Willows, Jennifer - Bound by Accident [Moreland Brothers 1] (Siren Publishing Allure)

by Jennifer Willows

  Now Charyn ached for an entirely different reason. The brown-skinned beauty framed in moonlight gave his cock dozens of reasons to rise from slumber. She was perfect. Perfect for him, made for him, his. He wanted to own her, every part of her. He loved her hair, kinky mane so like her. Untamable locks, sexy curls with a life of their own. Even now, her hair, forced into a waterfall of silk, was beginning to show its true state. He wanted to bind her, here and now, to him for good. He prowled over to her, knowing she was barely able to see him.

  Charyn was more than ready to fulfill the expectations his woman had. He could sense them lingering around her, mingled with clouds of lust and sexual fear. The mass of hair he braided up so it wouldn’t tangle in the ropes, then he blindfolded her, forcing her to trust his lead. His hands were gentle, smoothing her raised hairs and goose bumps. He started the basic karada, a rope dress, to harness her. The knots were all made to be simple and adjustable. For the first bondage garment he fitted her body with, he wanted to ease her into the construction and adjust it to her frame when he was done.

  He next fashioned a cherry crotch rope, basically a thong, from a smaller section of rope. With the apron-like top, he slipped it overhead, the weight of rope and knots smacking lightly against her skin. He used the double-coin knot he created as a halter, tying off the end so he didn’t choke her or create too much pressure. Pulling the sides of the apron around her, he tied them together, too. From there he adjusted the knot work to give the pressure on her most sensitive points. The knots, when done, dotted along the sides of her spine in the back, parallel to the ones in front.

  He twisted another section of her top, fitting it bra-like around her breasts. The cups fit perfectly due to the fact many hours of touching her gave his hands excellent muscle memory. The next part was her undergarment. It was simple, a six-inch-wide net knotted around her hips and small rope that would pass between her legs. He kneeled, tapping the tops of her feet, prompting her to lift them, stepping into the rope panty. He pulled them up over her thighs, adjusting in back to fit them properly.

  * * * *

  When Charyn initially brought Makenzie up to the attic, she found it difficult to adjust her eyes to the dimness. Being an artist was all about light, and she could barely focus on any of the poorly lit objects around her. Charyn placed her on a bench seat in the window. Light struggled to penetrate the shadows nearest her, creating a fragile halo in the haze of dark. She sat there impatiently, waiting and unsure of what was she was seeing.

  “Makenzie, turn and face the window.” The first words he spoke to her since arriving in the aboveground dungeon.

  His statement, baldly phrased, had her nervous. What would he do with her in the dark attic, with the moon the only witness? She got the answer soon enough. He took hair out of the tie, scattering the strands. Charyn’s hands were running through the mass, combing it. Next, he started tugging the strands into an intricate French braid. He used the tie to fasten the braided end, now falling between the blades of her shoulders. He caressed her nape with a stray thumb. Moving upward, he fisted the braid, tilting her head back, kissing her.

  “Stay there.”

  His voice was powerful, yet the tone was soft in the quiet of deep night as he rummaged through a nearby chest of drawers. Whatever he picked up was large, a huge bundle carried over one shoulder. When he came back to her side, he threaded a thin scarf through his fingers. Pulling it over her eyes, Charyn sealed off the limited vision she had. Makenzie was nervous, fidgeting, even after the bone-melting massage he gave her just minutes ago. She wasn’t sure where this was going, and the unknown had her leaping at every sound. Tree branches whistling, the surf caressing the beach, she heard and catalogued each noise. Charyn was behind her, heat radiating from his skin. She could feel him, her skin pricking at his nearness.

  Once Makenzie was outfitted in her rope tankini, she was terrified, unsure how to feel. She wasn’t even hogtied like Miri was at Dojo. But nevertheless, she felt as if she were going to pop out of her skin. The ropes were not extremely tight, but she felt constricted, as if the ropes were metal chains binding her skin and shackles hampering her feet. The fear she felt seemed sexual in nature, not a genuine apprehension for her life. The trepidation was similar to a roller-coaster ride, fun and exciting. Finally done, he spoke to her.

