up chef-to-be for the entire semester. The man was always questioning everything Erica di
d. And making suggestions when she hadn’t asked for any. His only redeeming quality was that Blaine did possess an impressive palate. Annoyingly impressive, but she supposed that was to be expected. He’d probably grown up with a chef trained by Julia Child.
And she had to admit he had some other qualities that didn’t suck. Such as his nice ass, his chocolaty brown eyes, his solid-looking shoulders…
Ack! What was she thinking? Instead she reminded herself that Blaine epitomized all the things she’d come to detest in a person. He was a conceited, upper-class, rich yuppie. The first time they’d met, he’d just stared at her tattooed arms as if they were overcooked slabs of meat. So she made sure to wear tank tops whenever she knew she was going to see him.
“I have friends I care about, too, Erica. Doesn’t mean I stalk them all night long.”
She hated it when he said her name. It made her stomach do funny things, which she ignored.
“That’s because all your friends are probably home in bed by ten, tucked tidily underneath their three-thousand-thread-count Egyptian sheets.”
“Actually, seven hundred is the softest. Anything over that is just silly.”
“And I’m sure you know all about thread count. Did your nanny teach you? Or were you just born with this amazing knowledge?”
He paused his stirring, pretending to think. “Must have been born with it. I’ll ask Mummy.” He said the last word with a hoity-toity accent. “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Playing with your necklace.”
She yanked her hand away from the amethyst. It had been a sixteenth-birthday present from her mother, and she never took it off. It reminded her of her mother’s strength as she’d single-handedly raised four children, even if it took four jobs to do so.
“Anyway,” she said. “I’m not stalking. I’m being a friend. Joy went over to some strange guy’s house, and I haven’t heard from her since. I care. It’s called compassion; maybe you’ve heard of it.”
He grinned. “Nope.” Then he leaned a bit closer to her, and she tried to ignore the way her heart skipped. “And I never donate to any charities, either. Nor do I help old ladies cross the street. Let them hobble on their own, I say.”