  “How do you feel, Makenzie?”

  “I want to explode.”

  “Good or bad?” Charyn asked, his voice carrying a note of curiosity.

  “Both. It’s bad in the fact that I’m bound, helpless. But it’s good for the same reasons. I can let go and not be responsible for anything except existing for your desires.”

  Charyn guided her, still blindfolded, to the center of the room. He stopped her where she needed to stand, a small rug hand-woven from a coarse natural fiber. Barefoot, the threads rasped against her toes. There was an audible rattling sound and the clacking of metal.

  He spoke, a terse, “Need to fix that.” She stayed silent, agreeing with him, as the noise was audibly harsh. Makenzie felt a tug against the front of her harness. She felt Charyn hooking her at the top of her bonds, between her breasts. Next, she felt more hooks, one on either side of her hips, both sides of her ribs. He tied a length of rope to the right ankle, pulling the limb behind her and securing it to the back of her harness with another series of knots.

  “What is your safe word?”

  She was silent at first, nearly deaf with the blood roaring in her ears. When he repeated the query she came to and tried to remember.

  “Asparagus…”

  “Good girl. If you become uncomfortable at all, I want you to use it. Don’t think I will be upset in any way if you need to do so. Okay?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  When he finished rigging her up, one leg was behind her in the air while she stood stork-like on one foot. The positioning made her lean forward at the waist and spread her toes to ground her body and keep from falling over. She was confused, not to mention nervous, and her sense of balance was off. The way she was half-resting and half-standing had her equilibrium thrown out of whack. Mak let her mind go and melted into the awkward pose, mind finally clear, a yogi in her bondage. Every sense was sharper and dulled at the same time, leaving her stupefied as to how she could feel so natural in this moment as slave to her dominant lover.

  At random moments he would stroke a single finger over her skin, and she would shudder until able to control herself again. The scalding digit would find its way over a buttock only later to stroke the flexed knee or her nose. Between the caresses, his eyes would roam over her flesh. She could feel him just feet away, watching her. Makenzie was so aware in that moment time stopped for her, with seconds living longer than hours.

  Eventually, Charyn released her, one chain at a time. She was awash in sensation, and the ropes made her skin sensitive to every stimulus. When he was done, Makenzie was nearly unable to support her own weight, legs splayed out. The air around her caressed her skin. Each breath she took tightened the rope trappings, and she grew wetter with each beat of her heart. She wanted to beg Charyn to take her, cherry ropes wet with arousal.

  * * * *

  Charyn was floored when he saw her fall into subspace, mind adrift. The face she made was the same as the one she got when lost in her art, eyes glazed and intent on things only she saw. She understood both the meaning behind her bonds and him. This was the one thing no woman ever gave him. Even other women he’d played with as their Nawashi, or rope artist, didn’t fully understand this facet of surrender. That they only had to exist for their master’s needs. They could be free in the bonds because every feeling was valid, no matter how fleeting.

  Charyn helped her stand and walk, just watching the hampered and confused steps with a hardening cock. He wanted to watch her saunter the stairs, guessing she would get halfway down before she came. He was wrong. She hit the last step and crumpled with a groan. Before she fell, he caught her, and helped her to the mirrored wall in
front the bed in his room. He wanted her to see how beautiful she looked in the karada bustier.

  “Please, I need you.” Her voice was a whimper, crotch ropes still rocking against her clit, leaving her shuddering in his arms. He complied with the request by pulling her atop him, little preamble needed. He loosed the cherry around her hips, ropes slacking the vise-grip hold against her.

  With the release of the ropes from her glistening snatch, Charyn took his aching cock and thrust home. He felt her clench tight and heard her aborted scream. Makenzie was glorious, quaking around him, and he fisted the ropes binding her upper body. He couldn’t release her entire breast from the bonds and instead tugged the weave open to free her abraded nipples. Every movement he made was reflected back on him from the mirror, along with her reaction. When he plunged into her she would gasp and shake, and when he withdrew she’d groan and curl her toes.

  Unable to resist, Charyn palmed a breast in each hand and pinched the rock-hard nipples to pouting diamond points. His lips found her neck and kissed her there with a bare press of mouth to skin. When she shook in his arms he bit down on the soft flesh that he gave affection to moments before.

  “Ohhh…God!” Her voice was shrill and pitched high.

  He lifted his head and replied, “Not God baby, Charyn. Get it right.” She did, calling his name over and over, a mantra of passion and stark need.

  Her mouth remained gaping the entire time, and he let the fire build under his skin. So close, but he wanted to last forever and a day. But there was no way he could, his lover was too passionate. Her body sucked him under, and he bit his lip, endeavoring to hold on. It seemed observing the tableau was too much, and he closed his eyes. That only made his lack of control worse, as the remaining senses were magnified and he could only feel, with no other sensations to dilute the bliss of being inside her. She smelled of honey, tasted of sin, felt like heaven and her cries turned him into the Energizer Bunny.

  Makenzie was magnificent, damp with sweat, hair in a single thick braid. He could hear her panting, body quickening around him. All he knew was that he couldn’t wait to see her face when he took the covering from her eyes. He would wait until she was a heartbeat from coming. If timed right, she’d explode on sight, and bring him over along with her.

  He felt her preparing, her womb clenching and going into overdrive. Makenzie was nearly frantic in her movements against him, as if she were trying to do the impossible and bottle lightning. He gripped the ropes, this time for control over himself more so than her.

  “Slow down, Makenzie.” He heard her whimper, then she stilled her bucking. She employed a rocking in his lap instead, and he used one hand to remove the fabric sealing her vision off. The green silk fluttered to the floor and he turned his gaze back to the mirror to enjoy the show she was going to unwittingly provide him.

  Charyn felt her coming, peak slamming him into a teeth-gritting, groaning orgasm. An instinct made him bite her at the curve of her neck, thick seed splashing her honey-wet walls. He looked at her in the mirror, the epitome of Eve, a woman worth anything she desired. His eyes darkened, watching her pant, flushed with her passions and his. His hands were everywhere, tugging her bindings, tasting her taut skin with finger pads. He loved everything about the moment, the woman in his arms showing him something new. He always thought his sexual preferences were a fetish, and treated them as such. When he saw those needs were mirrored in his mate, for the first time he felt complete after sex, no, making love. He had never made love until Makenzie. He had never touched a woman with intent. The intent to share everything he was via their joined bodies. The thought struck him and, amazed, he lay down on his side, tugging her to face him.

  * * * *

  Makenzie was so close to coming she could feel her womb gathering, begging for seed. She felt the blindfold come off her head and waited a moment, then opened her eyes. She was riveted on the spot, and the sight made her wish for a picture. Modest as she was, even she knew the scene was stunning. Passion and exertion flushed her skin, eyes bright, her mouth gaped open. The bonds were amazing, a work of art in themselves. Ropes transformed her, turning her into an object of her lover’s lust. The bonds were around her ribcage, twined over and between her breasts. They ran along her curves to stop at her waist. The crotch ropes framed her wet pussy, the fruit at her delta split with cock. The colors striking her with an artist’s eye, her earthen tones mixing with his sandy ones, meshed with yellowed ropes. The peak rushed over, sent her screaming into oblivion.

  When she came to herself, Makenzie watched Charyn in the mirror, his eyes filled with things best left unsaid. Not yet anyway. She would prefer just a little time to get used to being head over heels in love. Especially with him. He was a little overwhelming, and she didn’t know how to take the emotions assaulting her. She just looked at him, unable to see anything but him.

  “Makenzie, sit up for me for me.”

  She did, question in her eyes. He didn’t say anything, just sat up and started unfastening her. He started with the cherry ropes veeing her crotch, removing the already-loose bonds. Next, he worked on her karada, loosening it, then removing the rope garment altogether. When he finished, the lengths of rope were wound up and placed on the dresser. Mak felt strange after Charyn disrobed her. She felt more naked now than before. The ropes gave her a sense of clothing in their confines. She lay there, replete, and she was, weirdly enough, content. The whole weekend was more than she ever could have expected, and she didn’t want it to end. Ever.

  * * * *

  The remaining hours of their weekend went by too fast. After their play session on early Sunday morning, Makenzie slept the day away. When she woke, it was nearing one in the afternoon. Charyn was there in bed, just watching her. He was fresh and clean, and she felt kind of sticky, just yucky. She couldn’t help snarling her lips at him. He must have seen her annoyance and decided to appease her. “Here.” He handed off a cup of coffee, and she gulped the scalding liquid back, quicker than frat boys chug beer. When the mug was empty, Charyn took it, and sat it on the tray at the edge of the bed. His next offering was a fresh croissant, stuffed with chicken salad and spinach. It was delicious, and Mak savored every bite. Smiling at him, Mak used the napkin to wipe her lips and hands. She was now awake and happy to be with Charyn, but she was going to be big as a house if he kept cooking like a gourmand. She beamed harder and stood up, sashaying to the bathroom. After making use of the facilities, she brushed her teeth, ready for a shower.

  When she was done, there was a towel waiting for her on the rail. She dried her skin off with quick rubbing motions followed by lotion, and wrapped up in the waiting soft fleece. When she walked into the room, there was a white dress shirt on the bed. She put it on, not fully fastening it, just slipped over her arms and left to pool around her. Flouncing downstairs, she heard Charyn speaking sharply, a clipped series of words. The sounds were muted and made it hard for her to determine if he was alone on his phone or if there was another with him. She padded through the living room, then kitchen.

  No one was there, and listening harder let her know the discussion was in the backyard. She stepped out to see two people, one Charyn, the other unknown. He was exceedingly handsome, hair pitch black, eyes to match. The man’s looks were debonair, refined, and almost aristocratic. He was lithe, with a swimmer’s build, not as tall as Charyn, but six feet plus as well. The male looked at her, eyes glinting in the bright light of day. She quickly fastened her borrowed shirt, which would hopefully cover her appropriately. Her skin flushed in embarrassment. The other man’s eyes were heated with some emotion. It was hard to keep looking him in the eye. His gaze was deep, as if he’d seen every charm she had to offer in the quick peek he’d gotten. And that was just a narrow strip of skin, not even the full birthday suit. The directness of the look made her feel embarrassed, as if she’d given him something that belonged to her lover only.

  * * * *

  Charyn turned away from the fence and saw his broth
er was distracted from their discussion. He saw why, smiling at the woman in his shirt. She smiled back, one huge grin left over from last night. He motioned to her to come to him. She did with no hesitation, satisfying his need for control, and Charyn sat her on his lap. Happy, the sun, sea spray, and Makenzie were all he needed to feel complete.

  “This is my younger brother, Marques. Marques, this is Makenzie.” The male extended her a handshake, which was accepted with a like response.

  “Are you busy? I can go inside and scare up dinner,” Mak asked tersely, and Charyn knew she could see the tension between him and his brother in their mutual body language.

  “That actually sounds like a great idea. Want to have fish tonight? If that’s okay with you, there is a fresh salmon fillet in the fridge.”

  After she walked away, Charyn and Marques were sitting outside not even speaking, just quietly occupying the same space. Marques showed up unannounced, while Makenzie was in the shower. He had just laid out a shirt of his so she could cook with him. He heard a car in the drive, and walking downstairs, saw Marques in his black Audi. He just opened the door, sighing. There was no way he wanted anything interrupting his weekend. But Marques was here, jetlagged and looking for a conversation. So he took him in the backyard to avoid a naked Mak looking for him in the house, giving his brother two eyefuls. Shoot, Dev already got one, and that was enough.

  “So who was that?” Marques inquired, looking at nothing, far away.

  “Makenzie, she’s mine.” Charyn couldn’t help but be possessive.